Twenty minutes, maybe thirty, of whooshing through that sparkling blue tunnel, and I could barely turn my head left to right from the wind. It wasn't like I needed to; there was nothing but tile walls and ceiling and lights. If there were other passages, I couldn't see them; if there were any unique features, we moved too quickly to be able to make them out. There wasn't enough time to think much, but what did play in my mind was whether or not this was the right decision. We'd put ourselves at her mercy; she knew where this thing ended, but we didn't. She could be taking us just about anywhere, into any sort of trap, and we'd have no idea until it was too late. The longer we moved, the more I grew concerned, so that when the vehicle suddenly began to slow and I regained the ability to shift my arms and head, the first thing I did was raise my gun and shoot her in the back of the head.

The thing kept going, though, even when she'd toppled to the side, and after giving me some shocked sort of look, Lucas climbed up into the driver's seat and pulled levers and pressed things to try to get it to slow down or stop. He shouted over his shoulder, frantically, unsure what to do, and we feared we'd crash into something at any moment.

"Her eye!" I screamed against the rush. "Use her eye!"

From behind, I saw him take hold of her head and, presumably, hold her eye in front of the scanner screen. It must have worked, because after that, he was able to slow the go-cart to a complete stop.

We sat there for a minute, just recovering from the speed and the thrill and the stimulation. Then we both stumbled out and took a look at what lay before us. If we were near the end of the tunnel, we couldn't yet see it. The tiles and lights continued for what could be miles. But I had a feeling it wasn't too much farther, or she wouldn't have begun slowing down.

"Why did you kill her?"

Lucas's question wasn't accusatory; it was interrogative. "I didn't want her to have the upper hand, whenever we got where she was taking us. Now we arrive on our terms."

He gave a curt nod, and we started walking. We stayed to the side of the tracks in the event that the go-cart began to move again, but it was only about ten minutes before we came to the end of the vehicle's path. Ahead, now, we could see the end of the passage: a metal door surrounded by the glossy blue tiles. It looked like an elevator door and, I realized upon approach, it was. Standing in front of that sliding metal door, I felt the most intense apprehension I'd ever known rise in me. My chest pounded with my heartbeat, and I intuitively reached for Lucas's hand. When our fingers met, he was startled, gave me a questioning look. "Not a sign," I assured him. "I just--need you right now." His hand closed around mine, reassuringly, and he mentioned something about the signal not being a good one anymore, but I didn't care, because I wasn't thinking about anything except that door in front of us, the button I pressed, the expectation of what might be beyond it. When that door slid aside--we, ready on the opposite with weapons in hand--it revealed no one and nothing but a mirror-walled elevator. I startled for a moment, seeing our own images reflected, seeing our movements, but I quickly realized my mistake and, exchanging eyes with Lucas, we stepped into it, turning our bodies and switching the order of hands and guns we held. I had never been so grateful for Lucas. I couldn't imagine how afraid I'd be, doing this alone.

There was only one button in the elevator, currently flashing an "up" arrow. I pressed it, the door closed, and up we went. It was so quiet, such a weird enclosed, small-space sort of atmosphere, like the walls were padded after all the rushing and hollowness of the tunnel below. I was fairly sure I could hear Lucas's heart beating along with my own, our breathing picking up the farther we rose.

"Remember," I said, cutting through the stifling quiet. "They don't want us to hurt ourselves. Use that if you need to. You can threaten to hurt me, too."

He turned to me, concerned.

"I mean it. If it works, use it."

"I don't want to hurt you."

I almost imperceptibly tightened my fingers around his. "I know that. But they don't."

The elevator slowed to a stop. This was it. I took a deep, preparatory breath, and the door slid aside. What lay beyond was merely a brief hallway, and another door. Through it we went, and when that door opened (a little too easily, I thought, as if there should be some sort of security which had been neglected), what met our eyes was nothing short of breathtaking.

