Chapter One

I have things I should be doing.

That thought rings in my head and bounces around, rattling in my brain as I sit in one of the offices of the financial aid building, listening to the man behind the desk tell me I failed to send in the forms I needed to in order to keep my scholarship.

And that, somehow, those stupid forms should've been sent in two months ago. Like, I'm late, obviously, and telling this guy I was unaware I had to redo the forms every single year doesn't matter.

There is nothing he can do for me.

He's young, in his twenties, maybe a graduate student working while also teaching. Capitalism for you. It's hard to take him seriously as he goes on, "For students with cases similar to yours, we do recommend visiting us more often—"

He says more, lots more, but I tune him out because I just can't shake the feeling that I'm not where I'm supposed to be.

Which doesn't make sense at all. If I'm not supposed to be here, then where the hell should I be? My life is crumbling around me, bit by bit, and if I don't pick up the slack somehow and fix the mess, I won't have anything left.

No job, so I'm late on rent. And now no scholarship. My life is peaches and cream. Peaches and fucking cream.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, my mind at war so much it's giving me a freaking headache. I tell him, "I'm sorry. I'm not… there's a lot going on in my life."

"It sounds like maybe you're juggling a little too much." Unless I'm mistaken, I detect a hint of pity in his voice, and his dark eyes stare at me like he wishes he could help me, but he simply can't.

God, what I wouldn't give to make things right. To make things normal for me. This sucks.

"Listen," the financial aid officer says, "all we can do is wait until next semester starts and turn in your forms then. You'll miss the fall semester next year, but if we stay on top of things—" As he goes on, explaining about the only thing I can do, something weird happens.

I get the strangest sense of déjà vu, and the hairs on the back of my next prickle and stand up. Just like that, it's like I'm not in the financial aid office. I'm somewhere else, somewhere far away, where problems like this don't concern me at all, a place where I'm drowning.

He talks about helping me out with FAFSA, and I mutter something about not having any credit. This is all feeling… familiar, for some reason, but I can't explain how or why. All I can say is I don't feel right.

"I have to go," I mumble as I lurch to my feet and lumber toward the door. I don't wait to hear him say goodbye; I just go. Sitting in that office, listening to him… it's like torture on a normal day, but today feels different.

Today feels wrong. Like I've been here before, like I have somewhere else I should be.

But where?

Somehow I manage to sit in my afternoon classes, though my attention span is shot. I swing by the library after that to use their computers to fill out as many job applications as I can. Hours pass, and I get annoyed more than once.

A familiar feeling of hopelessness takes over me. Sometimes I just feel… like it'd be so much easier to give up. Give up, give in, stop trying. Ever since my dad died, it's like I've had something to prove, but lately it feels like the world just isn't cut out for me.

Or, I guess, I'm not cut out for the world. I don't belong here.

I hang my head low as I walk to my place. Off-campus, it's downtown, just above a bar. An old bar that looks out of place now that everything is new and built-up. It's why the rent is so cheap. About the only place I can afford since my scholarship didn't include housing costs.

Wait a second. That's a lie. I said I can afford it, but that's a fucking lie. I got fired and I'm late on the rent. Frank is understanding when things come up, but I hate letting him down like that.

I don't go up through the bar; the fire escape on the side of the building in the alley is how I reach my place. I'm so lost in my head, trying to dissect the nagging feeling that refuses to go away, that I don't realize Frank is coming out of the door to the second-floor hall, where my apartment is.

When I see him, I freeze. "Frank. Why aren't you downstairs working the bar?" It's late enough. I spent hours at the library. Too long with nothing to show for it, although with any luck, that will change soon.

"I wanted to see if you were home yet," Frank mutters as he rubs his jaw. Pulling away from me, he moves to lean on the metal railing behind me. An older man, wrinkled around his eyes, skin with countless sunspots; but I like him. We get along.

I… don't get along with most people my age. Don't ask me why.

It doesn't take a psychic to know what this is about. "I don't have the rent yet, Frank." The words come out in a whisper… and they feel wrong. Like I spoke them before, somehow. Like I'm a character on a stage, trapped in a play—but that doesn't make sense. "Can I have a few more weeks?"

"Rey," Frank says with a sigh as he turns to face me, "I'm gonna level with you. The bar ain't—"

"Doing good," I finish for him, somehow already knowing what he's going to say.

He gives me a weird look. "Yeah. You'd think that wouldn't be an issue in a college town, but there's all these new, fancy places that serve—" From what it sounds like, he's launching a monologue about the other bars putting him out of business.

Again, it's like I already know what he's going to say. "And you need someone who can afford the rent." Why does this all seem so familiar? Why can't I shake the feeling that I should be somewhere else? It's the strangest thing, and I almost miss the fact that Frank gives me one more week to get the rent together.

"And I hope you're smart enough to know an eviction doesn't look good on anybody," he warns, and he's right. Having an eviction on my record would mean it'll be harder for me to get a place in the future.

Nobody wants a tenant who's been evicted.

Frank must sense I'm too lost in my head, because he gives me a nod and says, "I should get down to the bar. Don't worry too much, kid. I'm sure things will work out." With a smile and a pat on the shoulder, he leaves.

I watch him go, feeling some kind of way. Depressed, down in the dumps, like nothing I will ever do matters. Things shouldn't be this hard. I shouldn't have to fight constantly just to keep my head above water. If this is what life is going to be like for the rest of my life…

What's the point?

I don't have a dad to help me. I never had a mom. My foster family are pieces of shit, and I don't talk to them anymore. I'm alone, and as I stand there on the metal scaffolding, I can't shake how much everything weighs on me.

