Jane Tinker couldn't remember very much before she started running, but she wasted no time in bolting the moment the opportunity to do so presented itself.

Come to think of it, she realized as she nearly tripped going around a turn in the dilapidated buildings, she couldn't remember the reason she'd started running in the first place. And where exactly was she running to? There was nowhere up ahead but more winding streets and dark ruins than she knew existed in the modern world. Did people really let things die so slowly these days, off in their own corners with nothing but the rain to watch them crumble apart? It seemed like a senseless thing to do; knocking the lot down and plowing it all away would certainly be more beneficial for everyone, particularly teenage girls with no recollection of how to get out of the mess they were running from. How had she even gotten in here?

No matter, she told herself in a strict inner tone. You got yourself into this and you can get yourself back out. Just find an exit street! There had to be one somewhere; places like this didn't just happen in the middle of regular society. She was sure an end would show itself eventually.

Just keep running. Don't stop running. Her sides were starting to hurt a little from the strain of exercise coupled with bad breathing habits. What a way to go.

She rounded another blown-through set of apartments before she felt too assaulted to go on. Collapsing against the dirty brick wall, Jane took in huge, gulping breaths, praying silently for no one to hear her dying so pathetically. When her heart finally found its regular old beat, she slid down to sit and leaned her pounding head on the wall again, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts privately.

1. Name? Jane Tinker.
2. Birthday? October 13.
3. Location? New York.

Okay, so those were easy to answer. Whatever damage was fogging up her more recent memories didn't seem to be affecting anything vital. But what about short term specifics? She knew someone had once told her a major sign of a concussion was short-term memory loss, and she didn't know how to treat a serious head injury, much less a personal one.

4. Where are you? I don't know.
5. What day is it? I don't know.
6. What happened? I don't know.

Great. Off to a wonderful start.

Jane picked herself up carefully off the ground and tested her balance with walking forward. She made it a few tentative steps, then a few more without touching the graffiti-coated wall beside her—no issues there. If someone had left a sign up nearby, she could test out her eyesight, too, but that seemed fine anyway. So, was it only her mind that was messed up? That couldn't possibly be good, right?

“Hey! Finally found you, my girl. When I said run, you do know I didn't mean take a lap around town, right?”

“Who's there?” Her voice came out harsher than she intended, but she didn't take the exclamation back. With shaky knees, she put a hand in her pocket and balled it into a fist like she was grabbing something of actual substance. “I've—I've got mace. You try anything stupid, and maybe my hand will slip,” she threatened. It came out not quite as brave as before, but whoever it was stopped approaching; that was a good sign.

“Mace? Really? Come on, it's only me. Rowan's waiting for us back at Madame's, but he won't wait forever.”

“Only you? Who are you? And who's Rowan, or Madame, or whoever?” She back up a step, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the guy up ahead. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

Silence. Quietly, the reply came: “You really don't know? Or you're insanely good at playing dumb.”

“Don't call me dumb,” she snapped. If only she really did have mace; that guy would be on the ground in seconds for calling her names after sneaking up behind her already. What a creep. The whole situation felt entirely too creepy for Jane's tastes.

Then again, she had no idea what her tastes even were. What if she was here because this was the sort of thing she liked?

Cross that bridge when you come to it, dear, she told herself, and straightened up to appear more intimidating. As if; skinny girls with barely five and a half feet to their name were hardly the scariest things on the streets. Still, it couldn't hurt to look more confident.

“Answer my questions,” she insisted imperiously.

The boy raised his hands in surrender, walking forward carefully while restraining a barely hidden smirk under his tight lips. All at once, he was in full view, no longer cast in the shadows where he'd waited before, and Jane was able to finally get a good look at her possible assailant. The boy was tall and lean, built like an athlete but with none of the anxious creases in his handsome features. He was not obviously handsome once she got used to it, sporting a crooked mouth and a mildly broken nose, both of which oddly complimented his unruly mess of dirty blonde hair and the unmistakable glint of trouble in his eyes that told of long nights planning short battles. Those same eyes were at once the palest and yet the brightest shade of green she'd ever seen in any color scheme. Coupled with that hair and the uncommonly tan skin of his forearms and neck, the boy looked like summer stuck inside a movie about snow.

“Okay, okay,” he said coolly. “You've got me. Didn't know city girls had such poor recollection rates; I thought I'd stick in your head a lot longer than that. In any case, I'm Pan. The street rat from the after party? I'm helping you find your sister.”

“My sister?” Jane hadn't known she had a sister. “Why were you chasing me?”

“Chasing is a strong word,” he objected. “I was following you, because you were running away and I couldn't quite catch up. You've got very good stamina, my girl.”

Following. And helping, too? Jane let her hands relax and settled her heart down enough so she could talk normally. “Your name is Pan? That sounds made up.”

His face screwed up a little at her accusation. “You must really not remember me, or you're incredibly redundant. You said that last time, too. The first time I introduced myself, I mean.”

“Sorry. But it can't be your real name, right?”

“Can't it?”

Jane blinked back at him. He smiled gallantly. “Ready to go, then? Like I said, Rowan's waiting. At least, I assume he's waiting. You probably forgot how impatient he is, or we'd be there already.”

“Where exactly is there?”

“Madame's. It's our rendezvous point in case any of us—oh, you know what, let's just skip the details for now and we can talk about it when we get there.” He flashed a grin her way, turning on his heel to lead them out of the urban maze. “If anything's going to jog your memory, my girl, it'll be Madame's. You'll see.”

Everything in her bones told her not to go. But as her mind kept replaying his sudden smile, her feet followed his, unconsciously leading her on to maybe something better.

At least, she hoped that's where she was headed. All her questions melted away into a soft buzz at the base of her neck and she walked, quietly following Pan away.