We entered an absolutely enormous space, shining white floors, no walls but the one we'd come through, and far across from us and above us a curved glass half-dome. The glass looked out on a huge lake, hundreds of yards below, low-rolling prairies and mountains far in the distance. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, and the lighting in this space was dimmed in order to allow for no reflection. We saw the landscape beyond in all its pre-dawn glow, sunlight just gracing the tops of the elevated land and bringing to life sparkles on the dark water. I looked left to right, seeing only that the space expanded and continued on either side; I almost felt like we were in an airport terminal, minus the baggage, people, and kiosks. There were potted plants, huge ones, palms, situated on the floor, along the glass wall, and other plants somehow growing on the interior of the dome, vines of sorts. It was all strange and magical in appearance, and I felt suddenly as if everything were wrong. I'd expected some dark, secretive, macabre complex, with bodies being experimented on and torture chambers and . . . and I didn't know what else. But not this. Not some pristine building with an awe-inspiring view whose wings seemed to go on forever.

I felt eyes on my back, the hairs on my neck prickling, and I let go of Lucas and twisted back toward the door. Standing there, behind us, was a large man, one I'd last seen over a year ago, with a greasy shirt in a pizza shop--

"Don't," I said to Lucas, who'd taken aim. "I know him."

"That you do," the man--whom I'd known as Old Lisa--replied. He was recognizable in stature and in the largeness of his features, even in his voice, though the rough edges of it had softened. And he was dressed in regular clothing, nice pants, a normal shirt; he looked like someone's boring dad.

"But I heard that you were dead . . ." All wrong. It was all wrong. Mel had told me she'd heard it--from her mother--he'd been cut into little pieces by Circuit members . . .

"Easy enough to plant a story," the man smiled, and I was reminded of the kindness he'd shown me when I'd run from the Circuit, when Mac and I had needed help. He wasn't the contradictorily jolly, surly man he was then, though. There was a slyness about him, in the slight arch of his eyebrows, the upturn of his grin, the way he held his hands straight and ready at his sides. "Old Lisa is dead. He was an interesting character to play, but his time was done."

I was confused, thrown off, and Lucas next to me whispered, "Do you want me to--?"

"Not yet, not yet." I held up a hand to steady him as much as myself. "So you--whoever you are--were never some benevolent pizza maker helping street kids escape the Circuit? Not actually?" I realized how ridiculous it sounded as I said it.

"Not actually."

"Then who are you?"

He inclined his head in a somewhat ingratiating manner. "I do not matter. I'm here to bring you to them."

"We shot the last person who said that," Lucas warned.

"Yes," the man replied, "as you felt you should. I, too, am at your disposal, if you wish to dispose of me."

I just stared at him, totally bewildered. "Wh-what's the alternative? Where do you want to take us?"

"The alternative is I take you to them, as I said."

"Who are they?" Lucas interjected. "The masked people? What is all this?"

"It's not my place to say, only to do as they ask."

Again, I turned to Lucas, made a tacit agreement to follow this man, to see where it led. He hadn't asked for our weapons, either, and that gave us a sense of security we wouldn't have otherwise had.

When he saw we meant to go with him, the former Old Lisa widened his smile and gestured us along, moving past us and leading the way, allowing us to remain about ten feet behind him. He walked out of the entranceway and under the glass dome, and I again was in awe of the landscape out there and below; the sun's slight rays were beginning to create uneven stripes of light on the lake, and the sky's purples and blues were tinted with pinks and lavenders, touching and enhancing the green of the hills. It was stunning. But former Old Lisa turned us to the right, and my heart sank a little at the thought of walking another immeasurable length--the building appeared to go on forever into the distance, no end in sight. And then, after only about a hundred feet or so, our leader spread aside the very air itself, and parted it into an entranceway. It was an illusion, I recognized, as the walls of the offices in the Circuit had been, when I'd been there long ago. The space wasn't neverending; it was surrounded by holographic screens that only made it look that way. I wondered if the beautiful landscape I'd seen outside of the dome had been false as well and found myself hoping the inspiring view had been real, not that it mattered much.

