"Hey," fingers brush across my shoulder softly. "You should eat."

I don't open my eyes, tugging the blanket further up my shoulder.

"Calli," Theo's voice prods through the thick fleece I pull over my ears. "Please."

I shake my head. Even if I wanted to, my throat is far too shredded from the past two weeks to speak comfortably.

Theo somehow manages to pry the blanket loose around my head and lean down so his soft whisper fills the soft fabric cocooning my body. "What if I told you that I have a little surprise in store?"

I guess maybe I should feel something akin to excitement. Maybe he's finally going to show me it—the thing that I've been tearing my vocal cords apart for by screaming and begging despite the way they refuse me.

The body. The closure. Maybe when I see him lifeless, I'll finally be able to function as somewhat of a normal person again instead of this...numbness.

I expected to be sad. I guess I didn't expect it to be this vast, like a yawning chasm has torn open in my chest with a constant yearning to be filled.

But the only person that can fill it is gone. So now, I'm stuck in this half-alive state. Feeling so empty that my soul screams. Full of such excruciating longing that sometimes I'm tempted to rip my own heart from my chest just to ease the sensation.

I can't believe he's gone. Not truly. No matter how many times they tell me, I can't seem to wrap my head around it.

Theo sighs at the silence. He withdraws himself from the heap of blankets, and for a moment I think he's going to grant me the bliss of sweet solitude, but then his strong hands are scooping over the blankets and grasping my sides so suddenly that I let loose a squeak of surprise.

"Sorry," he says. He hauls me into his arms, pulling the blanket back so he can look into my face.

He blinks at the sight of me. It's been a minute since I've crawled out of bed so I know I must look rough.

"Jesus," he mutters.

I roll my eyes, leaning my head on his shoulder. I don't think I care enough to struggle anymore and his body is lean and warm. Despite the urge to crawl back onto the mattress and never leave, it feels comforting to be held by a friend.

"When's the last time you brushed your hair?" Theo eyes the knotted strands.

I shrug.

"Lucky for you, I'm great at this stuff." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Alyse lets me help with hers sometimes. Yours can't be much different."

A scowl nearly flashes over my features at the mention of their relationship but I stop myself. My tragedy doesn't warrant hate at the sight of their happiness.

Theo is entranced by Alyse, despite her ignorance and fragile genes. It's hard not to like her, to be honest. She's let me stay here with her over the past few weeks, helping me tend to my wounds. When I start to cry, she sits with me. I think she realizes I don't favor talking much these days, so she only offers me the comfort of her presence.

I'm grateful for her and all that she's done for me. Someday, when I'm able to again, I plan on expressing that to her.

Theo strides out of the bedroom and past the living room to reach the kitchen. There's an empty chair pulled out at the table, and in the spot in front of it, a plate of grilled cheese.

My mouth waters despite the way I turn my face away. Food sits strangely in my stomach these days.

"Just try a few bites, okay?" He deposits me in the seat gently and heads back over to the bedroom.

My stomach growls at the rich scent of the perfectly buttered and browned bread and sharp tangy cheddar. With a sigh, I untangle one of my arms from the mass of blankets to bring the sandwich to my mouth.

There's something distinctly soothing about grilled cheese. I chew it slowly, relishing the taste of the rich sourdough bread. For the first time in the past two weeks, the ache inside of me eases a tiny bit.

When Theo returns, he's holding a comb and a spray bottle of what appears to be detangler. Without another word, he gathers my hair at my neck and spritzes it with the sweet smelling liquid, then gently begins to run the brush through the thick knots as I eat.

True to his word, Theo is surprisingly good at working through the nest-like state of my head. He's cautious enough not to hurt me, and once the bristles run cleanly through my strands once again, he forms my hair into three neat parts and braids the long length down my back.

"Feel better?" he says, his lips tilting up slightly at the sight of my empty plate.

I nod. I do. I don't like feeling so under-groomed—I just don't have enough energy to keep up with basic hygiene anymore.

"Good." He tugs at the blanket around my shoulders. "Time to get rid of this too. We need some nice, fresh clothing. Maybe something pretty."

My brows furrow. The thought of going out when I'm in such a state is laughable.

