She couldn't have anticipated what it would feel like. For a moment, it was all she could do not to scream.

Every nerve alight, a hot needle pressed into every pore of her skin and inch of her organs. The very blood that pounded in her ears felt almost electrical, like it was transferring little sparks to her eardrums. With each step, tiny electric sparks passed through her feet and to the floor. The air felt hot and cold at the same time. Her eyes watered, and they alone were relieved from the static.

Patrick called after her, but she could hardly make out his words over the heaviness of her breath, the slapping of her feet against the tile. Everything past that danger point in the hallway had seemed to be the wrong color, but the effects seemed a little less intense now that she was within it, as if her eyes had been trained to adjust. She peeked over her shoulder when she reached the door, and the section she had left behind seemed oddly colored as well, but in reverse.

She didn't have a key to the chamber. She didn't need one. It was unlocked. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The chamber was like a little unfurnished office, beige hardwood floors and white walls—or that's what they probably should have been. The floors and walls alike flickered, synchronized, from deep red to blinding blue. Machines and sensors lined countertops attached to the walls.

And in the back corner, hooked up to machines and huddled in fetal position, was Sam.

"Hey." Elena fought to keep her voice from cracking. If she let him see the pain, it would only scare him more.

Sam shifted to face her, and his eyes widened. "Miss Elena, go away! My powers are too strong, they're going to hurt you!"

"No, I'm alright, Sam. It's going to be okay." She knelt down beside him. "Are you okay?"

"It really, really hurts," he whispered.

She unscrewed the water bottle and ran a little over her arms before opening them to him. "Come here."

He crawled into her arms, where he shook with sobs.

"It's okay, Sam. It's okay." She wouldn't have said the pain stopped, but just for a fleeting moment, she didn't mind it.

She pulled herself to her feet—it took a surprising amount of effort as her boiling joints protested every motion—and staggered over to the control panel. She chose a few knobs and turned them each no more than a degree, then stepped back. It probably wouldn't be enough for them to notice a difference, not yet, but if she continued adjusting them every few minutes throughout the night . . .

She turned to Sam. "Those machines look really uncomfortable."

He nodded. Several probes were taped to his skin, to his forehead and arms and the back of his neck. He was fiddling with a couple of clamps that they'd attached to his fingers. That was good—if he'd been fiddling with them the whole time, no one would notice a switch.

Especially not when the cameras were down and no one was willing to brave the agony to come in and check on her.

"Can I take a turn with some of them?"

He nodded and took off the finger clamps. She winced as they pressed into her already-throbbing muscles.

A speaker on the control panel buzzed to life. "Elena! Can you hear me?"

Unmistakably Patrick's voice. "Yes, can you hear me?" she called back

An audible sigh of relief. "Sam?"

"Hi, Mr. Patrick!"

"You've got to get out of there, Elena," another voice said. "The effect on your cells—"

"I'm not leaving Sam." Elena leaned against the wall, jerking back for a moment as it shocked her. It was subtle, and she didn't think the scientists would notice, but Patrick's voice sounded forced, like he was acting. Good—he had suspected her plan, and he was keeping her cover intact.

"Elena," Patrick said, "we're learning everything we can. We're going to learn how to control the flux, and then—"

"He's scared, Patrick! You should understand that." The acting came naturally to her after putting on so many performances at camp.

Patrick sighed. "Okay. Do you want me to come in there with you? We could take turns."

Her nerves screamed at her for relief, but even if the offer had been genuine, she needed to be the one to do this. She'd been the one to get them into this mess. "No, Patrick, you stay out there. Help the scientists in whatever way you can." That last part was hard to say with a straight face. Not that it mattered—they couldn't see her—but they might hear the lie in her voice.

A short pause, then, "Okay, Elena. We're going to shut off this line and get to the analysis. Slip out of the isolation chamber and signal us if you need us to turn it back on."

That was a signal to her—a confirmation that they wouldn't be able to hear her as soon as the line was dead, so she could speak with Sam freely. "Okay," she said.

The speaker went silent, and Sam gaped. "Why isn't Mr. Patrick coming to save us?"

Her eyes fell closed. She couldn't avoid explaining it to him now, but she would have to be very careful how she did it—boiling everything down to only what he needed to know. "You know how we've been trying to get you to control your powers?"

His expression darkened. "I can't do it, Miss Elena. I can't."

"It's okay, Sam. That's why we're here."

"I'm training with the bad guys?"

"No, no. No more training. No more experiments. See, I'm taking the probes off." She took the probe from the back of his neck and stuck it to hers, then began in on the ones from his arms. "See . . ." She smiled, as much as her discomfort would allow her. "We're here to trick the bad guys."

His eyes widened. "Really?" he whispered.

She nodded. "Yeah. They want to harness your powers for bad things. But we're going to trick them so the powers . . ."

Her voice stopped in her throat. She had no idea if he would want them to go away.

"Do what?" Sam asked.

"So they get used against the bad guys instead," she lied. "And then escape and run away."

"Oh." He leaned his head back on the wall.

"What?"

"I don't want to use my powers anymore."

She took a deep breath. "You want them to go away?"

He paused, looking toward the door for a long time, then glanced back at her. "Yes. I don't want my powers anymore."

She nodded. That was a relief. "Tell you what, Sam. We can't get rid of them completely. But how would it be if we did something to make them less powerful?"

"I'd rather get rid of them. They make me so bad at science! Can we get rid of them?"

She wasn't sure he'd ever be far enough removed from all knowledge of the anomalies to get rid of them entirely. "Sam . . . I know. It doesn't feel like a superpower to be different from everyone else when you can't explain why and you can't control it. But your powers make you special. They make you who you are."

He raised one eyebrow. "You're just saying that because we can't get rid of them."

He had a point. "Okay, maybe. But you know what?" She winced and cranked up the honesty. "You know how they say everyone's special?"

"Yeah." Based on his tone, he must have known the truth already.

"But if everyone's special . . ."

"Then everyone's the same," he said. "And no one is actually special."

"Right. But you know what, Sam?"

His bright green eyes met hers, his pain bravely masked. "What, Miss Elena?"

She placed an arm around him. "You actually are. And for better or for worse, you always will be."

Despite everything, he gave her a little smile.