I stand up and dust the ash off my knees, catching sight of myself in a mirror that hangs on the wall by the desk.

The entire left side of my face is covered in blood which is still leaking from the long cut on my temple, just above my eyebrow. Half my ponytail has come out, and strands of my hair are plastered to the blood and sweat that cover my cheeks and forehead. My skin is paler than usual underneath the crimson and my lips are dry and chapped. Red rims my eyes from the tears I am doing my best not to shed.

I look awful. I look like a killer.

I can't go back through the crowd of people like this. Nor can I leave the room like this. The party, which I had blocked out during my fight, continues on outside. The music vibrates through the speakers and muffled voices filter through the door, yelling to be heard over whatever song is playing.

I do my best to straighten up, using the toe of my boot to push the ash into the corner. Trails of it still lay on the floor, but I don't have a broom to sweep it up properly. My entire body protests as I use one of the pillowcases to crouch down and mop up my blood from the ground. Pain streaks through me like lightning across an indigo sky and I can't even pin point where the worst of it is coming from.

The blood, already starting to congeal, smears across the floor, noticeably visible if you know where to look for it. I'm hoping it will go unseen until this room can be properly cleaned. The streaks I've left are small and I would need water to get rid of them, but I don't have the time or energy to go find some. I leave the bed the way I found it, minus one pillowcase. When I'm done trying to clean up, it looks almost the same as when we came in.

At the worst, people would think that a couple got hot and heavy in here, maybe had a cigarette and left the ashes on the floor. They would never suspect that a murder took place.

A murder committed by me. I killed someone.

Doing my best to shake off the thought before I break down completely, I wipe away some of the blood from my face with the same pillow case. My attempts are annoyingly futile, it flows out of the cut in a steady stream, probably needing stitches. Instead, I hold the material to my head as I pull back a curtain and peak out the window.

I could cry with relief when I see that there are no burglar bars and that the yard outside is devoid of people. I clumsily climb out, falling straight over and landing on the soft grass. My body screams in agony from the impact, my temple throbbing and pulsing as the rest of my body aches and stings.

Biting back the yell of pain that threatens to escape from my lips, I pick myself up and limp my way towards the road, hoping to find Caleb and Zach in the same place as I left them. I'm not even sure if I will be able to find it, never mind make it there without being noticed. Each step takes more effort as I stagger under my own weight and the pain that throbs from every inch of my body. Blackness threatens to consume me and I wobble on my shaking legs, determined to stay conscious until I know I am safe.

Please just let me make it to the car.

Luckily, I don't have to. Zach's car pulls up in front of me just as I reach the curb and tears of relief spring to my eyes again at the familiar sight of it. Caleb leaps out, leaving the passenger door open as he rushes to my side. He grabs my hand and throws it around his neck, sweeping his arm under my legs and picking me up as though I weigh nothing.

"Jennings, you did so well."

I lean my head against his chest as he walks us towards the car, relishing the musky scent of cologne that I thought I might never smell again. I have to force my eyes to stay open so that I can tell them about my conversation with Colton, but it's increasingly difficult. "Did you hear what he said?"

Even to my own ears, my voice sounds strained and muffled and I'm not surprised when Caleb doesn't answer me. I vaguely hear the sound of another door opening and Zach's voice floats towards me through the haze.

"Good job, Peyton. That was well executed."

I try to nod but my world goes black around the edges and the last thing I remember is Caleb stroking my hair.

¤

The pounding in my head causes my eyes to flutter open.

"Jennings," I hear Caleb's unmistakable voice from beside me. A soft beeping sound comes from behind me on the left but it hurts too much to crane my neck to see what the source of the noise is. I glance around the unfamiliar white room, my eyes eventually landing on Caleb's green ones. He leans forward, his hand covering mine on top of the bed sheet.

"Where am I?" I croak, my throat dry and in desperate need of water.

"The hospital wing." He sighs in relief, offering me a slight smile. "It's about time you woke up."

"Oh crap. Please don't tell me I fainted again?"

"No," he chuckles. "Blood loss, they had to stitch up that cut on your head."

That's slightly less embarrassing at least. My fingers reach up to touch my forehead, feeling the wound and the thread poking out of it. It's only when I bring my hand back down that I notice the cannula protruding from it. My eyes trail from the pipe coming out of it, following the line all the way to a crimson red blood bag. I shudder, glad they had put that in me while I was unconscious. Needles terrify me.

The thought would have made me laugh out loud if I had the energy. Vampires, sure no problem. But needles? Hell no.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, releasing my hand to stand up and walk to a table in the corner. He pours a glass of water from a plastic jug and brings it over to me. I struggle to sit up, taking a grateful slug and relishing the cool liquid that travels down my dry throat.

