The white Victorian country house was the strangest place to set up a psychiatric practice. It was on the outskirts of a small town located a couple of hours out of London, surrounded by rolling green fields. It was greener than the tropics.

I'd never imagined Stuart Neville to be the country type, but then again, I also wouldn't have imagined that he'd call himself Neil Stewart, either. I slammed the door of the black BMW shut and walked up the gravel footpath. Stuart had his new name on a sign by the door. He must be so proud of his clever name change. Bizarre.

I was half an hour early to my scheduled appointment. There were no other cars parked out the front, but I waited another ten minutes, taking in the fresh air of the darkening countryside. I scratched my newly bleached blonde hair out of nervousness. When it was almost time, I thrust one hand into my coat pocket and knocked on the door with the other. It swung open within a second, like somebody had been standing by it, waiting for me.

Linkin glared at me with her cold blue eyes. Her hand was tensed, like she was trying her hardest to not shut the door on me. She was dressed smartly in a blue-grey blouse, black skirt, and black nylons that tucked into high heels. She frowned at my new urban look, seemingly saying, "it's not New York anymore".

"Hey, Linkin—"

"Fuck you," she said through clenched teeth. Linkin threw the door open and shouted into the hallway, "Stuart, your bitch-o'clock is here for you!"

I looked at her calmly, stepped into the house and took off my coat. I stood there awkwardly in a sleek black dress and ankle boots, stunned in my tracks. Fuck you? Bitch-o'clock? I blinked my wide-open eyes at Linkin. Someone missed me more than I'd expected.

"Can I get you anything, Miss Traitor?" Linkin added, trying to look dangerous. It was sort of cute.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," I said coolly, but couldn't bring myself to smile. I'd prepared myself for this on the long flight – I knew that neither of them would be happy to see me.

When Linkin realized that she couldn't provoke me, she huffed and stormed off upstairs. Soon after, I heard a door slam shut.

"Nice," I said, looking at the empty hallway, tensed up but amused. "I'll just give myself therapy, no problem."

"Ira?"

I turned to the voice. Stuart stood on the other side of the spacious hall, arms hanging by his side. He looked different to when I'd last seen him, dressed much too warmly in black jeans and a blue sweater, thinner than I remembered. Gone was the easygoing friend that I'd warmed up to in Mexico; he looked exhausted and for some reason, it reminded me of the misery I'd felt on Dell Island. Pushing up his glasses, Stuart looked unsure about how to approach me. When I walked over to him, he folded his arms across his chest defensively. He looked wary, forlorn, but not angry like Linkin was.

"Hey, Stuart," I said, trying to keep my composure, but seeing the hurt on his face made my insides clench – maybe I'd made him this way. "Or Neil?" When he didn't look amused in the slightest, I gave up my attempt at pleasantries. "Let's sit down. We need to talk."

Stuart invited me to sit in an armchair and took a seat facing me. The setup for his office was comfortable, much better than what he had in the labs. "I never thought you'd come back, Ira. What's the matter?" The words that came out of him were nonchalant, at odds with the expression on his face, the clenched hands in his lap.

"Celestia found me," I said, looking him hard in the eyes. I didn't know if I was here to warn them that they were still looking for us or if I was here to stay. "I was in New York. I could have kept a lower profile, but they could eventually be onto you, too."

Stuart's face contorted in a scowl. He stood up and called for Linkin, and the thought of facing her again made me shiver. After leaving them out of this for so long, we were still in this together. "What happened?" His voice was pinched.

I heard Linkin stomp upstairs, muttering angrily under her breath. Careful not to let too much of the memory of Celestia surface, I said, "She tried to drown me."

♟♙♟♙

Linkin barely uttered five words the whole time I awkwardly recounted my dreadful experience in the pool. She barely looked at me even when Stuart, concerned, asked me questions and I answered them as best I could while keeping my composure. When there was no more information that Stuart could squeeze out of me, Linkin grumpily excused herself, saying she was going to prep dinner.

