The first thing I notice is the throbbing pain bottled up in my head.

The second thing I notice is that I'm not in the room I was in before. Instead, I'm in a bedroom. Not to mention a large bedroom. "Suite" described it better.

I quickly jump up only to slowly sit down on the bed again. Pain stings my wrists and I glance down to see my wrists wrapped up with layers of gauze. I narrow my eyes at it as I remember my knives cutting me when the circlet was on my head.

Speaking of circlets, I hoist myself up and slowly trudge over to the large mirror and desk sitting in one corner of the room. My lips tug into a frown when I realize that the metal ringlet is gone. At this, I hesitantly trace the area where my circlet should have been, wincing as if the circlet is still there.

As I'm staring at the mirror, I realize that my hair's a mess and my clothes are rumpled. I glance down to the nearest drawer and open it to find hair tools like brushes, a straightener, a curler, some combs, and a plethora of hair bands. I take the brush and slowly brush my hair, taking my time to unravel the tangles in my hair.

I decide to take a shower, tying my hair up in a quick bun. I walk over to the closet and open it. My eyes widen at the many, many clothes in the vast walk-in closet. My expression still speechless, I grab a pair of black leggings, a white blouse, and a red dress. Then I rush to the bathroom to take a shower, until I realize that I still have my bandages on. Quickly unraveling them to find two bleeding lines, I frown and rush to the bathroom to wash the blood off.

After a nice shower, I dress into the clothes that I chose. After I step outside, I quickly push my sleeves up so I don't get any blood on my white sleeves. Holding my arms out as if they're contaminated, I walk towards the work desk facing against another wall. Fortunately, I find multiple rolls of gauze and a tube of Neosporin. I don't hesitate to bandage my wrists.

When I finish, I pull my sleeves down again as I look around my room. I quickly notice a sliding door for the balcony outside, but figure that I'll look at it later. Suddenly, I find my gaze resting upon a door in the wall, which I can only assume to be a door connecting two rooms together. I slowly creep up to it and open it, slightly surprised that it's unlocked.

I peer into the other suite to find the bathroom door open. I quickly duck back into my room, but glance over the door to see a teenage boy in dark jeans, a teal shirt with a collar, and black shoes. He frowns as he dries his hair with a towel. The boy then walks near the door, causing me to jump back. When I peek again, I see him staring at a beige folder on his desk.

I almost shriek when the boy abruptly drops the folder, a hand over his back. He quickly removes his shirt to reveal bloody bandages wrapping around his lower torso. He glances over, staring at about six rolls of gauze sitting neatly with a bottle of Neosporin. Then he turns away from me to re-apply his bandages. Once finished, he pulls on his shirt again and says, "I should have known that it'll bleed more."

I quickly close the door so the boy doesn't realize that I saw him. As I walk over to the desk, I frown. I didn't notice a folder before, I think to myself. I wonder what's in it. I glance down to finally notice the beige folder, the same as the folder in the boy's. "Michelle Barrera..." I whisper to myself, picking the folder up. I don't open it yet, but I recall how a middle aged woman with the same name was found dead at the Smithsonian Institution, and how only the police knew the condition of her corpse.

As I stare blankly at the cover, I find my lips tugging into a thoughtful scowl. "I feel like I've seen him before..." I wait a few more moments. "I know that I've seen him... but where?"

"Maybe in that conference room. Did you think of that, Sophie?"

My eyes widen as I attempt to not scream. Even still, I shriek as I whirl around to find the same boy standing tall, his teal eyes staring down at me. I take note of how naturally disheveled his chestnut brown hair is. I also attempt not to notice how robust he is as a teenager, but end up doing so anyways. I notice him smirking down at me and pout, which causes him to laugh. As I'm deciding whether or not I should be offended, it finally clicks.

"You're Fitz, aren't you?" I ask hesitantly, forcing myself to stare at him again. "Fitz Vacker?" At the mention of his name, he steps forward. I step back slightly, his gaze refusing me to look away. I'm about to ask him what was the matter, but soon realize that after I heard his name, everything went black. Almost on cue, my head throbs again, and I instinctively hold my head in one hand.

He nods. "That's correct." He presses his lips together as he gazes down at me. "And you're Sophie Foster." As silence fills the air, I begin to feel self-conscious and stumble back a bit more. I mentally curse myself for being so clumsy all of a sudden.

The boy's voice breaks the awkward silence. "And judging by your reaction, you've also realized that our names had to do with us passing out again?"

I bite my lip, hesitant, but nod anyways. "I don't remember too much." I glance up at the ceiling, tapping my chin in deep thought. "That officer said my full name, and then yours-" I point to him. "After that- a huge wave of pain washed over me." I don't realize that I'm holding my breath until I exhale sharply. "The pain was so immense- along with my other cuts- that my body just decided to pass out."

I glance up to see Fitz furrowing his eyebrows at me. I find myself frowning when he mentions, "I passed out after you. I suffered through the pain long enough to learn that our names were 'triggers', or something of that sort."

Suddenly, Fitz gazes over my shoulder and walks closer. Before I ask, he grabs a piece of paper that's sitting on the desk. His eyes widen when he reads it, in the end running his hands through his hair.

I frown and step forward on my toes to see the letter, but Fitz steps back, causing me to stumble forward. Before I can fall, two arms catch me. I glance down and find that Fitz caught me by my upper arms, not my wounds. I smile softly, but close my eyes at the pain of the two cuts.

Not trusting my expression to look at him, I stare at the piece of paper. "What did it say?"

Fitz frowns, "We have to go to the conference room. And bring our folders with us." As he heads to his room to grab his file, my expression scrunches up into a scowl. I don't have time to complain since Fitz quickly returns to my room, his lips frowning. "Do you have a hotel room key by any chance?"

I mentally smack myself on the forehead. How did I forget to check? I scan my room for anything that looked like a key card, but find nothing. I then walk over to the door and say, "No. I'm guessing you didn't either?"

Fitz and I exit my room as he says, "No. But judging by how we need to bring the files, somebody needs us to investigate."

When Fitz says "investigate", my muscles tense up as my eyes widen. I then realize that I didn't do the most important thing;

Read Michelle's file.