It’s warm in his arms.

  Instead of ignoring me like he did at breakfast, he takes those five minutes in the corridors to be close to me, whenever no one is looking. And when I bury my nose in his shoulder, there seems to be only him.

  His hands are firmly on my back, unwilling to let me go, and whenever I breathe him, I feel like I’m in an endless dream destined to dissolve as soon as we put distance between us. That’s why I don’t want to let go.

  I don’t want to wake up.

  The black tights are clearly in contrast to the beige-coloured dress, which hangs so lightly on my body I could fall back into bed. But I probably wouldn’t sleep a wink. The last three nights have been quiet, albeit full of dreams about Amethio; the brief trip to the amusement park somehow helped – even though we had to go back early thanks to Spinel’s lab results – and everything inside me feels more relaxed than before. Yet I’m still worried about Plasma; and about N, whose Zoroark is looking outside its ranks for help. His situation must be worse than it looks.

  Half in thought, I slip into the matching beige-coloured shoes, their heels clacking softly on the floor and their straps looping around my ankles. Overall, I probably look neater than ever before and part of me can hardly wait to leave the headquarters and socialise.

  Briefly, my gaze wanders to the Rotom Phone on the bed. Fennel has organised our meeting for today, which will take place in her second home. The one above her lab is currently being renovated. This also means we aren’t separated by endless kilometres. Her small flat is somewhere near the Join Avenue. She has sent me the address and, just to be on the safe side, we’ll meet in the connecting tunnel, which has information and suggestions for anyone setting foot in the chaos of the avenue for the first time.

  My Poké Balls end up in a barely visible pocket of my dress. I keep Rotom in my hands, though. There aren’t enough important things for a handbag, and ultimately there’s nothing I need more than my team and my account balance.

  Then I set off, leave the Explorers’ headquarters and make my way to the address given. It’s a twenty-minute walk between buildings, catching any sunshine and throwing it burning hot to the ground. In between, people and Pidoves. In an alleyway, a Meowth sits on a rubbish bin and repeatedly swats at the misshapen arms of a Grimer, which is after the contents of the bin, which the Pokémon is defending with its life. Snarling is combined with gurgling noises. They deserve better, but there’s nothing I can do. Maybe moments like these would also be something N would need to see to understand that some Pokémon would be better off with a human. Especially as Grimers wouldn’t survive without our rubbish.

  For a while, I listen to the uniform clicking of my heels, which puts me in a trance and clears my head. The world only comes to the fore again when I pass through the tunnel and the volume of people increases threefold. I didn’t even notice it in the car, but the hustle and bustle here is more colourful than in Castelia City. Here, people are living for pleasure, eating ice cream, and inviting people to small cafes on every corner. Meanwhile, young girls pose in front of large shop windows, a flower shop has hyacinths on sale, and laughter fills the air.

  The detached atmosphere, which doesn’t match the tense monochrome between busy gazes and well-organised clothes, sets the Join Avenue apart from the rest of the city – if this area can even be viewed as part of the whole.

  In slow steps, I push forward and look at the offers and goods, while I glance at the advertised apartment blocks on the side, hoping not to miss Fennel’s compartment.

  The apartment blocks have been built behind the shops, a little way away, to frame everything and create a kind of clear border to the wasteland behind. Perhaps one day they will extend it further – when the sandstorms there become a little less violent. Even here, between the flowers and books, grains of sand collect.

  “Domino!”

  When someone calls out to me, my eyes scan the people in immediate vicinity before I spot Fennel. She waves to me from a distance, her hand up in the air as if she wants to make sure I don’t miss her. Simultaneously, she bobs up and down so her pink summer dress swings back and forth. Her coat hangs a little stiffly on her body.

  “I hope you didn’t have to wait long.” I cover the last few metres with two jumps before opening the conversation.

  “Not at all!” She claps her hands. “I’ve only just arrived, too.”

  Without further ado, she turns away, makes her way home, and lets me follow her between some walls. The noise dies down, muffled by the buildings, making it seem almost quiet in the middle of the apartment blocks. Fennel seizes our newfound peace to let me catch up. Eventually, we stroll side by side.

  “It’s been a while since I last had visitors and ... I haven’t really had the time to tidy up, so I hope you don’t mind a bit of mess.”

  I wave it off. “Not a bit. Sounds like you’re stuck on a new experiment?”

  “On my laundry...”

  “Laundry?”

