She watched, helpless, as the one called Thijs stepped over to a trolley carrying a variety of instruments, some of them razor-sharp, arranged in neat rows on its surface. He had lifted one up, and it glittered as it caught the light.

A dreadful eternity passed for her on that examination table.

After a few hours, they left her still strapped to it, bruised and bleeding and half mad, with the promise that they would return soon. And, when they did, Dakota knew she would tell them anything and everything they wanted to know.

And then, she also knew with equal certainty, they would kill her.

She lay there for a long time, whimpering and sobbing beneath the mercilessly bright lights, until she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, a steady rhythm like the ticking of a clock measuring out the last seconds of her life.

But the young man who stepped through the door of the chamber moments later was not one of her torturers.

Est, said the stranger, his face full of alarm and shock as he stepped further into the room. He dropped a heavy backpack onto the floor next to the examination table on which Dakota lay strapped. Est, what have they done to you?

He hurriedly undid the straps holding her down, then reached out his fingers to her cheek. Despite herself, Dakota flinched from his touch.

He frowned and withdrew his hand. I came for you, he said. He wore a military uniform of some kind. Just as I told you I would. His eyes passed over her bruised and torn flesh, as if seeing her injuries for the first time. But I never imagined this . . .

She sat up carefully, unsure of how she should respond to him or what she should say. Glancing past him, she saw to her dismay that someone else had now entered the cell behind him. It was a girl with large, dark eyes, her head cleanly shaven, and wearing a plain paper smock identical to the one Dakota wore.

She returned her gaze to her would-be rescuer. Whoever this young man was, she felt sure he was suffering from a case of mistaken identity. She was in no mood to correct him, however.

Est? she echoed, as he helped her down from the table. She found it difficult to stand at first, and had to grab hold of the edge of it with both hands. Thats my name?

He frowned, his expression now becoming deeply confused. What the hell are you talking about? Its me, Malcolm, and we need to get you out of here.

Im having trouble remembering things, Dakota said carefully.

He put both hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. Est, for Gods sake, you dont seriously mean to say you dont remember me?