"Ze?" I whisper, blinking hard against an onslaught of images that inundate my brain. "What's happening?"

His features are tight, his lips compressed in a scowl.

"I told you to wait for me," he speaks in a slow, thick voice. "You fell through a portal."

"What do you mean?"

"This..." He nods to the area around us. I turn to look, and that's when I notice that we're no longer in the bathroom, nor am I naked anymore.

I'm wearing the same hoodie and tights I was wearing before—when we were in P'davi. And just like that, I remember everything.

Nikki is...dead. And I'm in a foreign world, competing in a game to get him back.

Our surroundings are bleak. A barren earth enveloped by a blood-red sky.

"It's a parasitic world," Ze explains. "Once you are inside, it starts consuming your life force."

"But... I saw..."

"What you saw were all memories. Parasitic realms lure their victims and trap them in their memories so they do not realize as their life force is being consumed."

"Am I dying?" I ask in a whisper.

"You are not dying," he answers dryly. "You have not been trapped in here for long. But we need to return to P'davi."

"So let's do it," I add quickly.

"I cannot do it. It will have to be you," he says tightly.

"What? How?"

"You have to want to leave. The memories shown to you are not random. They are chosen specifically to make you want to lose yourself in them."

I look around me. "But I want to leave," I mutter.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a wry smile.

"If you did, we would already be back."

"Then how?" I frown.

"What is your happiest memory?" he suddenly asks.

I purse my lips as I try to think of it. But before I can even identify it, our surroundings change. Shock envelops me as I recognize the dark tunnels of the temple I was sentenced to work on at the hacienda.

My breath hitches just as a shiver of fear runs down my back.

What... Why... Why would this be my happiest memory?

Sensing my discomfort, Ze comes closer to me, threading his fingers through mine.

"This can't be..." I whisper. Yet just as the words are out of my mouth, I recognize what this memory is.

I'm right there, digging into a wall with some shabby tools. But instead of crying in pain from the blisters on my hands, I'm smiling. My eyes are on the person next to me, the affection I bear him evident.

"Vamos, trata de nuevo." He chuckles.

I clear my throat. "My name is Lucero," I say in a thick accent. "You are Nicholas." I point at him. "I am sixteen. You are nineteen."

"Perfecto." He claps at me. "Seguro que no has aprendido ingles antes?"

"No." I smile. "Es la primera vez."