  “My lab coat looked pretty crumpled after the last load,” Fennel replies in thought, “so I ironed it. But that’s effort I could save if my coat was a bit stiffer and didn’t wrinkle so easily.” Slowly, her blue eyes move in my direction. “So I asked around a bit and someone said that water-soluble embroidery stabilizer could solve my problem. But I didn’t expect it to make my coat as hard as concrete.”

  “But at least you can still move around in it.”

  “Not really.” She immediately raises an arm and lets me look at the seam between the sleeve and the chest piece. It has come undone and is only held in place by a few mismatched pink threads. “I had to sew the sleeves back on so I could wear it.”

  “Why didn’t you just buy a new one after all that?”

  “My spare coat is in the other flat and ... I quite liked this one...” She lowers her eyes, driven by honest frustration, before taking a breath and shaking off the subject. “Maybe I’ll find another tip to make hard fabric soft again.” She runs a few steps ahead until she stops in front of the door of a three-storey building. “And until then, we’ll just forget what happened.”

  She skilfully digs a key out of her pocket before opening the door to the stairwell and taking me to the second floor, where she heads for one of two passageways behind which her small flat is hidden. It’s a little cramped, the entrance area suffers from a bulky cupboard on which she places the key, and the following living room is divided into a living area and kitchenette.

  “You’ll find the bathroom here!” In a flash, she heads for a door next to the end of the kitchen. It’s the only one in sight for miles around.

  “And where do you sleep?”

  “Here.” Fennel’s fingers point at the floor. “This one room is my entire home. But I’m rarely here and I don’t need more. Go ahead and sit down!”

  She has tried to fit everything halfway in. There’s a sofa, which she probably sleeps on too, and a living room table piled high with magazines and books. The walls are lined with bookshelves – only one of them is covered by a curtain – and the large window, which faces the wasteland outside the Join Avenue, is adorned with a potted plant and a worn cushion. A resting place upon which it is only in these seconds that I notice the Pokémon looking at me as if I am a foreign body.

  “An Unfezant...” My brows lift. Despite its lack of colour, the gracefully stretched head gives the creature a touch of elegance most other Flying-type Pokémon lack.

  “A girl!” Fennel says as she offers me a drink on the side. “They’re all over Unova ... except in winter, when you rarely see them anywhere.” She pushes her way to a knee-high fridge crammed between the cooker and washing machine and pulls out two cans of lemonade. “You need to know, Unfezants are clever. A lot of trainers don’t get on with them because they like to test their limits. That’s why trainers with an Unfezant that obeys are often highly praised!”

  An appreciative hum escapes me. “So, you can handle this one?”

  A brief laugh overcomes her as she puts the can down in front of me and sits next to me on the sofa. “No. She won’t listen a bit. But she helps me when I need it and I’m very grateful to her for that.”

  In these seconds, Fennel transforms from an excited scientist into a friendly young woman whose smile softens her features a little more. Her love of science is clear, noticeable in her wacky behaviour, in which she can barely keep calm for a minute. But from a distance, she seems to perceive this world with a kindly gaze.

  Then the sudden, gentle whistle released by her Pokémon makes me flinch. It’s a sound I’ve heard before, and as I look at Fennel with raised brows, she seems to read the question on my tongue straight from my face.

  “They like to ‘sing’, as I often say.” Her gaze firms on Unfezant. “Once they start, you can hear them three kilometres away.”

  “Isn’t that terrible, depending on where they are?”

  She shakes her head. “They never sing for longer than thirty minutes at a time and usually only at lunchtime, when everything is going crazy, anyway. Have you heard them before?”

  “Twice, if I remember correctly. And it was quite distracting for my Trumbeak.”

  “Oh?” She moves closer. “A normal Flying-type Pokémon you can only find on Alola, I’ve heard. It likes the temperatures there best. Will you show it to me?”

  I can hardly refuse her request, so I let Coro out of his ball and give him what little legroom there is in this tiny flat. He lands on the table, looks at me with his head tilted and takes a few blinks before he notices Unfezant. Shock seems to pierce him, forcing his body into an upright, rigid position and focussing all interest on the unfamiliar Pokémon.

  In the next breath, Unfezant lets out a coo that Coro imitates perfectly. Then she gives him a melodic whistle, and he chokes – possibly on his tongue. A spectacle she meets with humour as she places a grey-black wing in front of her beak and looks at him as if he has won her heart. But Coro’s feathers fluff up. He pecks, quivers a little across the table and catches a warning coo from Unfezant before she turns her head away. Trumbeak tries to communicate with her a few more times, but her interest is gone.