Closing my eyes, I head into the hall. Key in hand, I unlock the door to my place and step inside. It's a small place. Slightly bigger than a studio since it has one bedroom, but the bedroom is tiny; barely fits a bed and a dresser I trash-picked not so long ago. I've only been here a few months, and it still doesn't feel like home.

Nowhere feels like home. It's a feeling that has followed me my whole life; I never really felt at home anywhere. It's like I knew, deep down, I was meant to be somewhere else.

But where?

I drop my bag, about to collapse on the bed and pull out my dad's picture. It's the only thing I have left of him. Everything else… well, you'd be surprised what gets lost when you're shuffled around from family to family because no one wants a moody ten-year-old girl who hates the world and blames everyone for her unlucky life.

But before I can pull out the picture, I hear something in the living room, and I rush out of my bedroom to find that I'm not alone in my place. Someone stands near the window overlooking the street, someone I don't recognize.

And, obviously, someone who shouldn't be in here.

A man.

He doesn't notice me, so I move to the kitchen as silently as I can and pull out a butter knife. Can't exactly stab with it, but I don't have any good stabbing knives. I move around the counter in the kitchen, toward the stranger, seconds from asking him what the hell he's doing here.

The man is tall. Six and a half feet, maybe. I can only see his back, but even so, I note how wide his shoulders are, how well-built he is all-around. Strong. Someone like that could easily overpower me, but whoever he is, I'm not going to make it easy for him.

Seriously, how the hell did he get here? I didn't hear him follow me in, and I locked the door behind me.

"I must say," he speaks, his voice carrying an accident that is oddly known to me, "you disappoint me, Rey. I thought, surely, you would've caught on by now." The man pulls away from the window, and though the only light I have on is the one in the kitchen, it's enough for me to see just how gorgeous he is.

Short blond hair, with cheekbones chiseled from white marble. A square jaw, a strong nose, and brilliant blue eyes that currently study me like I'm some failed experiment. His mouth is drawn into a thin line, his expression reading unimpressed.

"Who are you?" I ask as I hold out the butter knife. Ten feet between us, and yet it's like he's right on top of me. I've never seen his face before, but I know him. I know I know him; I just can't remember where.

The man glances at himself. "I must admit, the clothing in your world leaves much to be desired." A notch of distaste as he speaks, and he tugs at the t-shirt he has on. "But they were necessary to blend in."

Blend in? What the hell is this guy going on about?

He gives his back to me again, gazing out of the window like he was before. "I will say, though, your world does have some marvels. Ravaging a world like this, the destruction would be beautiful."

I don't move closer to him, but I do call out, "Hey! I asked you a question, buddy. Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?"

The man smirks as he returns his stare to me, and he moves away from the window, stalking toward me. Clearly, he's not frightened of my butter knife… or of me. He stops when he is three feet away, close enough to pull all of the air out of my lungs.

"You truly don't recognize me?" he asks, and I decide right then I don't appreciate the way he watches me. Like he's a hunter and I'm his prey. Like he wants to toy with me because he already has me injured and cornered.

He breathes out a dramatic sigh before taking another step closer.

He's too close. I don't want him this close. I go for him with the butter knife, but he swats my hand aside and grabs my wrist to stop me from attacking him again. His hand is so large it curls around my wrist easily, and then some, and his grip is inescapable.

I try to push him away with my other hand, but he grabs that wrist too, and just like that, I'm out of options, and all I can do is stand there and gaze up at him with wide eyes.

"And after everything we've been through together," he whispers, though it sounds like he's mocking me. "I thought, surely, you'd put up more of a fight than this." The man glances around us, and his handsome features twist into disgust. "This is the life you wished to return to? I don't understand why. There is nothing remarkable about it."

My response is on the tip of my tongue: "It's my life."

His icy blue stare is back on me, his neck bent at an angle since he's so goddamned tall. "Is it?" he asks, venom in his accented voice. His hands hold onto my wrists tighter, enough to elicit a gasp of shock from me. "Or were you meant to find me, to make me whole? Perhaps you were always meant to undo what the empresses did to me."

Empresses? What—

It's like a light switch is flicked on in my brain, and everything comes flooding back. Finding that crystal. Breaking it. Waking up in a strange, magical land besieged by mystical forces. Being bonded with Rune, someone who turned out not to exist. Prim's grave. Frederick's hope…

And now here we are, face to face again, me and the monster the empresses tried to fight years ago.

The rage, the hurt, the absolute anger; it all comes rushing back, a tidal wave that might've knocked me down if he wasn't holding me up. I narrow my eyes as I glare up at him and whisper, " Invictis ."

The smile he gives me chills me to the bone, and yet his hands on my wrists are a warm reminder of how tempting he can be. "There she is," he hisses out the words, sounding almost excited that I now remember him and all the lies he fed me.

All the time we spent talking. All the time we roamed the countrysides of Acadia, Pylos, and Magnysia. The conversations I thought were shared between friends. Friends who got on each other's nerves, sure, but friends all the same.

Someone, something like Invictis can have no friends.

I fight against his grip, but he's too strong. I'm too weak. All I can say is, "Let me go." The fight is renewed inside me. No more am I depressed over the state of my life. All I can think about is the being in front of me and how much I hate him.

"And why would I do that when I have you right where I want you?" Invictis flashes another smile my way, its sharp cruelty plain as day. "I told you I wanted to make it last, Rey, so let's try this again."

The blueness in his eyes flash a vivid, metallic gold, and a bright light shines from within him, engulfing me. Though I try to resist, the light swallows me, devours me, taking everything I am for itself.