Seth lay flat on his back, staring up at his bedroom's ceiling. Thoughts tumbled through his mind in a disorganized jumble.

From the dungeon itself to his teammates finding out the truth, there was a lot to process. What had surprised him most, apart from getting punched in the face, was Kiah's quick acceptance. Of all people to react badly, he would have expected her to be the one. Instead, it had been Snow.

Seth rubbed his jaw, wincing at a phantom ache. He'd never imagined that Snow would actually hit him. What was even more puzzling was the question why? Why had the other player been so upset?

It wasn't like Seth's problem would affect Snow or the whole team in general. Seth did everything he could to make sure of that. If he got hurt, it would only take a few moments to get himself healed and functional again; Batin's lessons had made sure of that. Or maybe it was the shock of the situation, but again, at the end of the day, it was something Seth had to deal with. Not Snow.

Noise drifted in from the hall. Seth turned his head to see the big chair by his bed empty, and his bedroom door left open a crack. A small stream of daylight filtered through. He listened to the sound of running water, clattering dishes, the soft murmur of hushed conversation coming from the direction of his kitchen.

It sounded alien.

It was like a dream, or one of those tv shows where the families were so perfect it was painfully fake. The kids were happy and well behaved, the mother and father attentive and loving, and they'd prepare dinner while the kids played in the living room. There'd be sounds like this—he could hear quiet laughter from his own kitchen—and then they'd all gather around the table together in a cheerful, peaceful meal where they'd ask things like, How was your day, dear? Or Can you pass the gravy, please? Or they'd say, Well done on getting an A on your book report, Timmy! I'm proud of you!

It was all so stupid. No one actually lived like that. Seth's lip curled before he gave a quiet snort. He clearly had an invader in his kitchen—Jake if he had to guess—and not a loving mother or an attentive father. Those things didn't exist.

He rolled out of bed, dragging a hand down his face and feeling the scratch of a few sporadic hairs doing their best to grow into a wimpy beard. It was an embarrassment that was better removed as soon as possible, considering he'd seen old ladies sport better chin hairs than he. Seth took a quick shower and shave, avoiding the violet-blue eyes that gazed out of the mirror.

He dressed in a baggy black T-shirt and gray jeans, which he had to use his only belt to keep it from slipping down his hips. It gave him pause, because he could still remember when his pants felt too snug and his shirts a bit tight. A crease settled between his eyebrows, and didn't fade even when he finally ventured into his kitchen.

He wasn't surprised to see Jake cooking breakfast. And he wasn't even surprised to see Mrs. Beakor herself already sipping at a coffee at his kitchen table. What did surprise him was to see Tripp hanging out at the table as well.

Seth paused, processing this. The clock on the stove said it was just after 9am. Didn't Tripp have a diner to run? It was a Thursday, after all. He idly scratched the back of his hand, pressing his lips together. Since when had his apartment become the morning meeting place? None of them even had keys, either.

Jake probably let them in. Resignedly, Seth ventured into the kitchen. "Is Chadley coming over, too?"

Mrs. Beakor greeted him with a lazy grin. "Well, good morning, sleepy head."

"Chadley's looking after the diner," Tripp informed him. "Come, have some breakfast. Your flight leaves within the hour, so there's not much time."

Seth dropped into a chair, his confusion growing even more. "Chadley knows how to run a diner?"

"Well, if he doesn't, he'll figure it out. He's a smart man." Mrs. Beaker took a sip of her coffee. Then she grabbed a clean mug that was on the table, and poured a fresh cup. She slid it across the table to Seth, who automatically grasped it in both hands.

The idea of Chadley dealing with customers and then somehow producing food for them felt a bit strange to Seth. He tried to picture it, and could only imagine Chadley making a slideshow presentation of the menu items. The customers could then point to the one they'd wanted, without a single word having to be uttered.

Seth lifted the mug to his lips, brow wrinkling even more. What a ridiculous notion! There was no way that was what-

Wait.

Wait just a minute. He lowered the mug to the table, and stared at the two crazy old people sitting across from him. "What do you mean my flight leaves in an hour?"

"Our flight, kiddo." Mrs. Beakor beamed at him. "And yes, it's leaving at 10, so you'll want to hurry."

"Hurry?!" He could hardly believe his ears. Even if he left now, that was barely enough time to get to the airport across the city, get his ticket registered, run through security and get to his gate. And here they were all sitting down for a nice breakfast? "That's—I haven't even found where my passport is yet!"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I have it here." To prove it, Mrs. Beakor patted the black leather purse that hung from the back of her chair. "It was about to expire, actually, but I took care of that for you."

Seth stared. "In a day?" He received another beatific shark-like grin in response. "How is that even legal?"

A plate appeared before him, laden with eggs, sausage and hashbrowns. It was piled so high that it was no small miracle that it hadn't slid off the dish in a catastrophic avalanche.