"Why?" my raspy voice whispers.

"Because," he grins, "you have a date."

...

Theo makes me change into a black sweater and jeans. I vaguely recognize them from my wardrobe in Sin's apartment.

Sam enters shortly after. The sight of his all-too familiar face makes my heart shoot to my throat and the void to rip a tiny bit wider inside of me.

"What's going on?" The rasp in my voice has lessened some now that I've begun to speak to Theo a little.

Sam's lips thin. "Sit."

Theo gently lowers me down to the chair. I don't argue as I regard them both with weary eyes.

"We've lied to you," Sam says, and I stop breathing altogether.

It takes me a moment to gather myself. To force the air back into my lungs and unclench my fingers from my palm. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Theo whispers behind me, his large palm enveloping my shoulder in a gentle squeeze. "I never wanted to keep this from you."

The hope inside of me is so large and swelling that I blink tears from my eyes. "Is he—is he alive?"

Sam's lips thin. "In a way, yes."

A disbelieving laugh tumbles past my lips. "I don't understand." I sit back in my chair, trying to wrap my head around it. That I'm going to know what it's like to hold him again. Touch him. Feel the weight of his arms around me.

Something warm trickles down my cheeks and a half-relieved, half-hysterical sob rips through my throat.

"He's sick, Calli," Sam says. "He's not the Sinclair you remember. Something went wrong once he woke up."

But he's alive. "When can I see him?" I wipe the wetness from my cheeks as more quickly replace the dried skin.

"Listen to me," Sam says slowly, "he's alive. That's it. He's a shell of the man he used to be. He was dead for so long we didn't think he'd come back, and now he only exists to kill. He won't take any of the, uh," he pauses, shifting on his feet, "feedings we've been giving him. The longer he stays in this weakened state, the more I'm worried he'll never come back from it."

"Or that he'll die," Theo adds quietly. "Really, he won't feed. Not even a little. We've shoved nearly a dozen women at him at this point. He's going to starve himself before his mind gets the chance to wake up."

In any other circumstance, I'd lose my mind at the thought of other women touching him. But his life is far more valuable to me than fidelity.

"Tell me what I need to do." I need to see him. To touch him. To remind myself that he's real and alive and mine.

"First, you fuck him," Sam says. "We'll figure the rest out as we go after that."

I stare at him. "That's it? You don't have a plan?"

"I do," he scowls. "It's you. You're the plan. Congratulations."

...

They take me to a nondescript building in what looks to be an abandoned business complex. We push through empty rooms and hallways until we find a heavy steel door.

It's odd and out of place amongst the carpeted floors and eggshell walls. It's heavy looking and there's a combination next to the opening lever.

"What is this place?" I rub my arms through my sweater. The quiet is eerie in my ears with the knowledge of the apparent horror on the other side.

"Where we take enemies and the occasional traitor," Theo says as he punches in the numbers on the keypad. "Don't mind the bloodstains. They're relatively old."

"You're keeping him where you used to butcher bodies?" The door slowly swings open and I take in the dimly lit room, smudges of poorly-scrubbed brown liquid smudging various spots along the concrete floors.

"It's the only secure spot we could find for him," Sam says from behind us. "The only place we knew he wouldn't be able to escape."

My knees threaten to give out as I spot the form huddled against the corner. He's still wearing the same torn pants from that night, dried and darkened liquid smudged over his chest despite the jagged scar down his bare pectoral. His long hair is loose around his shoulders, knotted and dirty and shielding his face from our presence.

"Sin." My breathless whisper cuts through the thick silence.

At the sound of my voice, his head tilts up. Just enough to reveal a single cold ash-colored eye through his mane of tangled strands.

A strangled noise rips from my throat as I lurch forward.

"Calli." Sam's hand wraps around my shoulder, stopping my stride short. "You can't touch him yet. Not until we figure out where his head is. Do you understand?"

His words echo hollowly in my ears. All I can focus on is the man in front of me. The man that's alive and whole.

My eyes sting with the thought. The lump in my throat is too thick to speak past, so instead I just give him a short nod.

I stumble forward, stopping just short of a few feet away from where he crouches in the corner. At my approach, he stiffens and slowly turns so he can take in my presence.