Lucas and I stepped through the opening and into a bright room, nearly as large as an entire, modest house and decorated with the furniture and items that designated it as a living space. Off to the right was the same glass dome that looked out on the same beautiful, sun-rise-dusted landscape, and the glass continued all the way down the right and then curved to create the back wall of the room as well. The wall to our left was an actual wall, tiled in the same shiny blue tiles of the underground tunnel. The space was a split level. We'd entered onto a landing, and on that landing was a sort of open office space. A short stairway down and a second level appeared to be a kitchen and dining area, and down another set of stairs was a vast open space that consisted of sofas and chairs, a desk or two, a television screen, and other odds and ends that gave it the appearance of a luxurious living room. That living room was visible from where we stood, on the top level, and sitting in two chairs, staring up at us, were two people. From what I could tell, a black man and a white woman. And then, as I narrowed my eyes a bit, focused on their faces . . .

Miss Pinsky-Waters and Detective Arnold?

I squeezed Lucas's hand so tight that I startled him. "What?! What is it?"

"I know them!" I hissed, letting go of him and offering a brief apology.

"Thank you, Al," called Detective Arnold from below, rising from his chair. "You can go, now."

Former Old Lisa gave us a knowing look, said, "I appreciate you not shooting me. Hope to see you soon," and then exited through the holographic curtain.

Lucas and I stood at the top of the landing, he no doubt in some uncertain limbo and I in an absolute stupor. "What is this?" I whispered, my voice shaking.

"How do you know them?"

"They--they helped me. After everything with the Circuit, after I lost Henry--I thought they were helping--"

Detective Arnold was gazing up at us. I hadn't seen him in some time, but his recognizable features, his handsome face with its youthful eyes, were exactly as I remembered them. He no longer wore the unfashionable attire he'd had when I'd met him in the hospital, all that time ago, instead opting for a lab jacket and dark pants, and he'd grown something of a beard, but it was him all right. And next to him, Miss Pinsky-Waters! She looked different, more so than he did. Her hair was not the wispy mess of a neurotic woman but was sleek and short. Her enormous tortoise-shell glasses were gone, and she was dressed in an attractive but simple black ensemble. I wouldn't have recognized her except for the fact that she was with Detective Arnold. In fact, even her voice was different, smooth and sonorous, unlike that of the flighty, deer-in-the-headlights woman I'd taken her to be:

"Enrique, they'll come down when they're ready," she said to Detective Arnold, and he returned to his chair. And I realized I didn't recognize the name--Enrique. I'd thought his name was Galen. They were obviously not who I'd assumed they were, just like Old Lisa.

"What do you want to do?" Lucas asked me, for once apparently unsure.

"I was hoping you'd know," I replied. "Are they . . . them? The people in the masks? Who--who hurt you? And killed Paolo? And took Henry? Are they them?"

He didn't know any more than I did. Neither of us felt anything particularly meaningful. But I was suddenly shaken from all the surprise I'd been dealt when I remembered what we were there for. "We came for Henry and Amirah," I said decisively to Lucas. "I feel that Henry is nearby. I know he's here."

"I can't communicate with him, though," Lucas added, "so he's either too far, or he's unable to think for himself."

I didn't like the sound of either possibility. "We have to talk to them. Let's go down."

Guardedly, we descended the short stairs to the lower level, not leaving one another's side, and when we got to the bottom, we advanced toward the two only as far as we dared, keeping a safe distance between us and them. Neither stood. They both just stared at us. Miss Pinsky-Waters--or whatever her name was--sat with legs crossed, hands clutching the ends of her armchair's arms. She concerned me more than Detective Arnold--Enrique--did; he still possessed a sort of twinkle in his eyes, but hers had lost any of the kindness I'd once thought I'd seen in them.

"What is this?" I asked right away, attempting to sound firm. "Where're Henry and Amirah?"

"They're safe, for now," Miss Pinsky-Waters replied, emotionlessly.

