"You don't get it, Whit." Celia breaks into my words and smiles wistfully. "I've got to give you credit, baby. You really are the most sensitive football hero who ever walked the face of this world. But you're like a lot of guys in other ways, Whit. You're such a boy. You see and care about and protect only what's right in front of you."

"No." I shake my head in disbelief at her words. "That's not true. You know it isn't."

Why is she trying to hurt me?

"Yes, it is," Celia says, her eyes boring into mine. "Case in point. Where's your sister?"

I whirl around in a three-sixty. Wisty is…

Gone?

"What the…?" I start tearing around the square, looking down alleyways frantically. "Wisty!"

This can't be. Has she been kidnapped?

"You have to start thinking bigger, Whit." It's torture-Celia's voice is coursing through me like a living force, and all I want to do is capture it, surrender to it. But my sister…

"I know you're scared," she goes on, strangely unmoved by Wisty's disappearance. "You just lost someone you cared about, and you don't know how to deal with it. Think about that, Whit. It's the key."

"Wisty!" I scream. The only response is the whisking sound of an empty plastic bag skimming across the town square.

"Whit-up here. Look at me. I'm here to tell you more that you don't want to hear. You and Wisty need to stop running away from the New Order. Stop running from The One."

"Never! I'm going to find Wisty, and we're going back to the Shadowland-to find you. Not an image on a screen!"

Celia's thick, wavy black hair starts streaming out, tickling her lips. Almost as if it's responding to the wind in the plaza. The plastic bag blows into my face. I tear it away in frustration.

"Whit, are you listening to me? Do I need to get any louder?"

My head will explode if she does. "I can hear you, trust me. You're just not making sense at the moment."