"Eat," came Jake's stern voice.

At the same time, a fork appeared beside the plate, along with several napkins. By the little balloons plastered all over them, they appeared to be birthday napkins. Seth spent a moment wondering how on earth birthday-themed napkins appeared in his apartment, before his stomach politely gurgled to remind him that such things didn't really matter.

He grabbed his coffee mug, drained it, and then picked up the fork. It was clear that he was going to need the energy to deal with the very real probability of getting arrested in the near future.

It was a quarter-to-ten when they arrived at the airport. By then, Seth had resigned himself to whatever epic disaster was sure to unfold. There was no way they were going to board a plane that was leaving in ten minutes. Still, he was morbidly curious to see what Mrs. Beakor was going to do about it.

"Let me know when you get back," Tripp told them as they got out of his car. "I'll come pick you up."

"I'll be waiting," Mrs. Beakor said, her voice suddenly husky in a way that made Seth roll his eyes. Meanwhile, Tripp did a thing with his eyes where his eyelids lowered a fraction and he just kind of smoldered like twin coals in a dying fire.

Seth made a face. "Can you guys do that elsewhere?"

They ignored him. Mrs. Beakor bent down and leaned in through the open passenger window. Tripp leaned over to meet her, and Seth flushed at the sounds that followed. He stiffly turned his back, and wondered what was wrong with people these days. Didn't they care that the whole world could see how gross they were being?

When the car finally drove away, Mrs. Beakor looked far too satisfied with herself. She gave Seth a sharp clap between the shoulder blades. There was enough force there to jolt him forwards.

"All right now, kiddo. Let's go find our plane."

"It's probably gone already," Seth muttered. Yet he followed her anyway as she entered the airport.

Rather than go through to the kiosks to collect their tickets, she bypassed the main area entirely. They walked past clumps of people carting luggage, and there was even a large group of girls taking up an entire section of seats in a waiting area. He might have suspected it was a high school sports team if it hadn't been late summer, so perhaps it was some sort of summer camp.

He looked at them curiously as he passed by, wondering what it would have been like to attend a camp. Probably not fun, since he had no friends to go with. Envy swirled in his heart, and his expression darkened. Carly had been the one to participate in all the fun extra activities. People gathered around her like moths to a flame, and she'd never lacked company wherever she went.

Giggles rose from the girls, along with excited whispering. He couldn't help but look back over a shoulder, wondering what had stirred their interest, only to find nearly a dozen faces smiling brightly in his direction. He blinked, taken aback, then hurriedly turned around. Someone must have tripped or done something funny nearby and he missed it. He sighed. Of course he'd miss anything cool that happened. It was the story of his life.

"Here, kiddo." Mrs. Beakor passed over a pair of sunglasses. "Better put those on."

He took them carefully, a little confused. "Why?"

One side of her mouth lifted, and she tapped the side of her face, right by her eyes. "These are a bit too noticeable."

"Ah." Right. His stupid purple eyes. He unfolded the glasses and slid them over his face. The world around him immediately darkened a bit. "They're getting worse, aren't they."

"Worse isn't the word I'd use, but yes, it's becoming more apparent. Chadley figures they'll match your other half before long."

"Great," he muttered. "Just what I need."

"Don't worry. When we get back, we'll get you some colored contacts." She put her hand on his hair and ruffled it reassuringly like he was two years old. He ducked away, throwing her a scowl. His ire went unnoticed, for she suddenly brightened. "Ah, here we are."

There was a small desk in a corner by a set of security doors. Mrs. Beakor went straight over, and wasted no time greeting the uniformed man behind it.

"Hello, dear. We've got a flight with Jebediah Amos."

The man—a stern, silver-haired fellow by the name of Gerald—showed no expression at their appearance. He merely glanced at Mrs. Beakor, then Seth, before stating, "Is that so."

"Yes. Here's our identification."

Mrs. Beakor withdrew two thin passports from her purse and placed it on the desk. And to Seth's absolute shock, he saw a few $100 bills sandwiched between them. His jaw dropped. That had to be a mistake, right?

But Mrs. Beakor didn't seem to see the cash. And neither did Gerald, who merely picked up the passports. He opened them one at a time, inspecting them for a moment, before he set them down and entered something into his computer.

A moment later, he stamped each passport and handed them back, minus the cash.

"Cleared to go. I'll unlock those doors for you. They'll take you to the private strip."

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Beakor swept the passports into her purse. "Let's go, kiddo. Our ride awaits."

The red lights above the security door flicked to green, and she immediately pushed them open. Numbly, Seth followed. He was trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened. When this crazy woman had said she'd booked some flights, he was imagining the normal procedure. But this was like something out of a crime movie.

Just who was this old woman?