"Woah, woah, wait." I pull away from Rhett, his hands slipping from my shoulders like a heavy liquid. Of all the revelations presented to me, this is the one that nearly stops my heart. "Me? All this time, the whole reason I am here right now—why my brother was stolen, why Markee was taken—is so you can use me as some experiment?"

My pitch rises as my horror does. The blood rushing in my ears drowns their words of denial, and I stare unseeing at their fluttery, soothing mannerisms meant to calm me down. But I don't want to be calm. I don't know what I should be feeling, but all I know is that I need out. I need air. I need the open sky and the trees and the freedom of the forest I've come to love.

Not a second after the thought, I pivot and stride out of the lab, praying no one follows me. Large, brisk steps take me down the sidewalk and through the quiet campus. Each footfall bangs like my heart pumping. It's like my insides are all rushing around frantically and I can't stop. I can't stay still. I can't think. So I keep walking and walking until my shoes skid to a halt. Until my chest shrieks for air, and I have to double over just to suck in a breath.

Only then do I allow the words—the truth—into my mind: I can destroy the Skinwalkers.

This is what I came here for, isn't it? To help end Natio's suffering and free Markee by following Summus Aspen's orders. It's what I was brought to Perseca for. Which means...

I almost choke on my own breath. I need to find Luke, and I need to get my head straight.

I dash across the sidewalk, running straight for the dormitories. The long, unmowed grass tickles my ankles, and the image vaults into my mind: laying back in the grass beside Luke. The sky blue, the clouds white. His hands gently bandaging my blistered feet. A weight knocks around in my chest as I run with the memory. It feels like so long ago.

I am winded by the time I climb to the third floor, stumbling up the last few steps of the staircase. Barging into my room, I am already banging on the adjoining door to Luke's suite as I catch my breath. After a minute of silence accompanying my heavy breathing, I kick the door, frustrated, and bound back into the hallway.

Only I smack into someone as I exit my room. The wind whooshes in my ears and the feeling of falling backward rocks my stomach. I flail, trying to catch myself, but my body stops short of the floor.

Heaving, I look up into a forest of green. My heart stutters, and I glance from his eyes to the sun-bleached hair falling onto the forehead of none other than Luke. All at once, I feel his hands on me. His hands are warm, so warm wrapped around my back. This is the closest we've been in too long, and my skin tingles at his touch.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he rights me. The concern in his voice sends warm currents through my jelly limbs.

"Are you using me?" I blurt.

Luke shakes his head like he has water in his ears. "What are you talking about?" He volleys, calloused hands lingering on my upper arms as if I'll fly away.

"Your father knew they wanted me here," I accuse. "It wasn't just a random assignment to come to Perseca. Do you know why they were expecting me? Do you know what they want to do with me?"

I see the alarms blaring in his eyes, and the suspense eats at my already thin nerves.

Then, the distress in his eyes transforms to barely concealed rage. "What did they do to you?" His voice is grave, and it would scare me a little, but the anxiety is flooding out of me faster than an uncorked dam.

"Nothing. They didn't do anything to me. Not yet." I look into his eyes, seeing the truth. "So you don't know what I can do. The real reason your father sent us here."

Luke's anger seems subdued at my words, and he ever so slightly pulls me toward him. "Tell me everything."

Dragging him into my room, I spill my heart.

A half-hour later, and I finally can breathe. I rest against the headboard, my legs crossed Indian-style as Luke lounges on the bed in front of me.

"It makes sense, in a way. Rumors, lies," Luke says. "If told often enough, they become accepted as the truth."

I nod. Even though Outlanders did nothing wrong, the founders of Herald set up generations of hate and prejudice. I bristle—just thinking of it fans my ire.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Luke begins, and I shoot him a look. He shrugs. "I think you should hear them out."

I sit up abruptly. "I thought you of all people would be on my side," I pout.

Luke reaches a hand to massage the back of his neck, sighing. "I will always be on your side, Sophie. But I see the opportunity. And if it works..." he trails off. "It's not like they need all nine pints of blood," he justifies. "It's only your DNA Dr. Tabb wants, right?" I shrug. I guess I didn't stay long enough to ask questions.

Luke rests his hand on my knee. "I just think you should learn exactly what they want. If it sounds like too much, you don't have to do it." He pauses, jaw clenching. "And if they don't take no for an answer, we will leave." I'm not sure if my heart leaps more at his declaration, or his touch.

I take a slow breath, leg bouncing as I take his words into consideration. Is being poked like a pig worth the potential? Maybe Luke is biased. After all, it is his people this antidote would save. He wants the Skinwalkers gone more than anyone I know.

But Luke is willing to run from this with me.

"So, are you two... seeing each other?"

My eyebrows furrow as I'm broken out of my reverie. "What? Who?"

Luke's emerald gaze shifts around the room. "That one you ran to when we got here yesterday. It seemed as if he held on to you for dear life."

I think back, confused, and then bust out into hysterical laughter. Luke frowns, and his pout is so cute, I want to kiss it off of his face.

"No, no, no," I manage between giggles. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about." His unsure look gives me another laugh. "Rhett is my brother."

The embarrassment coloring his face is precious, and I clutch my aching side. He mutters something incomprehensible, but his voice puts a warmth in my belly regardless.

A sense of deja-vu washes over me. Back when I questioned Luke's relationship status, I was so relieved when he confessed he, in fact, did not have a betrothed as I so eloquently put it. I imagine Luke is feeling the same nauseating awkwardness as I did, and it makes me feel close to him once again.

I place my hand over his, and he squeezes my knee. The gesture makes me brave.

His fingers slip from me when I unfurl my limbs and crawl across the comforter to where his sits. My arms come up and around his shoulders, pulling him into my embrace. I can feel his limbs hesitate for a moment before they encircle me, but then he hugs me in earnest.

And I feel like he is the only thing holding me to earth.

"Thank you," I breathe. "For always listening. You somehow always know exactly what I need."

Luke squeezes me, his arms steel bands preventing me from just floating away. "For you? Anything." His voice is a baritone honeybee, sweet and deep and rumbling.

The intense longing that has haunted me evaporates in his embrace. I feel his chest rise and fall, his breath tickling my ear. I never want to let go.

I lean into him, and my cheek presses up against the corded muscle of his neck. Fueled on by dopamine and oxytocin, I put my lips to his pulse, following it's vigorous beat. I am hardly lucid as my lips brush over his strong jaw, inching slowly toward the magnet of his mouth.

A hand comes up to caress my hair. "Don't," he croaks. I shift to look at him. It's not the caution behind his eyes that causes my lips to falter, but the agony in his utterance. "Not if you don't mean it."

I suck in a breath and freeze, reality sinking its teeth in dreadfully, painfully deep. I want to scream, Yes! I mean every heartbeat! But I am struck mute.

In the end, it is the sullen, broken hope in his eyes that spurs me detangle my limbs from his. It is the most blaring reminder that I hurt him. I hurt us.

I don't deserve him.

I leap away from him until I can't back up any farther. Still reeling, I grip the headboard to steady myself, as if it could slow my pounding heart or the whirs of hope and regret.

"I should go," he voices lowly, but he's already up, already eating up the floor in swift retreat.

I wipe the wetness from my cheeks as I watch him leave, the door closing behind him with a final wumpth.