Langdon liked to wander the halls at night. Around three in the morning, there was be nothing but silence. Even the Greys and Miss Venable were retired to their rooms. It was the only time he had to think without interruption.

Things were falling into place. He'd be free of the place by Halloween if everything went according to plan.

The shipment of apples would arrive in the morning and the blond had riled up Venable enough to push her over the edge. She was self-involved and short-sighted enough to commit mass murder. If not, he always had alternate plans in place.

Gallant had killed his grandmother just hours earlier. An illusion was all it took to get the man where Langdon wanted him. The body had been easy to get rid of, the crime easy to conceal. It had been a heart attack, technically. Just wasn't the textbook definition.

All that could be heard in the hall was the faint, crisp crackle of fire and footsteps echoing off the walls. In these moments it was easy to remember they were at the end of the world. Five billion eight hundred and eight million people were dead. 120 million were either underground or slowly dying from radiation.

The feeling it gave him was almost poetic. He was inevitable. It was him that brought this into place… him and his army.

Silence was pierced by the sounds of pain-filled moans. Without the smothering silence, Langdon might not have even heard it. Brows furrowing, he started towards the sound. It was muffled… probably behind a door or in another hall. The sounds of his own footsteps drowned out the sound, forcing him to stop every few feet to reassess his position in relation to the cries.

Eventually, the sound grew loud enough for him to locate. Whimpers came from the other side as he placed his hand upon the knob. It stopped mid-turn, locked.

Glancing down the hall both ways and finding nothing but shadows, Langdon waved a hand. The lock clicked out of place and the door swung open. With one last glance around his surroundings, he slipped inside.

The faint light from the outside did not rouse its resident, brows furrowing in sleep and limbs moving about restlessly. The sheets had been thrown off the woman, a pillow leaning against the bed frame after being shoved to the side.

"No," she muttered and groaned, feet kicking away the sheets until they slumped to the ground, "no."

With careful steps, Langdon made it to the woman's side. Kneeling next to the bed, he smoothed brown hair away from a pale and sweaty brow. Fingers traced her cheek after moving the hair behind her ear before moving back to her forehead.

He smoothed the skin between her brows, thumb running down her nose and up again as he muttered in a foreign tongue. "Do eat pacem — Da santificatio."

Em's face relaxed and she looked almost peaceful.

"Why?" she whispered in her sleep, voice lacking the distress from before.

Langdon smiled sadly at the woman, gently trailing his thumb over her cheek despite the spell being completed.

"Guilt is a powerful thing," he whispered, "and you are prone to bending under its weight."

"What are you doing?"

Startled, Langdon quickly turned and rose to his feet. The second action was deliberately slow. He couldn't look human to these people. It would ruin everything he had been working for.

Emily stood in the doorway, eyes wide and candelabra in one hand. The other was on the door frame, ready to push herself away and flee down the hall. Her eyes flickered between her friend and the man who had been looming over her.

Carefully and with control, the blond placed his hands behind his back.

"Same as you."

He took a step towards the ebony-haired woman. She was in her nightdress, hair no longer held back and curls bouncing out and frizzing around her head. Emily didn't move, she was too stubborn to, but she curled in on herself like a cornered wolf raising its hackles.

"Go back to bed."

Emily found his words like honey, his breath a fog. She relaxed despite her alarm, shoulders releasing their tenseness and hand coming to fall to her side.

"You saw nothing."

Brown eyes glazed over, Emily turned on her heel and started back the way she came. Her movements were like those of a toy soldier, stiff and unnatural. To an outsider's view, she was simply sleepwalking.

Langdon had overstayed his welcome. He'd let his guard down. If the woman had spoken any louder, his position would have been compromised.

Em sighed, turning in her sleep. The blond turned towards her, a small sliver of golden-orange light dancing across her face. With a small smile, he regarded her for a second. A hand reached out to her, resting on the bed frame for but a moment.

Then, he retreated into the hall, straightening his clothes as the door closed behind him, lock clicking into place.

Everything was going as planned.


A blood-curdling scream woke Em. Chest heaving as she shot up in bed, it took her a second to realize the sound was from somewhere in the outpost and not inside her own head. The second scream threw her to her feet, blindly stumbling to the door and throwing it open.

"No!" a scream came again, "No! Please! Venable's crazy!"

"Get off her!" a male's voice shouted.

