[b]Ranch House, Ashlands[/b]

[i]"Use that brain of yours,"[/i] Drake said. 

And God, was Larke trying. 

It made sense for the younger man to be with the Wanderers; he had been in prison for terrorist affiliation. But where had he been? And.. The mentalist. But Larke had no reason to believe she was alone. Drake had no reason to tell the truth about that; perhaps no motive to lie, either. She [i]had[/i] refused to invade Larke's mind without his consent, but Helena was sick and Oren was dying....

And Drake [i]had[/i] been treated horribly in captivity. But children were not treated the same as prisoners. Helena's father was in a position of power, and her mother had been... And they had killed Oren. Oren was dead in some hole. 

He blinked hard, mouth hanging slack as he watched Drake look back at something beyond his own field of vision: A camera? A sniper? A clock? There was nobody in his head- It was too disorganized, too swimming to have been construct... Or was that the construct? . In a few more days, maybe, this would make sense: When his head was less full and his healing factor less exhausted and his eyes less swollen. [i]'This,'[/i] he thought with fleeting clarity, [i]'must be what it feels like to be broken.'[/i] 

Which had to mean that they were ready to use him. To recruit? To brainwash? They grew their numbers somehow- And he was never leaving this attic alive, if things went on as they had been. He had to get down, and there were only so many ways. 

Larke swallowed, and his throat stuck together with dusty attic air. He hacked once more, and looked up to lock eyes with Drake. 

[color=#cceeff]"Okay, kid,"[/color] he rasped. The scrutiny faded, and his gaze did not falter. [color=#cceeff]"I'm listening to-"[/color] 

There was a smell of citrus, and then a fresh spike to the pain in his head. Someone was yelling. His hearing came in and out and he caught a few sparse words in between a screaming buzzing. The floor fell out from beneath him. His skin prickled with goosebumps as a chill enveloped his body. He lurched to the right as his balance took a dive in the opposite direction, his wrists catching against the ropes binding him to the roof beam. 

His fever spiked. Anyone but a healer would have died days ago.