  ”Looks like your Trumbeak is very interested in Unfezant!” Fennel watches them both with great interest and I don’t have to ask to see that she’d like to leave them alone for a bit to see what happens. Preferably in a small space, so they have to get close to each other. “Love can be so fascinating!”

  “Maybe,” is all I can think of, and it’s that one breath that makes Fennel turn her big eyes to me. Behind her glasses, they look much more penetrating than I would like.

  “Only someone who feels the same can say that.”

  I swallow dryly. Everything in me is desperate not to react. My body becomes so stiff I can no longer look her in the face. I don’t want to think about Amethio. I don’t want to cling to this subtle realisation that I’ve buried four metres deep in my memory with an incredible effort over the last few days. As long as I don’t see him, I don’t need to worry about my racing heart, the desire for closeness or all the dreams I can barely remember. Usually, all that remains is a tingling feeling in my hands, my lips, my chest, and I know I dreamt about him. Sometimes I even think I remember him calling me by my name, as if he is summoning me, and it is these moments that often make me want to stay in bed and dream a little longer.

  “Is it Spinel?”

  “Hah?” A little too surprised, I turn to Fennel again and my horror gives her a relieved sigh.

  “And I really thought I’d found a love rival in you.”

  》W H I S P E R S – Butterfrees and how they multiply《

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  With Coro on my arm, which I support with the other’s hand, it’s a little easier to get through the colourful masses of the Join Avenue. It’s only four in the afternoon and my visit at Fennel’s has taken a whole three hours – time in which I was quizzed extensively about Spinel and had to compare my love life with hers. She probably would have held me captive even longer if she hadn’t received a call from work.

  Coro’s depressed grumbling trembles through his whole body, so I run a hand over his head and catch a brief but grateful look from him. His weight threatens to pull my arm down, so I have to support it once more.

  “I take it you recognised her by her cooing?” If you can hear an Unfezant over three kilometres, it may have reached the Dreamyard where Trumbeak first heard her. On top, I found out Fennel has been travelling around a lot lately to promote her latest research to other professors and take advantage of different opinions and bright minds. The whole thing has taken her to Nacrene City, where we didn’t meet, but her Unfezant was there.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  My Pokémon responds with another grumble and no matter how I spin it, Coro is clearly unhappy with our circumstances. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Fennel was right and he’s actually fallen a little in love with Unfezant. And his beloved has broken his heart because she probably has no interest in a Trumbeak if he can only impress with a flashy beak but not with colours. Male Unfezants stand out because of their green leg plumage and the pink-coloured mask on their head. They are also proud, noble, and significantly larger than Trumbeak.

  “I’m sorry she probably rejected you.” Gently, I rest my head against his body. I don’t want to imagine what that must be like and yet I’m overcome with an unexpected nausea at the thought I could end up like that one day too.

  Then again, I’m still hopeful I can simply swallow my feelings for Amethio. Being in love and actually loving someone are two very different things. One is a fickle feeling full of confusion and attraction. The other is a deep sense of connection which makes you realise you want to be with this one person for the rest of your life. I’m in love with Amethio, but I don’t love him. And at some point, this crush will end and all this will be forgotten.

  Until then, I’ll sit out the knot in my stomach and try not to get too hung up on this wobbly feeling. Ultimately, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with harsh words and reprimanding snorts.

  “It’ll be okay, Coro. You were in love and now ... you’re devastated. But I’m telling you, one day we’ll find your perfect mate on our travels and I’m sure you’ll be a lot happier than you would like to believe right now!”

  I look at him a little more cheerfully than before and Coro’s unenthusiastic sideways glance at least makes me believe he has understood me. At least enough to lean down and point to my pocket where the Poké Balls are. I have no choice but to allow him to retreat.

  So I’m alone with myself again, the Join Avenue is finally behind me, and my thoughts are once again clinging to the facades of the city, which seem a little more boring with each passing day – but I’ll take what I can get to avoid thinking about Amethio.

  At least that’s the attitude I adopt until, almost thirty minutes later, I stride exhausted through the door of the headquarters and pull the poorly stowed Rotom Phone out of the pocket of my dress. I barely get a chance to glance at the display when I hear my name at the end of the corridor and raise my head. Conia stumbles towards me.

  “Good to see you here!” She’s in uniform, holding a letter in her hand, and looks a little out of breath. “Amethio is sick.”

  My heart drops a notch. “Sick?”