"Emily," Em gasped, breath shuttering as she could only stand frozen as her body attempted to catch up with her mind. Forcing herself from the spell of fear, she dashed down the hall. All she could hear was the screaming and the sound of blood in her ears, the thudding of her bare feet on cold tile accompanying it like a steady drum.

Approaching one of the many balconies, Em nearly toppled over the side. Her hands shot out to grab the iron railing as she curled over the bar, green eyes frantically searching the ground below. All she caught was the tail end of a dark black dress.

Gritting her teeth, Em turned her head this way and that. What way would get her there quicker? Letting out a cry of frustration, she pushed herself down a hallway. She was wasting time trying to find the best course. Action had to be taken now.

Finally, after stumbling around corners and nearly running into walls, Em caught up to them. She stopped for a moment at the end of the hall, chest heaving as she panted.

What now? What now?

Surprise. Em still had the element of surprise.

Their red-haired prison master was closest to Em, bringing up the end of the terror-filled parade. Timothy and Emily were a good ten feet in front of the woman, thrashing against the iron grip of The Fist and another Warden. A few more figures in black were ahead of them, no doubt to prepare the execution.

Em needed to make chaos. It was the only thing that would give them all a fighting chance.

A growl forming in her throat, Em stalked towards Venable like a cat would a bird. By the time her presence was noted in the hall, it was far too late. The red-haired woman was blinded by her own superiority, relishing in the pain she was causing… the power this single moment would give her. The idea of her own vulnerability wasn't even something that crossed her mind.

Venable's eyes widened as her cane was quickly pulled out of her grip, stumbling to the side. By the time she processed what was happening, the world had spun around her and left her staring at the ceiling. Her spine cried in protest, pain rippling up from her tail-bone.

Em had used the woman's cane to swipe Venable's feet right out from under her like a baseball bat. As she followed through on the strike, she brought her other hand to hold the other side of the cane. Using the cane like a battering ram, Em delivered a blow to the woman's face.

The crack of the blow and the cry that came from Venable's lips was satisfaction in and of itself, but Em wasn't there for revenge.

Erika, renowned in the outpost as The Fist… Venable's undefeated warrior hardly had a moment to recognize the danger behind her. The brunette kicked at the back of her legs, forcing them to cave in on themselves. The Fist fell, their grip on Emily loosened enough for the ebony-haired woman to break free.

"Run!" Em ordered her friend, quickly blocking a strike The Fist aimed at her legs. She could feel the bruise the blow would leave already forming on her arm. With a cry, she whacked the woman in the head with her new makeshift weapon. The Fist fell back, dazed.

The other Warden let go of Timothy and started towards Em. He thought coming at her from behind would give him an advantage, but the brunette spun on her heel to face him. A swift and hard kick was delivered to his gut. He groaned, but pressed forward and threw out a fist.

Hissing, Em blocked the punch with the cane but left her other side open. The Fist grabbed her hair and Em let out a cry, dropping the cane as her hands instinctively went to her head.

"Stand down," The Fist ordered holding Em at arm's length. She was trying to give Em an out. She didn't want to hurt her.

The brunette only snarled, "Never."

Em's nails dug into The Fist's hand atop her head. Her fingers were like talons, holding it in place as she threw herself downward, taking the woman with her. The Fist's grip remained tight around Em's hair the brunette kicked outward, landing a blow to the warden's groin.

The Fist doubled over and Em freed herself, spinning on the other warden who was rushing her on the right. He took the low, moving to tackle her to the ground. She took the high, aiming a blow at his head with her elbow. The second it met his temple, he crumpled to the floor into a heap of limbs.

Her other opponent rose back to her feet, stepping over the unconscious body of her coworker. The Fist grabbed Em from behind, easily lifting her off the ground and pinning her arms to the side.

Em threw herself forward and bit down hard on the woman's hand, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. The Fist cried out and Em fell to the ground with a painful thud.

With barely a moment to react, The Fist's foot came to stomp down on her. The sight filled Em's vision like an eclipse over the sun. At the last second Em rolled to the side and up to her knees, feeling the impact of steel-toed boots rumble through the floor like an earthquake.

Another punch swung at her head and Em grabbed onto it. She shoving The Fist's arm under her elbow and used it to bring her closer to her opponent.

The Fist grunted as Em's elbow dug into her ribs, using it to propel herself away from the warden. Stumbling into the wall, Em steadied herself. With a swipe of her fist, she smeared the blood from her mouth across her face.

