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But they weren't off. His belief was.

Which meant maybe a little memory manipulation had been going on. It would certainly explain his unshakable belief that I was his sister.

"This is all going horribly wrong." He rubbed a hand across his eyes, then added softly, "You haven't been taking your tablets, have you? They said it would be a problem if you didn't."

"Who said?" I demanded. "And what were you putting in the coffee?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was told to use it and I did. I figured you suspected something was up with the coffee when you went and bought your own, so I stopped."

That explained why the coffee had started tasting slightly better recently - but it still wasn't hazelnut. I hungered for that almost as much as I hungered to see Rhoan and ... someone else. Someone who looked a whole lot like Harris. Someone who might well be dead. My throat closed over at the thoughts, and I had to force my question out. "And you report to the people behind this every night?"

"Yes." He slumped down in the car seat a little. "Look, in all honesty, I can't really tell you much."

"Then tell me what you do know."

He was silent again, staring out the window, his expression miserable. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"My real name is Evin Jenson. I'm a border patrol guard for the Glen Helen Jenson pack."

A chill ran through me. I knew that name. Knew that location. I'd grown up there, learned to fight and hate and fear there. The home of your birth, that internal voice said. But not the home of your heart. "That's in the Northern Territory, isn't it?"

His brow furrowed. "Yeah, but not many people would know that."

"Unless that's where you were born."

He blinked. "You can't be from the Glen Helen Jenson pack, because I would have recognized you."

I smiled grimly. One of the problems with implanting a sole memory or belief was the fact you could never account for all the questions that might provoke the wrong sort of answer. Or right one, as it was in this case.

Evin didn't know me, despite his belief to the contrary.

"There's a few years' difference between us," I commented. "Which probably meant we would have run in very different circles."

And there were other reasons we might never have met - reasons I couldn't remember right now, thanks to whoever had meddled with my mind.

"But the pack isn't that big and you're my sis - "

"Evin," I said softly, "I'm not. That's a belief someone has planted in your mind."

"What?" He looked at me like I was crazy.

And very possibly, I was. After all, I was just going on instinct here, and it had sometimes led me very far astray.

"Look, someone has seriously messed my memories. It isn't just the tablets. Someone with telepathic abilities has erased - or at least contained - not only the knowledge of who I am, but where I lived, what I did, and who I loved. It's probable that someone has snatched pieces of your memory, too, just to make it easier for you to project the lie."

"You're wrong. I know you're wrong." He stared at me for a moment, confusion bright in his eyes, then said,

"Even so, I can't have been lying all that well if you've seen through it."

"The whole situation felt wrong, Evin. It wasn't just your lying." Although that didn't help. "Did you ever meet with any of them?"

"No. There was a meeting arranged, but they didn't turn up. Contact after that was always via the phone."

"Then how did you get your instructions about me?"

"Text, mostly."

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