  “He somehow caught a high fever. Ariana has already checked on and given him some tablets.” A sigh comes over her. “I looked after him until just now, but Amethio wants me to investigate something with Zir that he recently found out about...” She waves the letter and doesn’t elaborate on the problem.

  “Does that mean you want me to look after him?”

  I don’t want to. I really don’t.

  Of course, I want to check on him and make sure he’s doing reasonably well. But looking after him while Zir and Conia follow an order sounds like exactly the idea Fennel probably had in mind between Coro and Unfezant. Proximity. Locked in a room together so you have to deal with each other. It won’t be easy not to act stupid, considering that we’re always doing something foolish when we’re together. Like in the Lush Jungle when we were arguing. Or on the Brooklet Hill when we were nearly killed by a Pokémon. Or even better: like the last time I went to him and he was exercising and we were strangely attracted to each other for a moment. Or at least I was to him.

  Or maybe I was just hallucinating.

  Hallucinating sounds good.

  Meanwhile, Conia nods. “The food for him is on the cooker. It’ll need another five minutes. Can you take it to him, then?”

  There is no room for refusal. If Amethio can’t even get his own food, he must be in really bad shape.

  “Room fifteen, right at the end of the corridor.” She hastily rummages a card out of her skirt pocket. “That’s one of his spare ones. It’ll get you in.”

  The piece of plastic lands in my hands without a care in the world and before I can collect myself, Conia thanks me, pats me on the shoulder, and disappears. She simply leaves me behind, with a task that makes my heart beat up to my neck.

  For a breath, I just stand there and swallow. Then I try to push one leg in front of the other. Each step becomes a little faster than the one before and eventually, I’m so anxious I take the stairs instead of the lift.

  My breath burns in my throat as I arrive on the first floor and stumble straight into the kitchen, where there’s a pot on the cooker. The smell of milk and oatmeal hangs in the air, mingling with the sweetness of cherries and bananas. Still, I don’t dare take the lid off until the five minutes Conia mentioned have passed.

  My nose didn’t deceive me. What I pour into a bowl for Amethio is a pink mixture of milk flakes, cherries, and bananas. Carefully draped on a tray with a glass of water, I take it to the last room in the corridor, which is on the same side as mine. The card grants me access and as I slowly push my way into the dimly lit room, the smell of a honey candle hits me. The curtains are half drawn to prevent the sun from shining in too harshly and someone has opened one window.

  Slowly, I make my way over to the grey-covered bed where Amethio is resting, breathing heavily. The air in the room is fine, and it’s not too warm in here, but his cheeks and forehead are clearly flushed. Sweat is beading down his temples and his hair is sticking to his skin.

  Gently, I place the tray on the bedside table, where a package of fever-reducing tablets lies. According to the label, he has already taken two and should take another two after eating. The ingredients should at least bring his temperature down to an acceptable level within four hours.

  “Amethio?” I quietly place my hand on the blanket. The heat from his body reaches me in the same second.

  It takes a while before he opens his eyes, exhausted, and looks at me as if he can’t place me.

  “You need to eat something.”

  A sigh washes over him before he closes his eyes again. Only briefly, before he tries to sit up. But the weakness in his body eats away at him and he can barely support himself sideways on his forearm. I have to grab him by the shoulder and help him up so he can get into a sitting position and lean against the top of the bed. His purple pyjamas are terribly damp. The wool has soaked up every drop of his suffering.

  Still, I hand him the food first, place it carefully on the blanket under which his legs rest and then settle down on the swivel chair on the side of the bed, which Conia must have left there.

  For a while, I let my gaze drift so I don’t have to watch Amethio eat. In general, it would probably be better if I just left, but leaving him alone in this state is wrong. Besides, I have to make sure he takes his medicine.

  “You were out with Spinel?” Eventually, halfway through the bowl, Amethio’s faint voice reaches me.

  “No,” I reply in a whisper. “I was visiting a professor. Fennel.” My gaze shifts to him, meeting his attentive yet sickly expression. His skin is chalky white next to the red blotches. “I met her through Spinel.”

  He nods. He probably knows the connection between the two of them and avoids putting too much effort into questions that don’t matter.

  And it’s the only question he asks.

  Until he has emptied the bowl, we stay silent, and I use all this time to get to know his room and therefore him better. The nervousness has subsided.

  His place hardly looks any different to mine – it just has a lot less personality. You can see how little time he spends here. There are no books, no magazines, nothing on the laptop and even less to see on the shelves. The only thing giving it a bit of life is the grey-blue blanket with a bubble pattern, the corner of which peeks out from under the duvet.