Langdon was right. Anger was exactly what she needed to win. It burned in her veins, thirsted for the feeling of the fight as if Em was born for the battlefield.

Em's position against the wall left her open, The Fist going in for a punch to the woman's gut. A hand on Em's shoulder held her to the wall. Em's knees curled into her chest as Erika delivered a single punch, putting her whole body behind the blow. The air was knocked out of Em's lungs and she groaned, stumbling forward as the hand that held her up suddenly disappeared.

The last thing Em felt was a blow to her head. Then, darkness. She was out before she hit the floor. Her body lay not even ten feet from the warden she had taken down, curled in on itself, defeated.

Erika straightened and looked to her boss. Venable had risen to her feet, limping over to her discarded cane. As soon as it was in her hands, she settled back into the air of control she strove for. With a few controlled breaths and a tap of her cane, it was as if she hadn't been attacked in the first place.

During the commotion, other Wardens had gotten the prisoners to the end of the hall. Em's fight was fruitless. Outnumbered and out cold, she never had a chance of winning. Emily and Timothy hadn't the chance to run far until they were apprehended once more.

"What should we do with her?" The Fist asked. Part of her felt guilty, but she had no choice but to fight. Em had given her no choice.

"Leave her," Venable ordered, sparing the unconscious woman a single disgust-filled glance, a smug smirk forming, "it's not like she can run very far."


Em hadn't been the only one to hear the commotion. It was impossible to escape. What felt like an eternity to the three musketeers was no more than a few minutes. Greys whispered and fled from the area, some daring to stay close enough to see what happened. Purples poked their heads out of doors.

Hearing the cries, Dinah rushed to her son, making sure he was okay before holding him to her with wide, shocked eyes.

Coco looked upon her fellow Purples with narrowed, bleary eyes. She was more annoyed at being awoken than anything else. It didn't take long for her to return to her room, burying herself in her sheets and pulling a pillow over her ears.

Gallant's eyes shifted between the other residents. He was more concerned with his own paranoia than the distressing sounds from somewhere below them. Like Coco, he returned to his room. He hadn't been sleeping before and he certainly wouldn't sleep now.

Langdon had been just about to retire for the night. He had never been one to require much sleep, a few hours at best. The blond had just shrugged off his suit jacket when he heard the commotion, throwing it back on with a sigh before starting towards the door.

A few squabbles were normal in these circumstances. He'd seen his fair share of Greys and Purples fighting amongst themselves and the fellow members of their group. Sometimes it was planned… other times a slight inconvenience.

A gunshot echoed through the compound, spurring him to quicken his pace, rushing down the steps and through the maze of halls. Weapons, by protocol, were only supposed to be used on the outside. He should have known Venable would have altered rules

The first thing he saw was a crowd of wardens gathering at the scene. Then, Em sprawled across the ground. Venable was not far off, giving orders to the wardens that rushed here and there, trying to regain control over the chaos.

Jaw clenching, he forced himself to remain calm. He slowed his pace and rested his hands behind his back, tight fists hidden from view. With careful steps, he stalked closer. It was amazing how well he could hide in plain sight. At least five wardens must have passed him without a second glance.

Sparing one final glance at Em, he focused his gaze on Venable.

His voice quickly seized control over the room, "What's going on here?"

Shoulder's tensing, Venable turned towards him. Her face settled in an expression of contempt. Poor woman… she truly believed she had checkmate.

"Two residents broke the rules against fornication," The Fist answered from behind Venable after a long and silent moment. The two stared at each other with the utmost disdain. "Emily tried to intercept the execution…"

Erika spared a guilty glance to the woman no one had bothered to move from the ground. "… she was quickly subdued."

Not bothering to look at the Warden, Langdon took a few steps forward. One more and he and Venable would be chest to chest. Everyone had frozen in their tracks, watching the lion corner his prey. He narrowed his eyes at the woman, lips pursing into a thin line.

"These are rules of which Miss Venable created in a blatant abuse of power," he spoke, staring into the woman's eyes and leaving no room for argument. He did rank above them, after all. "Call off the execution."

The Fist spared a glance at one of her fellow wardens. They quickly turned their head to face her, leaving as she gestured with two fingers down the hall to the execution chamber.

"She injured two of my wardens," Venable noted. She tapped her cane and let out an astonished laugh, "and the boy shot another. Surely, you do not intend to—"

Langdon simply brushed past her and towards the Fist. Venable was forced to turn as his shoulder pushed into her own. He paused at the side of the warden, turning his head to address her. Blue eyes sent a brief, unconcerned glance towards the red-head who stood gaping at the audacity of it all.

