“Good, now I need you to remember, when the time is right,” he rushes his words, fearful of not having enough time. “I need you to remember that the answers are in the watch.”

“What watch?” I ask.

“The watch I gave you.” He sighs. “Everything happens for a reason, Kayla. And when the time comes, I need you to put everything together. I need you to fix all of this.”

“Fix all of what?” I ask.

“Fix the world, Kayla. Fix it back to what it was. Fix my mistakes,” he says. “You’re the only one who can.”

“What mistakes?” I question. “And how will I know when the time is right?”

I get no reply as the fog surrounds me.

My eyelids thunder open like zaps of lightning bolts. I need the watch—Monarch’s pocket watch. My cheek is pressed to a cold brick floor, my wrists and ankles adjoined by chains again, and a lantern sparks above my head. I sit up, only to find that I’m not alone. At first I think he’s a Higher, but his snow-white hair is more a sign of age then of purity. His eyes are a dull grey and his skin is creased with wrinkles. In a way, he kind of reminds me of Monarch, only older.

He’s sitting in a chair, his legs crossed as he stares at the pages of a book.

“Who are you?” I stand, maintaining my balance even though it’s difficult.

His gaze lifts from the book and he smiles. “Hello, Kayla.”

I recognize his voice as the one through the smoke. “Do I know?” I ask and he nods. “From The Colony?”

He rises to his feet, tall and brittle. “Do you know what these are?”  He holds up the book, showing me the words.

“I don’t know how to read,” I admit, not ashamed, but wishing I did.

“Hmm?” He says tapping his finger against his lip.

“No one from The Colony does.” I feel the need to defend myself.

“Some do,” he says and then sticks out his hand for me to shake. “My name is Dominic.” I’m hesitant to shake his hand, but he insists so I do. “You’ve changed a lot since the last time I saw you,” he says.

“And how long ago was that?” I ask. “One year, two years, because I honestly have no idea who you are.”

“Yes, I know.” He takes a seat and gestures at the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

Shackled and chained, I sit down in the chair. “Are the chains really necessary?”

“Maybe, maybe not” he answers. “But when in doubt, we leave them on.”

Always a prisoner. “What do you want from me?”

“That’s a really good question.” He picks up a cup and sips from it. “And it’s not what we want from you, but what you want from us.”