I sigh.

I’m not a parent. I’m a loner. I’ve never even babysat. I try to think of what my mom would do, what she did do when our electricity was cut off because of late payments. I turn the gas oven on low and pop both bread and meat in to thaw.

Then I go to the basement. It’s a pigsty. Blankets, pillows, toys, old crusts of bread. I tidy it up quickly, creating a dozen individual sleeping areas—each one with a pillow and nicely folded blanket. I manage to find a stuffed animal to go with each pillow. Even I know that whether the kids are tired or not, a neat space is more desirable to hang out in.

And they need to stay in here until they fall asleep.

All the awake kids are playing tag outside when I go back upstairs, but their energy is fading. They’ve been awake for hours, and even now, I see a few of them lolling in what remains of the evening sun.

Perfect.

I lower the blinds so the lighting inside the house is more conducive to sleep. Then I slice enough turkey off the cooked breast and call the kids inside.

They hold to their Lost Boys temperaments and swarm the kitchen at the mention of food.

“Everyone, sit at the table!” I order.

They climb on chairs, on the table, and wiggle themselves up on the barstools until finally I raise my hands and shout. “Everyone, quiet or you get no food!”

That silences them, even though I wouldn’t really follow through on that threat. But they don’t know that.

I hand out paper plates with turkey, a slice of bread, and peanut-butter apples as fast as I can. A few say thanks. A few protest, “I don’t want peanut butter on the apple!” I ignore them and pass out cups of warm milk. One boy dips his turkey in it.

For one blessed moment there’s nothing but silence.

I use that time to take what’s left of the warm milk and trickle it into the mouths of the sleeping kids. I lift Everett up so he won’t choke and pour the tiniest dribble in his mouth. On reflex, he swallows so I give him more. His reflexes seem to take over, and he swallows several big gulps, all while staying asleep.

I do the same to the several other sleeping children as well as adults, then change the plastic sheets that rest under the kids. All but one are soiled. I find the washing machine before I remember that it won’t work. There’s no electricity.

So I wash them with dish soap in the kitchen sink. Stranna and Jules probably have a different system, but I don’t care. I lay the sheets out on the lawn to dry them. I find clean ones folded and stacked in a closet and set them up for each sleeping child.

By now, the kids have finished eating. “Downstairs,” I tell them quietly. “You too, Heidi.”

They file down the stairs while the turkey meat and warm milk does its job. The girls squeal when they see the sleeping arrangements. But as they whisper to one another, the boys rush to claim their own beds, making some of the girls scream in protest because they wanted a certain stuffed animal. It takes me another 20 minutes to get them calm and tucked in. I promise them that if they stay in their beds and fall asleep I’ll give them a big treat when they wake up.

Not sure how to follow through with that, but I’ll do my best.

I turn off the light and head up the stairs. I set up my own bed at the door at the top of the stairs. I leave the door open so I can hear them but also so they can step over me if they need to. I’m about to lie down when Heidi peeks over the top of the stairs and whispers, “I want to sleep with Mommy.”

I’m about to tell her I need to keep an eye on her here when I realize how absurd that is. I’m going to sleep, too. And why deny a girl the safe space of her mother’s arms?

“Come on.” I take her hand and lead her upstairs to Helene’s bunk. Heidi nestles in close and I tuck her in.

I’m about to leave when she says in a small voice, “I don’t want to go back.”

I kneel beside her. “You have to sleep eventually, Heidi. Wouldn’t you rather go back surrounded by friends?”

“Will you be with me?”

I want to say yes. I want to comfort her. But children can handle more than I can imagine. I’ve seen that firsthand in Tenebra. “I don’t quite know where I’ll wake up, but you won’t be alone. Okay, Heidi?”

“Mommy says Jesus is always with us.” She pulls her covers up to her chin. “But I’m still scared. Even when I pray.”

I take her hand, wishing Mom or Nole were here to respond. “I am, too, Heidi. But I can promise you this: He wins in the end.”

“He does?”

“Yes.”

“I hope he doesn’t wait too long to do it.”

I have to laugh. “Me too.”

She rolls over and tucks herself against Helene’s body. I return downstairs and lay in my own spot, willing myself to fall asleep to rejoin them. Now that I’m actually resting, my brain spins faster instead of slowing down to sleep. I think of the kids mere yards away from me, drifting off at this very moment. Wondering where they’re going to wake up in Tenebra.

Luc once told me they’d wake up wherever they called home. But these children have never had a home. Until now. Have they lived in Castle Ithebego long enough to call it home?

I will myself to think only of the Arena. That is where I want to wake. It’s been 24 hours since my Tenebran death, which means the Arena will be filled and in the middle of some new Games. Everyone will be confronted with the truth. I’m alive. And they saw me stoned and then sliced open with a lightning shard.

Now they’ll see me resurrected. The surest proof that what I told them is true. There is a cure. And all it takes is a shift of heart, a choice of mind.

There’s a momentary passing of sleep. A transition of sorts. The Adelphoi house fades. Darkness silences all thought and sound.

Then my eyes open again in the Nightmare.

My heart stutters. I’m not in the Arena.

I stand tall on the outer wall of Castle Ithebego like I’ve just finished a conversation with Erik. All is silent, but not in peace. It is a silence of dread. Death, even. Time is paused as my mind takes in the scene.

Across the expanse of moat and forest, the veil separating Tenebra and Castle Ithebego hangs in shreds—a translucent curtain abused and destroyed.

Black flames consume the wheat field. Not a single grain of light remains.

Waiting on the other side to charge are Luc and his army.

We have mere minutes before Luc and his army swarm through the blackened wheat field and onto our turf. I feel like Theoden King atop Helm’s Deep, helpless to stop the battle that will force children to wield swords and hearts to fail.

Any confidence I hold in waking to Real Life quails beneath the threat before me. Knowing death is not my master brings a deep peace, but it doesn’t calm the present dread. Even when Jesus knew His death on the cross would result in salvation for the world, He still prayed so desperately for relief that He sweat drops of blood.

A happy ending doesn’t free one from the pain of the process it takes to get there.

“Cain?” Stranna’s soft voice from beside me yanks me from my spiral. I tear my eyes from Luc and his army of tirones and see her. She wears Roman armor, and for the first time since I met her, fear doesn’t linger behind her eyes.

A shift happens in this moment.

I dread the battle coming, yes, but determination wins out. I’ve felt life. I’ve lived love. I’ve seen the power of light. Even if darkness seems to be victorious today, it is a farce. Luc may have the power to cause pain and loss, but he has no power for victory. And because of that he—and darkness—will always lose.