Trace awoke cold and alone.

His mind was empty, but at the same time it raced. At first, his memory was blurry, but as he blinked his eyes and concentrated on the converging timelines in his brain, things became clearer.

The last thing he remembered was Alexis's face, eyes wide with horror, as she carried him swiftly through the night. Even that memory seemed unreal. The fact that an Escort could express such worry for someone so insignificant could've only existed in his wildest dreams. Yet, this was his reality.

Had she carried him all the way to his bunker? Who had put him to rest?

Trace remembered the wound that had shredded his right thigh, thanks to the pain that was now rising there. Slowly, his body was returning from its sleep state and allowing him to register pain and emotion again.

He stared up at the ceiling and concentrated on breathing. He wouldn't let what felt like fiery spikes in his left leg get in the way of his control.

Once he was confident his breaths were even and would stay that way, he propped himself up gently on his elbows. His breakfast was no longer steaming, sitting cold in its MEAL slot. Trace could tell it had been there for a while. Was it his morning or night meal? The one he should've eaten before he went to sleep or after he woke up?

He wouldn't be able to tell from just the taste. He'd either have to ask someone or leave the bunker.

Slowly, he managed to bring himself fully upright, with his legs still tossed about beneath him. A thin blanket covered them, hiding the injury from the previous night. Trace lifted it in one swift motion and gasped when he saw that his leg. . .

Was completely fine.

He touched the bare skin, no cut or blemish to be seen. His thigh was pale, soft, and muscular. No notch of tissue or evidence of stitches could be seen. He was astonished that the wound left no scar.

He was so shocked that the knock that came at his door barely registered. Wyze let herself in to retrieve the uneaten food container, not looking in Trace direction. Then, she turned back towards the door to leave.

"Wait," Trace coughed. His voice was hoarser than usual. Deeper. It scared him when it bellowed from his neck.

Wyze froze, then dropped the container. The plastic lid released from the aluminum and green mush covered the cement floor, likely to leave a stain. She turned around, eyes widening, as she realized that Trace had, indeed, spoken to her.

But instead of running in his direction like he expected her to, she turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

Moments later, Hailey entered the room. She appeared shockingly older, with glints of gray highlighting her yellow hair. Her eyes were also softer, more tired. And the purple of them had lost its spark.

Trace swiveled on the mattress and swung off the bed, landing slightly unsteadily on the hard ground. Hailey swiftly met him, hands outstretched and ready to catch him if he fell. When she realized he was fine, she took two steps back.

"Hailey, what's going on?" He demanded. There was his deeper voice again. He almost wanted to look into a mirror to see if he was still . . . himself. The healed leg, the deeper voice, the way Wyze had panicked when she saw him. . . Things weren't adding up.

Hailey averted her eyes. Something sad lingered there. "You really are the scum of the earth." Her words were hushed, breathy. But they still stung deeper than anything she could've said to him.

Trace stumbled back into the mattress, catching his fall with thin arms. He didn't know what to say. "I don't— I'm sorry— I—"

She rubbed her thumb and forefinger between her eyebrows and sighed. Then, tears streamed down her cheeks silently. Her lips didn't tremble as he'd remembered her crying for Peter. They formed a flat, unemotional line.

"You should've awoken sooner. Then maybe. . ." Her voice broke as it trailed off, though her eyes and expression still lacked emotion. She breathed in deeply before wiping the tears from her cheeks. "'Maybe, if you'd awoken sooner, things would've been different,' is what I wanted to say. But in truth, nothing could've prevented this."

Before Trace could ask her what she meant, the door opened behind her and three Escorts appeared behind her, clad in white cloaks and black masks. But something about their cloaks and masks seemed newer. Perhaps they were trying out new technology?

"Trace," one spoke. The voice sounded slightly familiar, and when Trace really looked at him, he could tell who it was.

"Isaac," he responded. His jaw tensed. A new flood of memories barraged his thoughts, including the way his training suddenly turned into a bloodbath. Had Isaac given those orders? It seemed at least a little possible.

