My eyes flash open in alarm, and I realize darkness has taken over the skies, save for the splattering of blinking stars stretched across the velvety night.

I shudder beneath them, afraid of what the whispers signal.

Fff… ssss…

The hissing dulls my senses, forming white noise in my mind that makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

I press my hands over my ears, wincing. Stop, my mind screams. Stop!

The whispers vanish.

I slowly pry my hands away, looking back up at the darkened jungle. Despite the quiet, I can’t help but feel like something is watching me.

I quickly roll my pant leg back down, deciding I’d rather march onward with a wound than remain pinned in one place. The trees stretch on for miles, and when I find myself at the foot of a small mountain, I begin my climb uphill, clambering from rock to rock until my feet find a somewhat flatter path.

If I reach the top, I can at least see where I’m headed.

I don’t take any breaks—not even to heal more of my wounds—and when I’m halfway up the mountain, delirium hits me hard. I haven’t been able to master fighting sleep yet, and with my body covered in blood and bruises, it’s all I want.

I don’t feel safe enough to close my eyes in the wilderness, where Residents could turn up at any moment. But if I don’t rest my legs, I’m worried I’ll collapse.

I find a space in the hollow of a large tree and wedge myself inside. The damp creeps through my clothes, and I shiver. I need a distraction. I need something to keep my mind busy.

Maybe it’s because I’m tired, or maybe it’s because I’m so far from the Colony, but I reach out to Ophelia’s mind like I’m being carried by a lullaby. Within seconds, I find myself welcomed by the dark void.

Queen Ophelia sits on an invisible throne, one arm across her chest, and her chin perched carefully beneath a pointed finger. She’s dressed in a gold suit with sharp cuts and an exposed neckline. A single bloodred diamond hangs from her neck.

When she senses me, her hands find her armrests and she leans back in her chair. “You’re afraid again.” She pauses. “But not because of me.”

I search for a sliver of warmth in the darkness but find none. I guess it was silly to think this meeting place would offer any kind of comfort, twisted as it may have been. I’m alone, and I may be for some time.

But it can’t hurt to talk. Not all the way out here. Not if I’m careful.

“Did you always want to be a mother?” My voice is a quiet hum.