Sassi looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Gyre is good at what they do, but that doesn’t mean God’s willing. What happens is meant to happen.”

Arek cocks his head to the side with aggravation after looking at his phone. “No one knows how to fight the Rebellion when they’re everywhere. That’s the trouble we face, the Velieri world is breaking down. It’s no longer safe with Kenichi and Mak’s men; they don’t know who they can trust.”

“Why? What happened?” I’m curious about everything.

“Someone from their staff shared a picture of you . . . that’s why we’ve been called in. We can’t fight this way,” Arek tells Kilon—to which Kilon nods. “Beyond the picture shared by Aita’s sister.”

My eyes follow three teenage boys who are extremely interested in the beautiful black car that we are in, then several businessmen with briefcases at their sides check out some women as they pass.

Sassi speaks up. “The lines are drawn from the Prophets to Navin and Japha to us. We’re tired. Velieri people are tired of hiding. Tired of not being heard. Tired of believing lies for one man’s gain and another man’s oppression.” Sassi lets her guard down and her beautiful but sad eyes look out the window. “We are over risking our lives for a government that cares nothing about us, yet they win. They have the numbers, the money, the power, the ability to change the world’s perspective with one strategic lie. Yet if we fight, we lose everything. Navin may be misguided in his attempt for freedom, but he gathers people with the promise to someday live free. I, for one, am tired of shackles. So there are more people standing with Navin than ever before.”

Kilon reaches out for her hand in the dark car. When he touches it, she turns her desperate eyes to him. His thumb runs up and down her skin.

“People are beginning to wise up and it’s worrying to the Prophets and Powers.” Kilon shakes his head as he runs his hand down his neck. “The best dictators are the greatest magicians—they keep someone’s eye to the right, when the truth is on the left.”

Sassi looks at me in the rearview mirror. “And that’s why people cling to this prophecy of peace. It gives us hope.”

A few blocks off the main strip, behind several theaters, five food carts line a small alleyway just off the water. The smell of fried grease is so thick it coats my tongue. Sassi pulls to a stop and quickly we all exit the unfamiliar black car.

They whisk me away between the food carts. We very carefully follow the skinny path of tiles just beside the water since one incorrect inch to the right, we might fall in. Arek places his phone to his ear. “One minute,” he says.

Just ahead, a sweet looking local man with a kind smile waits with one foot on his boat and the other on the tile. When we reach him, he grabs my elbow and helps me just as everyone else follows. Within moments we are traveling quickly down the Sumida River.

“They’re all there,” the kind man named Ushi tells us. “I’ve never seen so many gather for one hearing.” After several minutes, Ushi pulls up to some steps and quickly ties the boat. “I wish you good luck,” he says in Japanese.

A temple just fifty feet away gives the impression of a quiet Buddhist monastery tucked away behind the city. We hurry across cement pavers, past an extending growth of woodland and fountains, and under a tall sign written in Japanese saying, “Peace Long Lasting.” If I wasn’t desperately aware of what might come next, this would have been one of the most beautiful places in my memory. Several people, strewn about the property, are kneeling on pads while others are writing in journals only to look up as we rush by.

Farther and farther we go without stopping—beyond the open prayer room, through several halls, and then down many flights of stairs while Arek never releases his weapon hiding inside his shirt. Sassi, Kilon, Arek, and I are somehow winding through the back halls where others can’t go and find our way to a large open breezeway with a golden door at the end. Statues of several hybrid animals are standing between guards. These guards have earpieces and suits, and they are large like Kilon and Arek. The first one turns when we come down and reaches for his weapon before he sees us. The concern turns friendly when he recognizes Arek.

“Sir,” he says, stepping to Arek with his hand out.

Arek smiles and shakes his hand. “Good to see you, Bryce.”

“You too, sir. Everyone’s here and waiting.” Then he looks at me as though a new revelation is upon him and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it myself. Good to see you again, Mrs. Rykor. I’m sorry they’re making you do this.”

“Thank you,” I say as I shake his hand.

“This way,” Bryce says as he leads us through the hall, past the guards, and to the golden door. “They’ve done checks, but there is no guarantee for the crowd. We’ve been ordered to surround her.”

