Callaway nodded as one of the technicians rushed over with a rack of clothing. Without a word she began holding drab cotton dresses up to Regan.

“Give me the basics of the event,” Callaway commanded.

“It happened on March twenty-fifth in the year 1911 in New York City,” I said, slipping happily back into my role of top student with all the answers. “A shirt factory located on the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors of the Asch Building caught fire and one hundred and forty-six people died. Mostly women and almost entirely immigrants, if I remember correctly. It was one of the largest industrial accidents in US history.”

“Why did so many people die?” Regan asked.

“They were locked in,” Callaway said as he began pulling leather shoes off the rack and holding them out for us to try on.

“Locked?” Regan gasped.

“Locked,” I repeated. “The owners of the factory didn’t want their employees leaving early or protesting for better working conditions, so they locked them all in.”

“But the fire department?” Regan said.

I snorted. “You mean the ones with ladders that only reached to the sixth floor and the faulty equipment? They weren’t exactly helpful. Those women had no way out and no one who could save them.”

Regan’s eyes went wide, and I felt my own stomach roll nervously as something occurred to me. I turned back to Callaway as Professor Tramble handed me a dull blue button-down shirt.

“Are we entering before the fire starts?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, in order to retrieve our agent, you will be entering mid-inferno,” Callaway said, still looking at the papers in his hand. I let that sink in for a minute as he finally looked up and handed us a page. Regan took it, and I peered over her shoulder at the picture of a slimly built woman in her forties.

“That is Agent Chris,” Callaway said. “She’s one of our best agents, and she was sent into the middle of the factory to catch a Butterfly that we suspected of tampering with the event. Your mission is to locate her and bring her back using these,” he said, and for the first time in my life I was handed a real set of Chaos Cuffs. Even though they were identical in every way to the sets we used in simulations, these somehow felt heavier.

“Study her face well,” Callaway said. “Like you, she will be in full disguise.” With that he hurried away to talk to Sam and Serina, who were dressed head to toe in what looked like clothing straight from the eighties. I wondered what event they were traveling to.