He dipped into consciousness twice. The first time was when the first commotion started, a door banging open, startling him enough that he could open his eyes and see, briefly, blurred images of a stark white wall and a faceless face, lit from behind by a strong, white light. The air smelled strongly of antiseptic and underneath that, mint, stirring memories of childhood fears.

“I can’t believe I missed this. Another Ash. This should’ve been taken care of years ago. But it’s never too late to tie up loose ends.”

Then another face appeared, this one shinier and larger than the others. Looking at it was like staring into a void—no, a black, glittering orb like a starry sky—and then the face turned into a person and the person was breathing hard, carrying him. . . . Deep-sea noises surrounded him and then a dark, masculine voice made him shrivel up inside his skin.

“What the hell is this? Who are you? Stop him!”

The overwhelming nausea forced him back to sleep.

The second time he woke up, two familiar faces swam in front of his eyes. It took a frighteningly long time to discern any more than that, his head swaying back and forth as he tried to concentrate.

“I think he’s waking up.” It was Oliver’s voice, and the familiarity of it made Dan want to burst into tears. He was safe. Thank God he was safe. His hand ached like crazy, but at least he was no longer in Finnoway’s clutches.

Oliver’s familiar dark eyes came into focus; the other boy was kneeling next to the mattress on which Dan lay. Oliver put one hand on Dan’s shoulder, shaking gingerly. His eyes were huge, searching back and forth across Dan’s face. “I know you’re still weak, but I need you to try and remember.”

“Remember what?” Dan growled. Ugh. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with rocks. “Where am I?”

“You’re at my apartment and safe. Everything’s going to be okay, I just need you to think back. He must have said something. He had to say the words. Was our debt repaid? Was my debt repaid?”

Dan’s head swam as he tried to make sense of the question. His memories had fractured, and for the moment he could do nothing but blink back at the other boy. “I don’t understand. . . . Oliver, you saved me. You . . . I don’t know what that evil asshole would’ve done to me. He drugged me and then . . . I don’t remember much. I don’t remember anything.”

“You don’t?” Oliver sat back on his heels, then leapt to his feet and began pacing back and forth. “No, that’s not right. He had to say the words. This should’ve been enough. You should have been enough.”

Enough? Dan blinked up at him through foggy eyes. His shirt smelled strangely minty, like he had just been to the dentist’s office. Just following Oliver’s path back and forth across the room made Dan dizzy again. “Oliver . . . What are you talking about?”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Oliver spun to face him, wringing his hands out and then approaching again to fall to his knees. “Dan. I messed up.”

Flashes of the morning returned to him. Images in reverse. He felt the heat of the needle pricking his neck, then the cold shiver of his father’s ghost walking through him. A Finnoway’s name on those funeral documents. Documents, he was now certain, that were gone.

Not a bad find. But not enough to wipe away the debt.

“I don’t understand. You saved me,” Dan murmured, curling up on himself in the bed.

“I wish that was true.” But it clearly wasn’t. Dan recoiled, no longer trusting the safety that Oliver had mentioned. Had he tumbled from one fire and into another? “But I didn’t realize how stupid I’d been until you turned up unconscious on my stoop. I was grateful that you were alive. No, that’s a lie. I was afraid. But now I’m grateful.”

It was still like Oliver was speaking in another language altogether, and Dan’s head was too stuffed with cotton to make sense of the words. “Wait—I ‘turned up’?”

“Yeah, some good Samaritan was kind enough to dump your ass on my doorstep, out cold and bandaged. Not exactly a delivery I was expecting.” Oliver smoothed both hands over his face, scrubbing at his forehead.

“Who, though?” Dan murmured. “Who would come for me and then just leave?”

“I don’t know who did it, but you owe them a debt of gratitude for damn sure,” Oliver said. “Most people, they tangle with Finnoway and they don’t make it out alive.”

“How do you know that?” Dan replied gruffly. He was still trying to wrap his head around the phrase “out cold and bandaged,” but he was getting the clear impression that his friends had been right about Oliver after all. “Bandaged,” he whispered, unsteady against the pillows.

“Yeah,” Oliver said softly, carefully picking up Dan’s hand and lifting it so Dan could see it. His hand was wrapped tightly in a bulky bandage, clean and white, secured over the palm with a tiny metal clip. His bright pink fingers poked out of the bandage, except for one.

Where his little finger should have been was just a blank. He gaped at the empty spot, feeling that throb from before return and spread, searing down toward his elbow.

They have my bones.