"Everything hurts," I complain. My skull feels as though it's about to split open, pounding in a relentless rhythm that makes it hard to concentrate. The entire left side of my body throbs and aches with every movement and my palms sting, pulsing with sharp pain.

"I'm not surprised." He pulls the covers back and I glance down to see I'm in a large white t-shirt and pair of shorts that definitely don't belong to me. But, that's not what catches my attention. An array of purple and yellow bruises adorn my leg and arm, mottling together to form a kaleidoscope of color. When I gingerly lift my shirt up slightly, I see that my stomach is covered as well, extending all the way up my ribs.

"What are they from?" I remember being thrown against the wall, but surely that wouldn't cause this much damage?

"You probably didn't realize it at the time because of the adrenaline, but you took a serious beating from him. These," he lifts up my hands and shows me the deep cuts on my palms. "Are my fault. I guess I didn't think that necklace through properly."

"It worked though." I manage a weak smile.

"But at a high cost. I'll need to rethink the design." He frowns as he looks towards the door, deep in thought. "Maybe plastic edging?"

"Caleb," I bring his attention back to me. "Did you hear what that guy was saying?"

"No. The camera doesn't have sound," he explains. "The current Lideri made sure of that. Too many trainees panic and call for help and it's too difficult to ignore them. It's easier-,"

"I have to go," I cut him off, wincing as I struggle to sit up.

"Jennings" He places a soft hand on my shoulder and gently tries to push me back down. "You shouldn't be going anywhere, you need some time to recover."

I knock his hand out the way, gingerly swinging my legs off the bed and pulling the cannula out of my hand. I have to fight the wave of nausea that threatens to envelope me as the needle comes out of my skin. Blood leaks from the small puncture and drips onto the pristine white bed sheet.

"Peyton, this isn't a-,"

Ignoring his protests, I finally manage to get to my feet, wobbling slightly on my shaky legs. "I need to see Lideri. Now."

¤

"I still think this is a bad idea," Caleb insists as I limp along the hallway with him following closely behind. "You should heal more before you go waltzing around this place."

"This can't wait," I wince slightly, leaning against the wall to catch my breath. I had been in too much of a rush to put on shoes. But now I wish I had, as the cold seeps into my feet from the concrete floor. I began shivering before we had even taken our first turn.

"If it's about the deal-,"

"It's not about the damn deal, Caleb," I interrupt him with gritted teeth. "Please, just trust me on this."

"Fine. But let it be known that I think this is a bad idea."

"Yes. You've made that pretty obvious." He has been repeating the same thing since we left the hospital wing, almost twenty minutes ago. It should have only taken us about ten minutes to get there, but our pace has been torturously slow, thanks to my wobbly legs and constant need for breaks.

"Well, at least let me carry you," he offers again.

I shake my head and push myself off the wall to continue. "We're almost there."

Sure enough as we take the next turn I see the unmistakable metal of Lideri's door. I almost weep with relief at the sight of it and try to drag myself there faster. When we are eventually standing in front of it, Caleb knocks tentatively and then quickly steps back when we hear Lideri's voice call for us to come in. I make my way inside, stopping at the sight of Lideri sitting ramrod straight at the end of the table.

"Ah Miss Jennings, I've been waiting for you. Please take a seat." He gestures towards the many chairs around the table and I gratefully pull up one to his left, lowering myself into it gingerly.

"Lideri," I start but he interrupts me.

"If this is about the deal, Miss Jennings, it can wait until you are fully healed."

Do they really think I would be this determined if it was just about the deal? That I would drag myself from a hospital bed just to make sure he kept his word?

Given my track record, probably yes. But, it still annoys me.

"It's not about the deal. Although, we both know that I have kept my end and that you are a man of honor that will keep to his word." He doesn't seem to detect the sarcasm laced through my voice. "This is much more important."

"Go on then." He leans back in his chair, eyeing me warily.

"Were you aware that Henry Delgado was the one that turned that frat boy?" I question, but don't even need to hear his answer. It's written all over his face and I can see by his lack of reaction. He knew.

"I had my suspicions, yes. It made sense."

"Well then, you must have also been aware that he has turned others. And that he has instructed them to come after you," I stop and correct myself, "us, if he disappears?"

He sits up straighter, his one remaining eye widening at the revelation. His mouth opens slightly and glances quickly towards Caleb behind me as though wanting confirmation of what I have just said. Unless he is a very good actor, I don't think that he did know about this.

"Wait, Jennings," Caleb intervenes from just above my right shoulder. "Are you saying that Henry created-,"

"His own private army?" I finish Caleb's sentence. "That's exactly what I'm saying."