"As of now, Miss Venable will be stripped of her power until my selections are complete." Langdon said, "You will refer to me on any and all issues. Do I make myself clear?"

The Fist nodded, "yes, sir."

"Now leave," the blond said with a wave of his hand, keeping his back towards Venable. In all honestly, he felt like he may snap her neck if he looked at her for a moment longer. "Escort Venable to her room and make sure she stays there. I have more pressing matters to attend."

Venable was in shock, unable to form a single word. She stared at The Fist with an expression of confusion and amusement. Venable was in denial, chuckling as the leather-clad woman approached.

"This is my outpost." She scoffed, eying The Fist up and down in an unspoken dare, "I will not be going anywhere."

Langdon didn't even turn to look at them, waving a hand for The Fist to continue. Erika's loyalty quickly shifted, a firm hand going around the woman's arm as she gently pulled Venable from the room. The red-haired woman knew better than to resist.

The second they cleared the room, he dropped beside Em. His hands hovered over her, unsure of what to do. Finally, he brushed back her hair and rested two fingers on her neck. A sigh of relief left him as he felt a pulse, attention going elsewhere.

The blood on her face was not hers, no tear of her lip or sign of a broken nose. A bruise formed at her arm, but it also did not seem broken. The bruising at her temple, however, worried him.

Slowly and carefully, he shifted his arms under her. One went to her back and the other her knee.

He could feel the bones of her rib cage and spine protruding from her flesh. Starvation had made Em light as a feather. Her head lolled against his chest, finally resting in the crook of his neck. A hand dangled at her side, the other draped across her stomach.

The halls were vacant as he carried her through them. Wardens had no doubt forced everyone into their rooms to prevent further disturbances, Purple and Grey alike.

Em's door was wide open as he approached. He slipped inside and laid her gently upon the bed, propping her head up with pillows — that's what they said to do in these moments, right? Em probably knew. Langdon could philosophize, but anything outside of that or magic was Greek to him.

He picked the covers from the floor and draped them over her, minding her bruised arm. With a wave of his hand, the candles in the corner of her room caught fire once more. Waking to a black room would no doubt make the woman panic, something she had enough of for one day.

Langdon allowed himself to take his time, using the opportunity to look about her room. Her sketchbook was placed to the side as well as a notebook that bounced between research and diary entries. Books from the library were stacked here and there. When he opened them, he found torn pieces of paper shoved into them with shorthand notes, some even written in the margins. Finally, he saw what she had been doing all this time.

His brow furrowed as the books shifted from agriculture to medicine. They were obviously the subject of her most recent obsession. A crinkled note with creases covering every inch had symptoms written upon it: blackouts, lost time, buzzing.

"Langdon?"

The blond turned on his heel, coming to her side in two strides and keeping her from sitting up. "Stay down. How are you feeling?"

Em scrunched her eyes closed, everything was spinning. Langdon's voice sounded like it was coming from a bubble. Voices whispered in a language she couldn't understand, as if every sound she had ever heard was being spoken at once. Then there was the screaming, also distant — the kind she'd only hear in her dreams.

"Emily…" She said, unable to remember what he had just asked her. Her head felt heavy, her lips numb. Her voice felt like it was reverberating back to her, making it hard to focus on a single thought. "…and Timothy…"

"Are perfectly alive and well," he replied quickly, "I'm more concerned about you."

"Is that… for the… time being... or...?"

Langdon couldn't help but shake his head, a smile forming at her obstinance. "Ye of little faith."

A brief smile curled onto her lips as well and she sat up. Langdon hovered over her, moving pillow to support her back. The fog around her mind began to clear, the bubble starting to burst. She didn't dare open her eyes in fear that she'd throw up all over the man.

"I'm not glass," she said, resting her head on the wall behind her. Em tried to focus on the feeling of it as well as that of the pillows behind her back and sheets under her fingers. Maybe then the world would finally stand still.

"I know."

"What about Venable's rules?"

Langdon's voice was terse, tired of her avoiding his questions. "Your friends are cleared of any and all crimes."

Em's relief was brief. Her heart began to pound in her ears, her lungs suddenly feeling constricted.

"Emily?"

Her breathing came out in short gasps. Every inhale was cut short and every exhale was but sputtering fumes.

