The airport.

Using some of the money Holden left, I buy a ticket on the first flight out of Arizona. Maybe it's irrational, and maybe it's stupid, making this decision on a whim, but I'm tired of thinking. I'm tired of suffocating. I'm tired of being alone.

This isn't my life.

And I'm not going to live it anymore.

I wore Cody's hoodie to class.

Sister Abigail singled me out for breaking the dress code the moment I stepped into Calculus, ignoring the fifteen other girls in class with too short skirts and a hell of a lot of unapproved hair 'dos. I ignored her, refusing to take it off, for the first time in my life talking back to a nun. She sent me straight to the principal's office for reprimanding, but I didn't care.

I was tired of caring when nobody else seems to anymore.

"You know the rules," the principal said as I sat across from him in the lavish office on the fancy leather chair that my father helped pay for with the outrageous tuition at this place. "You're only allowed to wear certain approved garments."

"So approve this one," I said, "then I'll be allowed to wear it."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "Because it doesn't. So take it off and-"

"No."

He raised his eyebrows at my denial. "No?"

"No," I said again. "Why do I have to follow the dress code when none of the other girls in this place do?"

He didn't answer that, but I knew the answer. None of them were Conner Callaghan's daughter. I knew my father well enough to know he called and complained, voicing his expectations for my schooling. He wanted the dress code followed, so they'd enforce it . . . on his little girl, at least.

"What's gotten into you?" the principal asked in lieu of answering my question. "This isn't like you at all, Grace."

I wanted to tell him he didn't know that . . . he couldn't know that . . . because he didn't know me at all. The only person who really ever knew me turned his back on me, leaving me with nothing but a heavy silver locket around my neck and a ratty old hoodie he didn't bother to take back, and nobody was going to take them from me.

Especially not today.

Not on my birthday.

He stared at me for a moment before shaking his head at my lack of response, knowing conversation about this was pointless. He said he had stuff to do and he supposed I'd be keeping him company, since I couldn't go back to class until I conformed to the dress code.

I slouched down in the chair instead of complying, getting comfortable, and sat there until final dismissal.

As soon as the bell rang, I stood up and turned to walk out, hearing him clear his throat behind me. "Wait a moment, Miss Callaghan."

I ignored him as I strolled outside, my brow furrowing when I found the hallways empty, all of the other students still in their classrooms, even though the day was over. The principal came out of his office after me, urging me to stop, but I refused to listen.

He could suspend me for all I cared.

The overnight snow hadn't stuck, but the sidewalks were still slick with ice, meaning the walk home was really going to suck.

Especially with who would insist on accompanying me.

As soon as I stepped out onto the stone steps, I saw my father standing in his usual spot, waiting. I considered walking right past him, considered pretending he wasn't even there, when something caught my eye in the distance. Flashing lights in my peripheral startled me, stalling my footsteps.

It happened quickly.

Out of nowhere, cars screeched to a halt right in front of the school, red and blue lights filling the overcast sky. Chaos erupted, men rushing onto the sidewalk, some with uniforms and guns, others wearing suits with shiny badges. My heart raced as adrenaline coursed through my body. I felt like I was going to faint as dizziness took over.

My father was thrown to the sidewalk before he could utter a single word.

"Connor Callaghan, you're under arrest."

I wasn't sure who said it. There were too many of them. My father's hands were forced behind his back as handcuffs were secured on his thick wrists.

What the hell is happening?

"Dad?" I cried, stunned to see blood streaking his face from a scrape on his cheek. They were being rough with him. "Oh God . . . what's going on?"

His eyes instantly sought me out. He looked calm, relaxed, not a worry in the world, like he wasn't even surprised he was being arrested.

"It's just a mistake, Grace," he said, ignoring the officers as they read him his rights. "That's all this is . . . a big mistake. I'll take care of it. Don't worry. I'll be back home before you know it."

He didn't have a chance to say anything more. In a blink, he was being hauled away, shoved into the back of an idling police cruiser.

I was still trying to wrap my head around what was happening when a woman approached. "Grace Callaghan?"

My eyes flickered to her.

She introduced herself. I didn't even catch her name. I was too busy watching my father disappear down the street. My mind was a flurry of frantic thoughts when the woman's voice again cut through the haze. "Grace, I'm going to need you to come with me."

I looked at her then. Really looked at her. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, wearing a run of the mill NYPD uniform. "Excuse me?"

"I need to take you down to the station. Don't worry-you're not in trouble."

Don't worry.

That was the same thing my father said.

I didn't listen.

I was worried.

"Why? What did I do?"

"Nothing," she said. "You did nothing wrong. This isn't your fault."

She used that tone on me . . . the tone that's reserved for children and the mentally unstable. I wondered, looking at me, which one of those she saw. "Then why do I need to go?"

"Your father's going away for a while. Since you're still a minor, we'll need to temporarily place you."

"Place me in what? A cell? Are you going to lock me up, too?"

"Of course not," she said. "Social services will place you in the care of an adult."

"This is all a mistake." I shook my head and took a step back. This woman seriously lost her damn mind. "You heard him. It's a mistake. It has to be. He's going to take care of it. You'll see."

The woman smiled sadly. It felt like she was mocking me. Poor little girl doesn't know what she's saying. "I'm afraid it's not a mistake. Your father is in serious trouble. He's not coming home anytime soon."

"Regardless," I said, taking another step back. And another. And another. "I'm not a little kid. I can take care of myself. I don't need to be placed anywhere."