"You can put your things in the spare room." Stuart looked at me apologetically. "And park your car in the garage."

I didn't have much, just the light bag that I took to Mexico, full of dirty clothes and bundles of cash. As I carried it to the spare bedroom on the second floor, I noticed Stuart's judgemental apprehension of my light packing before he forced a smile across his lips. I avoided his gaze, avoided looking at the room too closely. I shouldn't get too comfortable. "Thanks, Stuart."

"You're welcome." A small sigh escaped him on the way back down the stairs. "I'd better hijack the kitchen. Linkin likes culinary accidents."

"I know," I replied. One of the first things I'd learned about our crew was that Linkin shouldn't be left alone in the kitchen. Miguel had leaned protectively over his beans when I'd asked if Linkin helped out. "I don't know why you let her go alone in the first place."

"Better dash. Make yourself comfortable." My weak smile and humour seemed to cheer him up a bit.

Stuart's salvaged seared chicken with mash and baked vegetables was a winner, and it made me wonder what Linkin's version of it would have been. I wasn't sure I could have stomached bad food after everything that had happened, after being spoiled with Miguel's meals. The atmosphere, however, was even more tense than before. I could see Stuart almost breaking out of his usual calm demeanour, and Linkin made more noise poking around her plate than actually chewing. I avoided both sets of eyes.

"Nice hair," Stuart finally said to me.

"Doesn't suit her," Linkin muttered, setting her fork down to glare.

"Linkin." Stuart sounded like an embarrassed parent.

"She's right," I jumped in. "I don't like it either. It's only so I look less recognizable. But Linkin's right. Blonde isn't me."

"What were you up to in New York?" Stuart asked with raised eyebrows. We seemed to have silently agreed to avoid the topic of why I disappeared in the middle of the night from Miguel's house.

"Poker."

Stuart looked at Linkin, shocked. "Poker?"

Once I'd recovered enough from my infected wound, we spent our weeknights playing poker with Miguel. Stuart and I were the worst players until I discovered I could cheat.

"That's right, poker," I said. I could feel Linkin drain the energy from me and I didn't want to talk anymore. "Ludicrous, huh?"

Linkin chewed on her chapped bottom lip and nodded absently. After a few empty seconds, she pushed her chair back and stood up. "I don't feel too well. I think I might have an early night."

"Take it slow, Linkin," Stuart said with warm concern. We both watched as Linkin dragged herself up the stairs. The floorboards squeaked under her footsteps.

After I heard her door shut, I turned to Stuart. "She hates me that much?" When he didn't reply, my eyes began to wander. The house was decorated with care, like it leapt off lifestyle magazines. No wonder Stuart and Linkin preferred to live like regular people as opposed to hunting down an organization. This place was cozy.

"It's been really hard on Linkin, you know," Stuart said quietly, his green eyes sad. "She remembers every detail of suffering. For a while, she didn't want to live anymore because she blamed herself for what happened to Jaysen. She felt trapped and for you to suddenly run off like that... You were always the one with more freedom to her." He sighed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Play back my island records," I snapped bitterly, finally losing my cool. "Free, what bullshit. I'm sorry, but that's not how it works. And how does she think I feel about Jaysen? And Celestia?"

Stuart folded his arms, knowing that the same thoughts had occurred to me. For the longest time, I'd lay in bed, unable to move except to tell the others to let me die, that Jaysen should be here instead of me. Ironically, having a relatively normal life at Miguel's helped me out of the darkest corners of my mind.

"Ira, that's not what I meant." Stuart stared intently at his empty glass of water and took a sudden interest in observing it from every angle. "Linkin always thought that you were the one with most hope, and you leaving made her think even less of herself, especially with her untreated mutation."

"She had you." I was so quiet that I was almost whispering.

Stuart smiled, but everything about him was gloomy. "But so did you."