Staring at the night sky, she wondered how much he truly loved her--or whether he was just staying out of obligation. Sometimes it seemed like he truly loved her; the times when she would catch him staring at her as she walked around the room they shared. The amazed look in his eyes, then the sheepish grin when he realized she had caught him once again.

But then there where the times when she noticed him staring at the cars in the garage with a look of indecision--like he didn't know which one could take him further, faster.

And she knew about the bags he kept packed under the bed. Two, which was one more than he had when she had met him. But she figured in the three years he had been here, he'd accumulated a few more clothes.

She should have looked in the bags.

He had heard the talk, she was too young, he was too old. Then later, of registration, of camps.

He knew she wondered when he would leave again. He knew she would be going with him.

He should have told her that.

The day came.

The vans were loaded up.

She went willingly--even after having Erik in her head yelling at her to run the other way. And strangely, Logan in her head agreeing with him.

Logan disappeared.

Marie died in the New York Camps.

There was one bag still in their room.