That at least confirmed we were in the right place. I'd been doubting everything since we'd arrived. They knew about Henry and Amirah. We were on the right track, but we clearly didn't have the upper hand, even with the weapons we held. They weren't scared of us at all.

"Take us to them."

"I don't think so, Layla," Miss Pinsky-Waters returned. Then she smiled, suddenly, and rose from her chair. Lucas and I instinctively took a step back, but she stayed where she was and clasped her hands together in a graceful yet deliberate gesture. "Who would've thought that, in the end of it all, it would be the two of you? I wouldn't have guessed. Would you have guessed, Enrique?"

The man who obviously wasn't Detective Arnold stayed seated but replied, "No. Never. Not until after the trouble she gave us on the cliffs--and I thought Lucas was a lost cause ages ago. Funny, though--their names. Perhaps we should've seen the meaning in it, perhaps we should've known." He gave a jolly laugh.

"What are you talking about?" I was irritated with the conversation they were having beyond our understanding.

"Lucas and Layla," Enrique replied. "Light and dark, respectively."

I shook my head. Who cared about that? "What do you mean about it being the two of us, in the end? What is this? Who are you? If you don't prove useful in the next two minutes, I swear to God we'll shoot you."

"Such fire," Miss-Pinsky-Waters / not-Miss-Pinsky-Waters said, mockingly.

Out of sheer anger, I lifted my gun, aimed at her, and pulled the trigger, but much to my aggravation, nothing happened. I turned the thing side to side, examined it, aimed at her and fired again, but nothing happened. More telling was that she didn't even flinch.

"Those weapons are of our make; they won't work here," she explained. "They deactivated the moment they came into the building."

Enrique stood up and turned to Pinsky-Waters, saying in disbelief, "She would've killed you, though. Can you believe it?"

"I never would've thought she'd come so far. Not her. I thought it more likely Amirah would wind down than she'd wind up."

Whatever they were talking about, I had no brain space for it. Our weapons were useless, here; no wonder they'd not been afraid, not taken them from us. Old Lisa had been making fun of us--he'd known we couldn't hurt him. I felt humiliated. "Lucas, this is bad," I said, but he knew it already, having also attempted to fire his gun to no avail. I took hold of his arm.

"There's no cause for alarm," Enrique said, speaking amicably. "We aren't going to hurt you. In fact, quite the contrary--you are our most prized possessions. We've been waiting for so long, and you've finally proven yourselves by returning. We have so much to discuss, but you must freshen yourselves, first. You aren't, at present, wholesome enough to speak with."

Possessions? My mind couldn't get past that word, let alone the wholesome piece. "Henry. I just want Henry. I want to see Henry, now!" I practically screamed, my panic rising to a frenzy. I looked around, quickly, for some way to inflict damage on myself, or at least threaten to inflict it on myself. But there were no glass shards, here, and the guns wouldn't work. I looked to Lucas, wondering whether I should ask him to pretend he'd hurt me, hoping he'd just know to do it, and he must've read my mind, because he got behind me, put his hands around my neck, warning he'd choke me if they wouldn't bring us to Henry and Amirah, but Pinsky-Waters just laughed.

"The theatrics, you two!" She took several steps toward us until she was standing within a few feet. Then she grew deadly serious, lowered her voice, and added, "We know you better than you know yourselves. You'll see the others when we allow it, if you behave. Now go."

Behind us, beneath the stairs we'd descended, two doors slid open in the wall. Pinsky-Waters motioned toward them, presumptively to order us into them, and at the moment of her gesticulation, four or so armed people came out of the rooms that had opened and stood on our sides. They were dressed in the typical black attire and face coverings we'd seen on their other people confirming that they were who we'd feared they were.

Lucas, who had released me and stood by me, insisted, "We stay together."

"As you wish," she replied diplomatically. "We'll see you soon."

Wary, watching them the whole while we walked, Lucas and I went through one of the open doors, which slid shut behind us as soon as we'd crossed its threshold.