"I need…" she gaped, hands going to her throat, "…air…"

The bed dipped under the weight of Langdon sitting beside her, hands grasping at her arms painfully as she began to convulse.

"Emily!"

Finally, Em opened her eyes. She needed to see him. She needed to find someone who could clear her throat… do something to help her. All she was met with was darkness, her heart skipping a beat in terror.

"I can't see," she gasped, choking on her own words, "I can't—"

Em flinched at the feeling of hands on her face, forcing her head back. Langdon cradled her head in his hands, pressing down on the center of her forehead with his thumbs. Her hands grasped at his arms like he was choking her, nails digging into his skin.

"It's alright," he whispered, trying to get her to calm down, "you're alright. Let me do this. Let me help you."

"I can't see," she cried, voice growing more and more distant. Limbs turned to led, her grip on Langdon's arms loosening before her hands fell limp at her sides, "I can't—"

A hissing sound filled her ears, too quiet to discern any detail from it. She felt like she was floating, a light exploding behind her eyes. Then, once more, darkness.


After being put under anesthesia, most patients had a feeling of the world just being… off. Their mouths felt like cotton and their limbs were made of hundred-pound weights.

Em felt… clarity. Her body was a separate entity of which she could hardly control, but her mind was clear. She awoke with such alertness she could have sworn someone had doused her with ice water.

Langdon. She had to find him.

Sitting up took longer than she wanted, body not quite ready to listen to her orders. It didn't matter. She'd make it listen.

Hitting the ground with a thud, Em felt the wind knocked out of her lungs. The force, however, was enough to wake her limbs. First were her hands which reached out for purchase. Em used the leg of the bed to pull herself towards the door. Second to wake were her legs, which cooperated with the rest of her like a newborn fawn.

The world spun and blurred, flashing in and out of her vision. Atop it lapsed flashes of visions — blond hair, blue eyes, bodies convulsing in the salon, waves crashing on a sandy shore as light bounced off them bright enough to blind. They never stayed long enough for her to catch more than brief, vivid details. It took all her focus to get dressed and even that took her an hour.

Staggering to the door, Em hit at the handle for good measure with the coordination of a toddler. Fingers that could paint portraits refused to cooperate. She found herself ramming her shoulder into the door until it opened, nearly toppling over and sprawling to the floor in the process.

The hall brought its own set of difficulties. For one, she couldn't tell up from down. The wall served as her center of gravity. Corners proved another challenge. At best Em just followed the wall. At worst, she flung herself across the intersection and prayed she didn't bash her head in.

By the time she had made it across half the compound, she had regained most of her motor functions. She'd take teetering like a drink over the world flipping around like a rolling car. Greys would clear the way and spare her a sideways glance, but she didn't have time to deal with them.

"Em!"

She didn't have time to find the source of the voice before a body slammed into hers. Arms twisted around her and squeezed before releasing her.

A woman — Emily— stood before her, a grin a mile wide as she cupped Em's face. Em grimaced at the sensation. She had never been the hugging sort.

"You're alright!" Emily beamed, "There were whispers about the fight. I was so worried!"

Finally noticing the dark purple stain blooming from brown hair at her temple, Emily's face twisted in concern. She quickly removed her hands and instead held the woman by the shoulders. It was taking all Em's focus to stay grounded in the conversation.

"You should be in bed!" her friend scolded, "Everything is fine! We're fine!"

"Langdon—" Em said. The only thing she could say before the world spun around her again. She scrunched her eyes and visions flashed, overlapping with reality.

Langdon… Langdon…

Emily laughed, "Landon pardoned us! The rules were fake and — Emily!"

Em had forced her way past the woman, pushing her to the side and making a beeline down the hall. Emily was left to gape in the middle of the hall, unsure of what had happened or why or what was causing her friend to act so… different.

The door to Langdon's personal room was closed, as usual. This time her hands cooperated with her to turn the handle, pushing it open and closed with two loud bangs. The world spinning once more as she fell back on the door.

Langdon had jumped at her sudden entrance, shoulders relaxing as he realized it was just her. She rose to his feet, watching her as she just stared at him. All she could do was stare at him, relief finally settling into place.

"Michael," she sighed, crossing the floor in three, wobbling strides to kiss him. Langdon's eyes widened in surprise, hands hovering over her not quite sure where to go. Her hands felt warm, one on his neck and the other cupping his cheek, guiding him to her. He relaxed, one hand settling on her waist and the other twisting under her arm to rest on her shoulder and pull her closer to him.