I turned around just as she reached for me, catching my arm. Panic seized me, and I reacted instinctively, yanking my arm back away. Without another thought, I broke into a sprint, darting away from the woman and rushing back into the school building.

I wasn't at all surprised when she followed, shouting.

I darted through the halls and right out the back door, ducking through alleys and shoving past people when they got in my way. The sidewalk was practically a slip and slide, nearly knocking me on my ass when I rounded corners. My breath was coming out in sharp gasps and my body was trembling, but I didn't know if it was from fear or from the cold.

I lost the woman somewhere behind the school, but that did nothing to ease my worry, because as soon as I turned onto the block for my apartment building, I saw the cars. The same ones from the school, maybe, or they might have been others. I didn't know. All I knew was the place was crawling with police.

I couldn't go home.

I couldn't go home, but I didn't know where else to go.

Dropping my head down, I swiftly turned the other direction, going the only other place I could go for help.

The Morans.

I ducked inside their building when someone opened the front door, ignoring the shouts of protest from the doorman as I ran right past the elevator, dodging for the stairs. I was wheezing by the time I made it to the tenth floor, doubling over to try to catch my breath as I banged on the apartment door.

It was opened within moments, and I glanced up, meeting Cormac Moran's gaze. His brow furrowed when he saw me, and edge of something in his eyes. Anger.

My father may have never liked Cody, but it was nothing compared to how Cormac felt about me. I overheard him once say I was nothing more than an unfortunate inconvenience that got in the way of my father ever being somebody someday.

"I need to see Cody," I said . . . or tried to say, anyway. The words were rushed, jumbled, barely intelligible to my own ears, but he seemed to understand.

"He's not here," Cormac said.

"Where is he?" I asked, standing up straight, wishing my hands would stop shaking and my lungs would cooperate. "How can I find him?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't."

"But . . ." How could he not know? "I need to see him."

"I don't know where he is," Cormac said again, stressing the words, the anger now tingeing his voice. "He left here last night and hasn't returned."

"I know . . . I saw him last night, but he left and . . . he left, but I need to see him, and I thought . . ."

"You thought he'd be home," he said, "but he isn't, so you should go."

He started to shut the door, but I reached out, slamming my hand against it, stopping him. That anger in his eyes flared, but I was too frazzled to care. I knew the man has one hell of a temper, had seen proof of it on Cody's face way too many times, but I didn't think he'd ever hit me.

At least I hoped.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know where else to go. My father was arrested, and there are police everywhere and-"

"Connor was arrested? For what?"

"I don't know. He said it was all just a mistake."

"I'm sure he's right." Cormac leaned against the doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest. He studied me like he was trying to decide whether or not I was lying, like he thought maybe this was all some game. After a moment, he shook his head. "Go home. Wait it out. It'll blow over."

I tried to argue, to tell him I couldn't go there, when the door slammed in my face.

It was hard to know where to turn to when you didn't have anybody anymore. I kept my head down as I strolled around Hell's Kitchen, dodging away from police cars, seeking out Cody. I wasn't sure where to find him. I'd never had to do it before. He always just knew when I needed him. He always knew to come to me.

It was well after dark, and I was cold and shivering, my feet hurting and head pounding. I made my way back to the school, back to where this day all went to hell, and sat down on the steps in front of the building.

The neighborhood was quiet. I sat there for a while before the doors behind me opened. My heart stalled for a beat as I swung around, but it wasn't anybody I expected to see. My principal stood there, huddled up in a thick coat, his hand still on the door. He eyed me curiously, frowning.

It wasn't a church, but it was the closest I'd ever come to belonging to one. The man couldn't offer me sanctuary here. He had no obligation to help me, but part of me hoped he would. Standing up, I wrapped my arms around myself. "Please don't turn me in. I'll leave. I will. I just . . . I don't have anywhere to go."

His frown deepened as he motioned toward the building. "Come in out of the cold, Grace. You'll be safe here."

Safe. I wasn't sure I trust that word. Safe was something only Cody ever made me feel, and he was gone now. Where did he go?

Most of my life was spent in a box-a proverbial box, with four familiar walls and an enclosed top, shielding me from everything outside of it. The box felt too big to break out of but too small to spend the rest of my life in, like I was locked inside a cage with no bars, the worst kind of prison there is.

Because if you can't see your restraints, how are you supposed to escape them?

I lived in this box until the day it collapsed, the pressure on it too great to sustain the weight of reality. And now that I'm free of my invisible chains, I don't know where to go except for where I've always been.

Hell's Kitchen.

The place looks the same at first glance, but everything feels different. Everything. The street is too quiet while the air is bitter cold. It's after nightfall, darkness cloaking everything, so thick even the streetlights seem to struggle cutting through it. It's the city that never sleeps, but nobody seems to be awake, like a spell was cast over the neighborhood in the wake of what happened. Cars drive through on their way to somewhere else, lights on in some of the apartments, but it's nothing like it used to be. There are no boys hanging out on the corner. There's no shouting or laughing. The fire escapes are all empty. The windows are all closed.

And the diner on the corner, once open twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year, stands quiet, a shell of what it used to be, devastated in a fire sometime during my absence. The windows are all boarded up, the door busted. The sight of it makes my chest heavy.

I don't dwell. Not now, anyway. Instead I head to the small public library a few blocks away. It's even quieter here than it is out on the street, only a handful of people sitting around, studying. Slowly, I stroll up to the front desk, to the lone librarian on duty. She's relaxing in her chair, flipping through a magazine. "Excuse me, but do you have a computer I can use?"

She doesn't even look up. "We're closing in twenty minutes."