Annela's heart almost jumps out of her chest as she spots a long farm house, in white stones, at the outskirt of the city. The car speeds onto a dusty path, forming a cloud of unbreathable powdered air behind them. An old woman with a tanned skin and colorful light summer dress rocks up and down slowly on a rocking chair, fluttering a fan making her pepper and salt colored long hair fly. 

          Her eyes follow the speeding car slowing to a stop. She watches the young woman with black hair and piercing black eyes get out and open the back door. A flow of adrenaline hits Annela. The eyebrows of the elderly woman raise as she sees the girl lift up the young man, visibly heavier than her, on her back. 

          "Hello Ma'am," Annela effortfully greets. "I was told you were able to... heal wounds in a... less humanly traditional way."

          The eyes she faces hold nothing but mistrust in them. 

          "I'm sorry human," she spits, with a strong Spanish accent. Annela's faith shrinks at the appellation. "We don't help people we don't know."

           "B-but Evandro Ambrósios sent me here," Annela exclaims. The old woman's interest arouses. "And I-I'm... I wasn't a human, you need to believe me," she desperately pleads. "Read my mind if you must," she breathes, crushed to have ever needed to let herself be helpless in the hands of another Controller. The old woman's lip twitches in consideration. 

          She looks at Christian's blood stained face and back at Annela's face, red of effort. The woman raises her hand to touch Annela. The young woman doesn't feel anything, but she knows she is giving access to her most intimate thoughts to the old lady. The feeling doesn't make her tense up, which disturbs her even more. As the physical contact prolongs itself, the eyes of the grandma light up. 

          You gave up your power for him, she gasps, in awe. A true act of devotion...

          She then in turn touches Christian. His eyes widen at the contact, feeling her power flow through her body. 

          You hold in you a power so grand people would wage a war for, she communicates. 

          Annela patiently waits, conscious that an exchange is going on without her being able to take part. 

          I know, he acknowledges, his body constantly reminding him that. 

          However, it isn't the only grand thing you hold, she mysteriously adds. But it isn't mine to divulge. 

          Her head turns to Annela.

          "We'll heal him," she pronounces. Annela holds back tears of joy and relief. The old woman calls a few names and hispanic men come out from the house behind the old lady. They gently pull him off her back. She straightens herself, her sore limbs trembling after the effort. Their heads all seem to turn to Christian, and then to the elderly woman questioning her with their eyes. 

          Annela knows they are communicating between each other. 

          "Christian wants you with him," she suddenly speaks, to the young woman. 

          "Anything he wants," she loyally whispers. 

          She follows the men into the fresh house, the old lady behind her. They take a flight of stairs underground and enter tunnels carved in the stone of the ground. One of them, leading the way holds a flaming torch. Annela discovers a feeling she hasn't felt for years : vulnerability. Her eyes glance from corner to corner, despite her wanting to seem calm. They soon attain a small room with only enough place for less than ten people, with a stone bloc in the center. The woman unfolds a dusty dark blue and purple cloth on it, and the men gently deposit Christian onto it. 

          His weary face never ceases to scrunch up in pain.  The woman gestures her to stand in a corner. A strange aromatic smell is in the air. The men start a deep chant, as the old woman lights up the torches, swallowing the shadows in their light. Annela notices a bouquet of dried flowers hanging on top of the opened heavy looking wooden door they passed through to enter the room. A claustrophobic wouldn't last more than a few seconds in the narrow space, but Annela feels safe. Strangely safe. She notices the woman looking intently at her and realizes she must be helping her stay calm. 

          The eyes of the old woman, almost hidden in the wrinkles of her skin, turn to a cabinet, incrusted in the wall. Jars of herbs neatly alined. She chooses some, the amount differing from herb to herb, sometimes a pinch, sometimes a handful, and drops them into a porcelain bowl. Then she crushes the vegetal, and mixes it all in with a liquid Annela doesn't catch with her eyes. She walks over to the center of the room, between the chanting me, who all have their eyes closed, as well as Christian. The woman slides her hand under his head, and lifts it up for him to drink the beverage. He painfully swallows the liquid and drowsily falls asleep. Annela intently watches the woman passing her hands over Christian's body, scrutinizing her every expressions. 

          A frown on the white eyebrows of the old woman makes Annela's heart falter. The men open their eyes to something the woman must have communicated to them. 

          What's wrong? Annela thinks to herself, breathing irregularly. The men nod simultaneously and lift Christian to a sitting position. They start unbuttoning his shirt, the agility of their fingers contrasting with the size of their large hands. Annela covers her mouth at the site of the bruised torso of the young man. Only God knows how many ribs are cracked underneath the black and blue skin. The tears she's been holding in since their arrival cascade down her face. 

          I let this happen. I'm the one who did this to him, she thinks, in horror, unable to look away from the crippled body. They cut his pants off, with a knife, making Annela's dismay augment. His knees are deformed hideously, inhumanly possible, and one of his ankle is swollen, forced to have sprained under the order of Tim Bailey. All her hatred and anger is directed at that sick man. He'll have to pay for what he did. The name in her mind aspires so much disgust to the girl that she almost nauseously throws up. 

          Christian is lied back down in nothing but his undergarment. His face looks peaceful. Too peaceful, almost... dead. Which frightens Annela. The other woman in the room resumes her movements, and Annela's eyes pop out as the dark patches of colors of the Christian's skin reduce and disappear. The broken ribs crack horrendously as they replace themselves, making Annela shudder in the deepest parts of her should. The older woman slowly moves to the lower part of Christian's body, and the kneecaps underneath his skin replace themselves slowly, making the girls nails cut her own palm under the pressure, hardly noticing she started lightly bleeding. The ankle's swollen area disappears and the woman almost falls to the ground, if it hadn't been for one of the men who caught her. The woman was sweating, and breathing heavily, just as the rest of the men in the room except for Christian and Annela. The girl suddenly noticed that the chanting had stopped, and followed them back outside, dazed. 

          Her brain confusedly accustoms her eyes to the dim light outside. Her eyes widen with another glance outside the window. The night has fallen, casting its dark veil on the country, with little stars piercing the obscurity with their individual glow.