It was bliss, her lips. He could have kissed her for an eternity and not have grown tired of them.

Michael was quickly sobered by a hard, stinging slap. It was strong enough to make him turn and double over. The sound of it rang throughout the room. He wouldn't be surprised if the entirety of Outpost Three could hear it.

"You bastard!" she growled.

Langdon let out a quiet groan and an annoyed sigh, "So you remember."

He took a moment to recover, opening and closing his mouth to see if it still worked. A hand had gone to cover his cheek. By the warmth of it, he reckoned there'd no doubt be a mark. He pulled back his hand. No blood. It was pure luck that she wasn't wearing a ring.

"Oh, don't act surprised," She said with a scoff, a finger in his face as he finally righted himself, "you put the grimoire in my path!"

"What grimoire?"

Em was not focused on his words at all. She was raging at a level she had never felt before.

"A fucking memory spell, Michael?" she yelled, "You had no right."

"I gave you—"

Her lips pressed into a line and her glare was enough to get him to close his mouth and hold up his hands in defeat. "If you finish that line the way I think you are I will slap you again. How dare—"

Michael barely had a moment to catch the woman as her legs gave out from under her. She clung to his jacket but refused to let him help. The man could only grit his teeth as he struggled to help her up and lug her over to his bed.

"You're pushing yourself," He sang like a gloating mother whose kid was sick after eating too many sweets.

Em tried to stand but failed again, flopping to the ground. Michael moved to check her eyes, but she was moving too much for him to get a proper look.

"Will you stay still?" He snapped, reaching out to her face but only getting his hand slapped away as Em continued to get herself to her feet.

"I have a suburban mom's vacation slide-show playing in my head," she snapped back. Em leaned on the man as she got up and finally flopped down on the bed. That was one battle over with. Michael knew there would be a hundred more. "So, no! I will not!"

"I'm so glad your stubbornness hasn't changed," Langdon sassed, turning his chair around with a loud scraping sound and flopping in it. He grabbed Em's head, a few words in Latin making the spinning stop and the visions more manageable.

"Now will you calm down?" he huffed, "What do you remember?"

Em groaned and let out a sigh, rubbing her temples as she closed her eyes and focused. "The Cooperative… the witches… Mead. God, it's like reading a book series out of order!"

Langdon smirked, "I thought you liked doing that."

The brunette opened her eyes simply to glare at him, eyes sharp enough to cut flesh.

"Shut up. I'll stab you — I swear to god I will. Especially now that I know you'll survive it."

Michael smiled and shook his head, leaning forward and biting his lips. How could he speed things up?

"Start from the beginning," he said, placing a thumb at the center of her forehead between her brow.

"The beginning of the apocalypse or of the life you stole from me?" she asked, slapping his hand away when she heard the familiar sound of Latin, "If you think I'll let you do another fucking spell—"

Patience wearing thin, Michael gave her a look that rivaled her own. Relenting, she rose her hands in defeat.

"Fine!"

Sighing, Michael cupped her cheek and pulled her towards him. Resting his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek to remind himself she was still there.

"I lost you once," he whispered, voice wavering as tears threatened to spill over, "I won't let it happen again."

"I know," Anger left her with a single sigh. Leaning against him, she held the hand that rested on her face. With a flickering smile, she turned and placed a kiss on his palm. Closing her eyes, she tried to form the words that would express what she really wanted to say. "But it doesn't mean I don't have a right to be angry."

A relieved smile graced his face and green eyes looked into blue. For one more moment, they simply relished in the other's presence.

"I'll let you stab me later."

"Promise?"

"Emily," he warned, wanting to go back to business. As much as he wished to stay in this room all day with her, they had roles to fulfill.

With a resigned sigh, Em pulled away and allowed him to lean her back on the bed. Her hands tightened into fists a few times before laying at her sides.

"I'm putting you in a trance so your head won't feel like it's exploding," He explained, voice smooth and calming, "try to focus on the beginning."

Em closed her eyes once more and forced her way backward. What was the beginning? There were a few moments that could be described as such. Michael waited patiently for her to find it.

"You'll stay here, right?" She asked.

"We're stuck in an underground bunker," he reminded, "there aren't many places for me to go."

She chuckled before nodding her head. "I'm ready."

The sound of Latin filled her ears, her mind catching up enough to translate a few words. Em felt herself slipping into a dream-like state. The actors settled on the scene, the setting fell into place, and the curtains rose.

Emily remembered everything.