Just keep walking. No one has any reason to think you don't belong here. For all they know, you're just another face in the crowd. No one suspects a thing. Just. Keep. Walking.

There was nowhere to look that didn't feel like a reminder. Every flower was her favorite color, every shop somewhere she would've loved. Out of the corners of his eyes, every face looked like hers. It seemed like a betrayal, being here without her. The things they'd talked about for hours felt awful without her there.

He needed a way to get her back. But what could he do? There was no insane plan that would work this time. No one of his classic schemes would have a chance of succeeding. They knew him. They knew every part of his mind, every angle he could devise. She was gone forever. And he could do nothing about it. He couldn't save her, couldn't help at all.

Another unpleasant thought came into his mind. Where was he supposed to go? He didn't have any friends. No family, nowhere to stay. The most likely option at this point was to sleep under a bench in the park. It could be worse.

She could've done something. Her plans actually worked. She was the smartest person he'd ever known. She knew so much about the world. But in the end, it hadn't helped her. Not much could've.

He'd never been sure they were following the two of them until she'd disappeared.

Then he knew.

Every time he thought about it, bile-flavored hatred rose in his throat and nausea swam in his stomach. It disgusted him, what the Angels did to people who challenged their authority.

The pictures flashed through his mind, and he had to stop and grip the metal bar, his vision tilting.

Someone bumped into him and scoffed. "Watch where you're going."

Scott looked up and found an Angel officer.

Something hateful twisted violently in his chest, leaving him breathless. Before he knew what he was doing, he leapt at the officer and was digging his dirt-caked nails into his face.

The officer shouted and kicked him off. Unfortunately for Scott, that foot landed directly in his stomach.

He vomited all over the bridge, nothing but water and stomach acid splattering the concrete.

The officer slammed a knee between his shoulders, pinning him against the bridge, his face in his own puke.

"You are under arrest for assault of an officer. Do not resist arrest." The officer cuffed Scott, and through the ringing in his head and the rocking of his stomach, Scott couldn't even groan.

He was hauled to his feet, where he clumsily walked---or rather stumbled---his way along with the officer.

Still no revenge for her.

That would have to wait.