The rest of the day comes and goes. I go to bed without any food or dreams (yay).

It's when I'm awake the nightmare starts.

When I sit up from bed, my head hurts. I try to familiarise myself with my antennae, but all I get is the things I'm touching. In other words: My antennae aren't working. I feel dizzy, disoriented, and physically ill. But I'm also really hungry. If I leave bed, I might have a rather unfortunate accident. If I stay in bed, I'll probably starve. I haven't eaten in… hmm. Two days? Three? I don't know.

I take a scale and carve a circle — heads — on one side of it, flip it over, and carve three parallel lines — tails — on the other. I flip the scale. I decide heads means I stay in bed, and tails means I go out. Please let it be tails, the back of my mind squeaks. I don't even bother to collect the scale from the floor and I head out of the cave. You don't need to rely on a little scale to determine where you'll go. Just pick two options and listen to whatever your subconscious hopes for — heads or tails.

I put my left talon on the cave wall and I slowly walk.

Tap.

I swivel my head, even though it's pointless. "Who's there?" I ask.

Tap. Tap. Tap…

I realise that whoever this dragon is, they're light on their feet. I hear them getting closer. Step, step, step, step… They stop right behind me. "Attacus," they say. "You are a mess." I realise several things at once. This is Khapra. She's sad, by the tone of her voice. Or maybe she's just worried. She thinks I'm a wreck. Is that it? No, she doesn't usually pour emotion into what she's saying. So what's wrong? She's friends with me, Chalcedon… and Lachia. I haven't heard from her since the day she told me that she had only a year to live.

"What is it?" I ask. "Is Lachia okay?"

Silence.

Uh oh.

"Attacus," Khapra says. "She's missing."

My internal alarm system blares and my eyeballs burst into flames. Figuratively. Don't worry. I hear a hiss behind me. I turn around, expecting to hear something, but I see it instead. Not again.

I look up and see a towering dragon. They have two batlike wings (what?) and coppery green scales. Their eyes are a startling pale blue. They have a line of spikes down their back and stand in a dangerous way, as if calculating my every move. They seem at least ninety years old. They lean down to inspect me. I whimper. "Ah, yes," they say. I can't quite place the tone of the voice. It could either be male or female, calculating or condescending. "This little SilkWing's brother." A muffled laugh — like a cross between a bridge creaking and a breath out. "She'll be quite pleased to see you."