My lips pull into a tight line at the rattling that sounds with the movement. It's then that I notice the bands of metal encircling his wrists and ankles.

I clear my throat so the rasp of tears doesn't sound in my voice before speaking. "You chained him?"

"He's dangerous," Sam says. "He killed a hooker. So yes, I would say it would be logical to chain him."

Contrary to his words, Sinclair doesn't appear dangerous. He only slumps against the dirt-stained wall, looking pale and dirty and exhausted.

He looks at me through his thick curtain of hair. If he recognizes me, he makes no attempt to express it.

"Hi," I whisper. I don't know what to say. A lot if he could understand me, but I vaguely feel as if I'm speaking to a brick wall disguised in Sinclair's face.

"I've missed you so much." Despite Samuel's words, I reach out a single tentative hand towards him. He barely appears strong enough to hold himself upright, much less hurt me. "So, so much. You can't even imagine."

Theo sucks in a breath behind me as I reach out a hand and smooth back the long dark hair from his face. "Calli, I wouldn't—"

"It's fine," I say, and it is. Sin slowly leans forward and pushes his cheek into my hand despite the scowl etched deeply across his face.

I slowly brush my fingers over his stubbled jaw and into his hair, brushing the dark strands from his face.

"There you are," I murmur. Dirt and stubble and all, he's still my Sinclair. I barely restrain myself from leaning forward and wrapping my arms around him.

We sit there for a moment. I slowly brush my fingers over his scalp as he sits quietly in front of me, leaning into my touch.

"Can I move closer?" I say to the men behind me. "I think I'm in the clear."

"I don't know," Theo says behind me, his quiet footsteps approaching behind me. "I would wait a little longer, Calli-girl. You haven't seen what he's capable of."

Sin's eyes lurch to the man behind me and he tenses, his lips raising in an animalistic snarl.

I stiffen. "That feels like a bad sign."

"Yeah," Theo says softly, "I would say so. Back up slowly, Calli."

I inch my hand down from his face, gasping when he turns those suddenly wild pale eyes on me and grasps my wrist, pushing my palm back to his head. He makes a low noise in his throat that sounds suspiciously like a growl.

"Okay," I say, my heart shuddering in my throat, "okay. I'm here. I'm not leaving you again."

"Slowly, Calli," Theo says, "I've got you. But I'd go now before he gets pissy."

I chew my lip, looking between the two men. Theo is tense, ready to pounce in case Sin decides he doesn't favor my presence anymore. Sinclair continues to grip my wrist as if I'm his lifeline.

I feel guilty letting him go. He needs me now, doesn't he? He's not hurting me. Maybe he just doesn't know how to communicate in this state.

"I don't...," I let the words hang in the hair. I don't want to let go. Not again.

"It's fine," Sam says. "I think he might remember her."

That makes me pause. I stare at Sin with wide eyes, continuing to brush his hair back despite the way he bares his teeth at me as if he's going to lean forward and take a bite.

A small inkling of hope lights up my chest. "What do you mean?"

"He may have asked about you. I don't know," he sighs. "It's hard to make sense of anything he does in this state."

"Asked about me?" The terrifying look on Sin's face never lets up despite the way he leans his head into my hand.

"He wanted to know where 'she' was. Maybe you," he says, "maybe he was lost in another thought. Another memory. There's no way to know for sure."

I barely swallow back a sigh of disappointment. Despite the way he hasn't tried to maul me, there isn't a trace of recognition in his eyes.

His eyes drift toward the bulky mass of dressings straining underneath the sleeve of my sweater. The mangled skin has healed up pretty well over the past few weeks, but it's still raw and aching even though my divine blood is working its hardest to regenerate skin cells.

"What do you think?" I take my hand away to push up the long sleeve of my shirt to show the large expanse of bandaged flesh. "It's a new battle scar." Maybe he just needs someone to talk to him like a normal person. They've been treating him like a rabid animal since he woke up.

The terrifying look on his face eases up a little as he eyes the bandage. I tense as he slowly raises his hand but instead of striking me he gently traces a finger around the thick edge of gauzy wrappings.