  When Amethio breathes a sigh of relief and I catch sight of the empty bowl, my curiosity for our surroundings fades and I put the tray back on the bedside table.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Tired.”

  “Would you still ... get up for me?”

  It’s an insane thought, but the dampness I felt on my hand will make him even sicker. He’ll sleep better if someone takes care of the outside influences and in these breaths, I want nothing more than to give him relief.

  “Get up? Why?” Far too sleepily, he turns his head in my direction.

  “Your bed is damp. Your pyjamas too. You’re completely drenched in sweat.” Let me help you. They are words I can’t bring myself to utter, and yet Amethio understands my request without asking.

  And against all my fears, he plays along.

  Carefully, he pushes to his feet and rises, swaying, so I catch him with my whole body. His heat penetrates me, as does the wetness of his skin. Together we sit him down on the chair and I realise there’s probably more than just a fever eating away at him – or it’s been wearing away at him for longer than today. I can imagine he has ignored it for days.

  In quick strides, I stand in front of his wardrobe, open the double doors, and get an overview of his things. Then I pick out new sleeping clothes and bring them to Amethio.

  “Change, please ... if you can.”

  In the next breath, I turn away and go through his wardrobe again. This time I gather bed linen and even find replacements for the duvet and pillow – a little thicker than what he’s currently using.

  Then I turn my attention to his bed, not daring to look over at Amethio, and remove the damp linen. There is another, thicker blanket between the mattress and the sheets to protect the fabric underneath. This means I only have to open the window to hang up the blanket and pillow to dry.

  It hardly takes more than ten minutes to rearrange everything and make it comfortable, and when I finally dare to look at Amethio, he is at least wearing fresh pants. Otherwise, he keeps his eyes closed, slightly slumped over, ready to sleep while sitting. His naked upper body gleams with sweat.

  With gentle words, I wake him up, give him two of his tablets and hand him the glass of water next to them. In the meantime, I rush into his bathroom, gather washcloths and a bucket, which I fill with lukewarm water.

  As soon as I get back, he has taken the medication and put the glass back. He looks at me, perhaps through me, and doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he leans forward to expose his back to me. He surrenders to my idea, without protest, without bite, without the rejection he usually throws at me. Amethio allows me to press the damp cloth gently onto his skin and wash the sweat off him – along his shoulders, to his neck, down his back to his hips. Even over his slim chest, over every inch of his athletically slender upper body, he accepts my care.

  Simultaneously, there are seconds in which my hands tremble. My throat is completely parched. But my heart remains calm, my mind is a blank slate and if it weren’t for the trembling, I would almost feel normal. The desire to help surpasses the nervous fluttering and yet it refuses to give up without a fight. It’s ridiculous. And it’s somehow a part of me.

  Our silent intimacy lasts until I dab him with a towel and try to dry his skin with light circles that don’t bother him. Amethio can barely keep his eyes open. His head keeps nodding downwards and his breath rolls evenly over his lips. When I brush his skin with my fingertips, he no longer seems to burn. The medication is working, and it brings his exhaustion to the fore.

  However, I still have to ask him to stand up again to get him back into bed. The soft sheets carefully cradle his body and as I tuck him in, he barely seems conscious. His eyelids flutter, fighting with the desire to sleep and the need not to let me out of his sight. So I sit down next to him and dig his hand out from under the covers to reassure him I’m not about to cause another catastrophe. I am here, by his side, and I will stay until he is tired of my presence.

  Yet he continues to struggle with himself until he breathes heavily and opens his eyes a crack. This time, he holds his ground against the tiredness.

  “Try... to stay away from Spinel.” His voice is only a breath. “Trusting him will bring you nothing but ... trouble.”

  “You worry too much about irrelevant things,” I return. “It’s more important that you worry about your health. I asked you to-” I break off.

  He and the others have often asked me to keep my distance from Spinel because he’s not trustworthy. I, meanwhile, have asked Amethio to take better care of himself and I can’t say any of us has taken any of it to heart. It probably makes us both kind of irresponsible, even though his condition is much worse than mine could ever be. Still, I want Amethio to feel better – to at least try to be a bit more relaxed about his body.

  “I can’t promise you I’ll keep my distance from Spinel. We’re friends.” A sigh passes my lips. “But if you take better care of yourself, I’m willing to spend less time with him. No more trips to other cities with him. No more outings that last longer than a few hours. A little more distance. A little more ‘safety’, if that’s what you want.”