"Trace," another spoke. This voice was the most familiar. Her red hair reflected against the white hood.

"Alexis," he said in the most controlled tone he could muster. Trace suddenly felt like running to hug her, but he knew it was inappropriate. But he knew that she would've done the same if no one were watching. And the thought made him happy.

The third Escort was shorter than even Alexis. Trace couldn't see their eyes, but he was sure he'd never seen this person before. He'd only met a handful of Escorts, and he knew there were plenty scattered around the Association to maintain order. But even so, this unfamiliar Escort took a few steps forward, reaching out their gloved hand to shake Trace's.

This moment felt very familiar.

The heat quickly flared into his cheeks as he become suddenly aware that he was wearing only a small pair of black underwear, and no shirt or mask. This had to be some kind of nightmare. Only this was far worse than how he'd experienced it in his dreams before. People were actually here to see him squirm, now.

What should he do in this situation? Shake this person's hand like he should out of respect, or cower away and hide like any normal human would in his situation? Looking quickly between their eyes, he could tell none of them cared about his appearance. It was almost as though they'd expected him to be almost entirely naked, and knowingly came here with that in mind.

He shook the Escort's hand confidently, though his inner being cringed with humiliation.

The person tilted their head up, revealing two glimmering golden eyes under long, dark eyelashes. Something about those eyes frightened him, and something about them drew him in.

"This is Shallomar," Isaac said flatly as the shortest of the three fell back into line. "She says you've met once, before your assignment."

Trace stared at the short Escort, unsure of what to say. This was Shallomar? The one who'd revealed her face before she released him to his bunker? Something about her appearance felt different, though he hadn't paid super close attention before, either.

The way she looked at him was so direct and intense that it was nearly impossible for him to look away. But he managed after remembering, once again, that he was standing almost naked in front of three Phantom soldiers. Oh, and Hailey, too.

He turned to look at her and she looked just as blank as she had before, though he could tell she was at least still her. Phantom hadn't taken Hailey's Modifier yet.

But just by looking at her current state, maybe it would've been better if she had become a brainless soldier for them. Wyze, too.

Were Derek and Dior okay?

"Has 0086—I mean, Hailey, told you what she was supposed to yet?" Isaac asked.

Trace flashed a look at Hailey, and she gave him the slightest hint. The look in her eyes was one of complete fear. What Trace said here could cause her complete downfall.

"She just said she wished I had awoken sooner," Trace said carefully, watching the eyes in the room. The Escorts seemed amused by this answer, and Hailey's expression didn't change. Now would be a good time to ask. "Did something happen while I was away with Alexis?" He nodded to the Escort on Isaac's right.

Alexis flinched at the mention of her name, something Trace hadn't seen her do. This expression of emotion revealed a vulnerability he was unfamiliar with. Something about her reaction made him feel uneasy.

"Why, as a matter of fact, yes," Isaac responded. His dark eyes flitted to where Hailey stood, frozen with terror.

Alexis cut him off before he could continue. "Hailey, you're dismissed." Something in Alexis's blue eyes expressed pain and understanding. Hailey bowed weakly to each of them before exiting the room. The door shut quietly behind her.

The room was filled with silence. Would Isaac continue where he left off? Or would Trace be able to ask questions? Right now, his Modifier wasn't on. Otherwise, why would they be speaking aloud with him?

"What happened last night?" Trace asked.

To his surprise, the line of Escorts exchanged amused glance. Isaac even chuckled. Trace watched them, confused.

"Last night? I assume you slept pretty well," Isaac replied plainly. Alexis gave him a shove in the shoulder. This banter felt very unnatural to Trace. Since when had they expressed outward friendship like this?

Finally, Shallomar gave Trace an actual answer. One to a question he hadn't asked, but that would be inevitable. However, the way that she answered wasn't like anything Trace could've ever predicted.

"You're talking about the night three years ago, when Isaac and Alexis brought you back from the dead."