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      I awoke suddenly the next morning; nightmares had gotten the best of me that night.

      After I'd escaped, I had hoped that they would stop terrorizing me during the nights. But my hope had been squashed by the reality that they might never cease altogether after everything I had seen.

      I sat up in my bed, going over the events of last night in my head, like I'd done so many times before finally going to sleep. I told myself that I would learn from it and move on. I'd just have to be even more on guard now because of it.

      When I walked downstairs, all the eyes went to me, watching my face to gauge my mood and see if I'd finally cracked under the pressure of what had taken place at the party.

      Growing up in a family that was constantly in the spotlight, I'd gotten used to the stares of wonder when we went out in public. But this was different, and the stares made me uncomfortable. They'd seen me in a moment of weakness, and were wondering how I'd react to it.

      Shoving the memory of the beating I'd endured last night into the back of my mind for good, I sat down and began my day.


      For the past week since we'd caught the terrorist, I'd been restless and more on edge than usual.

      We'd caught her and put an end to her reign of terror, but it didn't feel like we did. I was expecting to feel accomplished at the end, but it only felt was like I was waiting.

      Waiting to see what suicide mission Hunt was going to send us to next.

      Waiting around for nothing in particular in the house that we'd been confined to.

      And most of all, waiting to see if another attack graced the news, proving the woman was covering up for someone.

      I could sense that my team felt it too, by the feeling of unfinished business in the air. It had been there ever since Kane had suggested that something was not as it seemed here.

      After a day full of training in the workout room in a futile attempt to prepare myself for whatever was to come, I finally decided to seek out Jake. I couldn't ignore it; he had something to do with that boy that attacked me last night.

      His door was open, and I could see him doing push-ups on the floor. When I knocked on the open door, he looked up to see me standing in his doorway.

      "Yes?" he asked, standing up, his black hair disheveled. I averted my eyes when I realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

      I looked away from him and closed his door quietly.

     "Trying to get me in my room alone?" he spoke in a sarcastic tone, but his cold green eyes bored suspiciously into mine, seeking my purpose here.

      "Maybe," I responded vaguely, taking a step farther from the door.

      His cold eyes narrowed as I took a step into his room. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but I didn't come here to flirt with him.

     "Did you recognize that boy from last night?"

      "No," he answered slowly. "Should I have?" I couldn't tell for certain if he was telling the truth. But my guess was that he wasn't. Why would he lie?

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