Stolen by Ella James

had spread, the Candidate with a Nephilim crush. Did they despise her? She figured Nathan did. Did she care?
No. So at least there was that, but the flip side was what she did care about: Cayne.
She rubbed her aching eyes, her mind a battlefield for two different Caynes : one, the Cayne she’d healed back in the warehouse—the one who’d used his mind-control power to get her a sleeping bag and a wardrobe of cute new clothes, the one she’d taught to drive, the one whose hair she’d cut, who had wrapped his arms around her inside the Chosen meeting place in Salt Lake City. The one who held her as he flew, who’d tried to go away when he’d remembered who he was—and what he’d done. The one who’d told her about how he’d become what he’d become. He’d only been a kid when Samyaza had gotten him… And yet he’d never made excuses. She knew him—knew his eyes and knew his aura—and she’d seen his misery.
This Cayne— her Cayne—couldn’t be a murderer.
So what Cayne had been?
Somewhere inside of him was the shadow of some other self: one who used his blood dagger the way Samyaza did. The one who thought—had thought—Chosen deserved to die. The one that made Nathan go pale. One like the one who’d killed Nathan’s brother. Who’d killed Harry and Suzanne.
And that one stood before the other one, the one she’d known. She wasn’t sure she could ever push him back out of the way.
She was probably crazy for even thinking about it.
A Hunter was a Hunter. They didn’t change. Isn’t that what Nathan had said?
The thought was so painful, she banished it and looked around the Commons.
She sat there for at least an hour, cataloguing people by aura, watching them use the balls of light in dodge ball, baseball, and the game where they threw them at the ceiling (and then competed to catch them as they fell). Everyone was dressed the same, and though they were all doing their weird Chosen version of hanging out, there was something strangely choreographed about their movements. They were so in sync…
She’d decided she was going back to her room—forget Nathan and his crew of tools—when he strode over, scowling. She quickly replaced her frown with the most neutral expression she could muster.
Not that she should have bothered. Nathan seemed in as bad a mood as she was. Without much preamble, he asked what she had seen.
“You mean in terms of auras? I can’t tell you.” She mimed zipping her lips. “Not till you take me to see Cayne again.”
Stupid her. Had she really thought that would work? Did she even want it to? Nathan just blinked at her, like don’t try this crap with me . She felt her shoulders sag, a la Charlie Brown.
She straightened them out. “You must not want to know very badly.”  
And he said the last thing she expected: “I can’t. The Hunter Cayne is being…questioned.”
“What!” Julia was on her feet, filled with an amount of concern that probably shouldn’t have surprised her. She felt the room tilt. “What are they doing to him?”
“Questioning. After that, I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “Now tell me who you’ve watched.”
“I watched everyone. I saw a lot of things. None of which you’ll know until I see Cayne—safe. He has to be unhurt.”
She caught the merest glimmer of emotion—some indecipherable combination of anger and wonder; wonder, she thought, that anyone could care for a Nephilim—before Nathan’s face went blank. He straightened, looking tall and strong in his uniform, like the G.I. Joes Harry had collected from his childhood. “I have no control over his fate. How many people would you say you saw?”
“I told you, everyone.”
“Oh.” The way his eyebrows arched told her this was enough information to keep him occupied, and she was seriously disappointed when he nodded, almost eagerly, and left her alone in the crowd.
*
“Okay, guys and gals. We’re doing something different today. Something special.” Just the sound of