  Amethio doesn’t answer. Only his thumb runs loosely over my fingers. It’s a touch forcing a strange warmth into my stomach and a wry smile onto my lips. He has heard me and he seems satisfied with my offer. A compromise I’ll make until the hostility between him and Spinel subsides one day. The latter will certainly understand. Until now, Spinel has always been calm; a person who has accepted all my mistakes and hasty decisions.

  Gently, I squeeze Amethio’s hand, hoping to make my promise a little clearer to him. As I do so, he stops with his thumb and remains motionless until his steady breathing takes over the room. This time he can’t escape the exhaustion and while he appears peaceful in his dream, I tuck his hand under the blanket.

  I should put the bucket away and wash the sweaty sheets, but part of me wants to stay a little longer. Looking at his relaxed face in this way differs from his usual tense yet expressionless behaviour. I also wonder what he was thinking when I fell asleep on his shoulder – back then, on the way to Aether Paradise. Did he take any further interest in me back then, or was I just a hindrance while he tried not to appear like a useless child to Faba?

  The smile on my lips becomes wider. The twitch of the corners of my mouth mocks me and, as I shake my head in defeat, I try to channel my thoughts in a different direction.

  Maybe I should spend the next few days at Amethio’s side instead of devoting myself to Spinel. It’s probably not a good plan for my poor heart or all the knots in my stomach that are likely to haunt me, but it would help to watch out for him. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t overdo it and that he does his training responsibly. Zir is hardly seen at headquarters and Conia tries hard, but can’t do anything about Amethio’s orders. In the end, they are both obedient towards him. I am not. I can tell him off when it counts. At least I think I can. For a moment. As long as I don’t have to prove it.

  A sudden vibration in my pocket distracts me. A glance at the display of the Rotom Phone reveals a message from my father. It’s the first time he’s written. He usually calls for ages before he gives up.

  I can’t contain my curiosity as I open the message and read the few lines he has thrown at me.

  You’ve won your game. I can see you’re doing well.

  Come home so we can talk about it.

  There’s an old friend of mine in Unova who could bring you.

  Maybe we can find a middle ground.

  He knows where I’m at.

  My heart thunders in my throat. I want to believe him, I really do. But my memory is full of gaps and questions he’ll never answer. If I go home now, we’ll talk and he won’t let me go. Maybe my freedoms will grow, but they won’t be enough to stay with the Explorers. Unless he tries to make a deal with them like he did with the Rising Volt Tacklers.

  No matter how I look at it, I’m not ready to go home. Not today, not tomorrow, and not for weeks to come. But I’m also not heartless enough to ignore his message.

  Hello Dad.

  I’m not coming home – not yet.

  After everything that’s happened, I’ve found a place where I feel good.

  Here I can enjoy freedom and explore things I never thought about before.

  You don’t have to worry, I’ll be fine.

  I’d be happy if you could take the Rising Volt Tacklers off the job

  to take me home. Better use the money for yourself.

  As I send it, there’s almost a sense of relief settling lightly on my shoulders – until my father writes back within a few breaths.

  No.

  These people will take you home.

  Unova isn’t a place where you should be!

  We didn’t leave there because I enjoyed running away.

  It’s dangerous there and those Explorers you got involved with

  are a dodgy bunch who shouldn’t be trusted.

  My father would probably get on brilliantly with Amethio. You’d think they wouldn’t trust anyone but a handful of people. My father raises questions he will probably never discuss with me, but I can’t help but ask.

  Then why did we leave?

  His fingers type quickly.

  To protect you.

  Maybe he’s willing to tell me more than I expected. Maybe I’ll finally find some answers for some of my freedom.

  From whom?

  But my father’s message isn’t what I was hoping for.

  From people who want to harm you.

  I don’t want to give in; I want to hope for something more.

  Who?

  But hopes are nothing more than wishful thinking that will probably never become reality. He conveys that clearly.

  That’s not your business.

  A girl your age shouldn’t worry about such things.

  I let out a sigh. If he wants to play this game, then his worries aren’t part of my world. I’m not prepared to go back to my prison without background knowledge. My only chance of filling the gaps in my memory is to do my own research and go on adventures. Somewhere in between, things will come together. It’s the only reason I now remember my mum and a few words she once said to me.

  If my father won’t take my side in this situation, I have no choice but to make it clear to him I have no interest in his orders and empty statements.

  Then catch me if you can.

  And then I’ll put our chat on mute.