Alright, so there's a rough fabric over my eyelids, what feels like a bandana wrapped around my mouth, and my hands are bound to a chair with a scratchy rope. My feet are resting in some sort of puddle on concrete, and there's a distinct scent of something festering.

What a wonderful situation you've gotten yourself into, Natara. Wouldn't your family just be so proud?

I am not one to be terribly self piteous. In fact, it's not a trait that I even objectively consent. But every rule has an exception, right?

I sigh deeply and suddenly pain flares up along my ribs. I can't seem to remember what has happened to me as of late. In fact, the last thing I remember was being front of the SFPD building. I watched Mal step inside for a minute, and Blaise with him, talking on her phone. I could see a few stars in the sky, which was uncommon for the polluted environment of San Francisco. There was a draft, and I had left my jacket in my hotel room. I shivered and took one step towards the door of my car and then—nothing. I come to a blank.

This is unsettling because: 1) I have been told that I possess an impeccable memory, and as of now I have known nothing that has ever hindered it, and 2) I know many of the disconcerting repercussions that can come of short-term amnesia.

And now I am starting to sound like my mother.

I'm uncomfortable in this position, but fidgeting does little to help my situation. Maybe I should scream or cry for help.

Wow, brilliant thinking Natara—that would totally work, especially counting on the fact that you are gagged.

Unrealistic and impractical thinking in evidently impossible situations. How hard did I hit my head?

I try and remember. Just before my last memory I was with Mal. The edges of my lips curve up into a smile, but it fades quickly as I remember the rest of the details. We were tailing someone. A suspect for a homicide, and Mal was driving. Blaise was beside him and I was in the backseat. It was Blaise's car, the odd one with the purple seats. I remember the constant crackling and crunching of the discarded fast food wrappers and empty take-out containers that littered the floor.

We caught him, I remember. But not alive. Captain Yeong was furious, Amy wouldn't speak to me, Kai was… Kai, and Mal and Blaise were angry as well. This guy was our only lead. I can still feel the disappointment.

Mal took it the worst. He blamed himself, and even though the killing was justified, he still would not let it go. But ever since Ken's death, Mal has been blaming everything on himself. The amount of stress his body can stand will only go so far.

"Mal," I remembered saying, "You have to stop this. Everything is not your fault."

"Yes it is," he replied.

"Oh, so this gum on the bottom of my shoe is your fault?"

He didn't say anything.

"The fact that it will rain tomorrow, your fault?"

He still didn't speak, but he wouldn't get that stupid gloomy look off his face.

"Okay, well now you're going to tell me that Kai is your fault too."

At that, Kai's head perked up from where he was trying to flirt with Blaise, "Dost thou summon me, fair Lady Natara?" We caught a glimpse of Blaise's pained expression, and that did the trick.

He laughed for a good five minutes, and finally, gasping, said, "Thank you, Natara."

I remember being filled with an outright zeal of accomplishment. I don't think I've ever been considered particularly funny. That may well have been the first joke I've told that ended well. "That's what I'm here for, Mal," I told him, finally.

I am remembering, and I am smiling…

Out of nowhere, I am jolted back in my chair. I can hear the wooden legs of it screeching against the pavement, and it hurts my ears. But nothing hurts as much as my head does after I feel the chair tipping back. I lose my equilibrium, and come crashing to the ground.

There are a few seconds of black. Then there is a strong scent everywhere and I jolt awake.

Slowly, vision seeps back into my eyes, and I catch the figure of a tall looming man. I try to move, but he has me pinned to the floor.

"Help… me," I say. The wrap across my mouth has been taken off.

"Oh do give her a hand up, son. You've been too rough with her. I don't want any damage to that delightful brain of hers," the voice says to someone. That voice.

That voice.

I know that voice. That cold, matronly voice, with the slightest little British accent. I almost don't want to believe it, but I know I should've suspected her long ago.

She had been too quiet the last month.

"Now… how are you doing, darling?" Genevieve Collins looks at me, her eyes like a snake's in the dim light, motioning her bodyguard to step away.

"I've been better," I say hoarsely, lifting myself onto my feet. Instinctively, my hand reaches towards my holster, even though I know my gun will not be there. My hand brushes my leg, and nothing else.

She laughs at me.

Scowling, I say, "You have to let me go."

"But darling," she acts shocked, "I've only just got you."

"But not for long," I reply smugly. "Mal is going to find me, he always does, and this time you're not going to get away."

"It's so sweet that you believe that," she says condescendingly, "You know, I used to have a special someone at your age too. Though, he was not as handsome as yours…."

"Mal's not my—"

"Now tut, tut. We have so much to do. Follow me, now that's a good girl."

"Don't speak to me that way," I say, wincing as I take my first few steps.

"In what way shall I speak to you then?" Without waiting for an answer, she turns on her heel and begins walking through the only exit. I assume I have no choice and I follow her.

Trailing behind her I call after her, "I'm not one of your children, Genevieve. And I am not going to become one of your children… no matter what you do or say."

We're walking down a long corridor with rusted metal walls, when suddenly, she stops. She turns to me and cocks her head to the side, confused, "Who said I was going to turn you into one of my children?"

This throws me off. "Then what—"

"My, my, maybe that hit in the head had been worse than I thought…"

"What are you—"

"I thought we went through this already, Natara."

"Went through wh—"

"I never turn anyone into anything. They do it themselves."

"Genevieve—"

"Either way dear, you could never be one of my children."

"I… I couldn't?"

"Of course not, darling, you're me."

"I—"

"I don't have to turn you into anything."