“On all sides.” Arek motions that he knows each one of the guards and they carefully position themselves around me. Kilon and Sassi to my left and right, while Arek walks ahead.

When Bryce opens the door, hundreds of voices swiftly fill the hall; they only grow louder upon entering. A room the size of my high school’s gymnasium, yet looking more like a museum, erupts into a firestorm of chatter when we walk in. There is not an inch about me to move or practically breathe and the sweat glides down my forehead, yet the air conditioner in the room feels wonderful.

Roped off areas keep all the press collected in a corner, and I wonder suddenly why press would even exist in a world of Velieri, until I notice familiar faces from the mainstream news, such as Good Morning America and the Today show. The reality sinks in that people all over the world, whom I’ve been watching for years, are Velieri. A little person standing no more than three foot five, his face kind and handsome, winks at me as we pass. “Andrew Vincent,” I whisper, recognizing him from CNN.

“Welcome back, my friend,” Andrew responds. I don’t know anything more than his name and a subtle fondness for him.

“Why are they here?” I whisper to Sassi, regarding the media.

“We have our own channels. However, the original decree said that whistleblowers risk certain death, so we keep Velieri and Epheme media separate. Most of these Velieri reporters are under strict law forbidding them to report anything that isn’t sanctioned by the Velieri government.” Sassi never looks at me or stops scoping the crowd.

We step up two stairs onto a platform that overlooks one very long table with the ability to fit more than twenty. There we wait. At the other end of the room is a crowd of people who have no mention, so I’m not sure who they are. Many of them are dressed in dark clothing, their heads shaved with body piercings and tattoos. When they see me, they make a fist and pound their chests three times.

Kilon leans near my ear, “They’re showing their support for you.” One of the main girls with red hair, brown eyes, pierced eyebrows, and a scar through her lip nods at me, so I nod back.

Two large doors ahead of us open, letting men and women file in to take their place at the table. Leigh, Arek’s father, is one, as is Briston. Behind them, the five Prophets enter, dressed in white robes, and I recognize them from my memory.

They, too, sit about the table. Soon a bell rings and the room quiets.

“Where is Ms. Landolin?” one of the Prophets asks, his white mustache hanging just past his lip.

The guards surrounding me split in two, leaving just Arek at the helm, yet he doesn’t move . . . not at first.

“Commander Rykor?” the mustached man asks as if expecting this from Arek.

Arek speaks first, “We don’t have the time to be here. Navin has caused chaos for our entire community, yet here we are communing over her.” He steps aside, so that they can see me. “Her name is Willow, Prophet Covey. This is not my wife. Not yet.”

The mustached man is the “Covey” Sassi spoke of—the one who is against me. “Thank you, Arek, but we’ll decide that.” Covey looks straight at me, giving my heart a jolt of fear. He is not to be trusted. This radiates deep within my chest. “Come forward, Ms. Landolin.”

I move slowly, my toes finally stopping just inches from the edge.

Covey pushes papers around on the table until he finally reaches one he likes. A pen sticks out between his thumb and forefinger. “Ms. Landolin, you have remembered Mak Oto and his father. Is that correct?”

“I . . .” I hesitate until he interrupts.

“Yes or no, Mrs. Rykor.”

I look at Arek behind me and he gently nods his head, telling me to be honest. “Yes, sir.”

Covey looks at the men beside him before he continues. “And is it correct that you have remembered your father, Briston Landolin?”

Briston sits at the table with them, but his discomfort is apparent as his foot taps the ground.

I nod, “Yes, sir.”

Covey hardly lets me finish before he’s on to the next question. “And this is you . . .” On the wall behind him, a picture is suddenly displayed. There’s no obvious projector or laser, so this makes me look around. Several pictures from the last few days—seeming to display our normalcy.

Arek steps forward angrily, “This proves nothing. She is not Remy. I can promise you that.”

“It proves everything, Arek,” Covey says.

“I know my wife.”

My tired eyes look up at Arek. The reminder of who I am not is always here.

“Step back, Arek,” Leigh calls out. “Watch yourself, son.”

Yet Arek refuses. “You know better than anyone, if she goes to the Cellar as she is, she has no chance. It is within our rights to demand that we have time.”