"I've missed you," I say again as he entrances himself with its outline. I don't think he can understand a single word I'm saying, but I continue anyway. "I thought I lost you forever."

Who says you haven't? Something inside of me whispers. I quickly push it away before tears have the chance to spring to my eyes at the thought.

Those dangerous eyes flicker to mine and without such savagery across his face, he almost appears normal. My chest tightens.

"Come back to me," I whisper. "I need you."

My breath stills as he raises the fingers that rest on my arm to my brow bone, gently smoothing his thumb over the skin above my eye. His gaze bores into mine and for a second I think he's beginning to return to himself.

"Sin?" My heart shudders as my fingers reach up to wrap around his.

He stares at me for a long moment, and I think I've almost reached him until he pulls away and wraps his hand around my throat so quickly I don't even have time to register it until he begins to squeeze.

I gasp for air, clawing at his grip until I feel the scrape of his skin gathering under my fingernails. The men behind me curse, rushing forward and prying his hands from my throat.

Theo grabs me under the armpits and pulls me back as I gasp for air. Even in a weakened state, the man is still strong as hell.

"This was a bad idea," Theo says behind me as he pulls away. "We're going to have to figure something else out."

I expect tears to fill my eyes. For a rush of indescribable sorrow to fill my chest.

Instead, a slow heat creeps into my veins. I've been mourning the death of a man who has been alive this entire time.

Now, I have him back. He's right in front of me. A miracle, my happily ever after. But everything that makes him mine is gone. He's nothing but an empty shell.

I think about how Samuel and Theo have kept him from me all this time. How maybe I could have reached him sooner, before he was so weak that all he can manage is slumping against the wall until someone comes close enough for him to swipe at.

I think about how the angel bloods have taken everything from me: my life, my innocence, and now the only person that I am not sure I can survive losing a second time.

I think about Sinclair. How he had no qualms about leaving me behind. How he ignored me when I begged him to leave. How his eyes never left mine as I watched Delia carve him open and rip the life straight out of his chest.

The unfairness of it all astounds me. Maybe I'm throwing the world's biggest pity party right now—but frankly, I don't give a shit. I can't seem to catch a break and I'm fucking pissed.

I rise to my feet, ignoring the boys' protest as I stride forward and stand in front of where Sinclair slumps against the wall.

Before he has any time to react, I slap him across the face.

"Wake the fuck up," I hiss. "Do you understand me? I will not lose you a second time."

"Jesus, Calli—" Theo starts, but Samuel hushes him.

Sin's head whips back as he glowers up at me, baring his teeth in what would normally be a spine-chilling snarl. Instead, it only proceeds to further infuriate me.

"Fuck you and your self-sacrificing bullshit." I slap him again, ignoring the way my palm burns with the impact. "Fuck you for leaving me behind."

I grunt as he lets loose a ragged breath and swiftly wraps his metal-bound hand around my ankle, pulling it from under me so I topple onto my ass. He tries to climb on top of me and wrap the chains around my throat but I knee him in the crotch before he has the chance to tangle me with the steel.

Hollow shell or not, the action still jolts him. I kick my leg around his as he stiffens with pain, flipping my weight into him so that he loses his balance and falls onto his back.

I scramble on top of his chest before he has the chance to recover, raising my palm to strike over his cheek once last time.

"Fuck you for making me love you." The words rush from my mouth before I have a chance to stop them, but if he understands the words, he gives me no indication.

He stops the motion by wrapping those all-too familiar fingers around my wrist, his other hand reaching up to tangle in my hair.

He pulls. Hard.

A hiss escapes my clenched teeth as I try to keep my balance centered. He only tugs harder, making me crane my neck back to avoid the sensation of my hair follicles ripping from my skull.

He takes advantage of the easy opening of my body as I lean back and pushes me to the ground, the weight of his hips settling heavily over mine.

My teeth grit as he impossibly tightens his grasp on the thick bundle of strands. If I make it out of this alive, I might just have a bald spot.

God, what a shit. The thought makes me reach up and grab a fistful of his lovely dark mane, yanking with all the strength I can muster.

A throaty chuckle rumbles from his throat as he gazes down at me, something unreadable creeping over his face. Even madness-driven, the sound makes my blood heat.