The door to his mother’s room opened, and John came out. Ava and Lucas immediately pulled his attention, a small frown creasing his forehead. Zach couldn’t help but curse himself for showing such weakness. His sudden lapse in judgment was the sole reason all these faces now turned to him, worry and sympathy in their eyes.

  He fought the sudden urge to tell them to turn away. He didn’t need sympathy; he never had. But the rational part of his mind cautioned him against lashing out. That could easily only make this worse. I have enough attention as is.

  “Everything alright?” John asked Oliver, glancing at Ava and Lucas.

  “I’m just... overwhelmed,” he replied slowly.

  Embarrassingly, he realized there was still a wetness to his eyes. He angrily wiped both eyes with one of his fists, his knuckles bulging from anger.

  Fearing that leaving the medical ward would only deepen their concern for his mental well-being, he decided there was no other choice but to go back into Eve’s room. He looked up at them, forcing a slight smile, and stepped around John.

  The sight of her again nearly stopped her in his tracks. Why did she bring out such feelings about his own mother? Emotions that almost swept him away. For a second, she glitched into that gray outline, those swirling black eyes echoing with the same impact of that oily mental wall.

  “Oliver?” she called.

  He blinked, realizing she’d already said his name three times. Idiot! You don’t want any sympathy, but you stand there making it known you’re a second away from crying your damn eyes out.

  “I can’t believe you’re awake,” he said softly, hoping his voice wasn’t as weak as it sounded to his own ears.

  “I know,” she said. “I thought I was sleeping, but I heard I’ve been in a coma. I missed you being released from that building,” she sounded angry at someone, though he couldn’t say who.

  “Eve?” John called from the door.

  She glanced at him, and a conversation seemed to pass between the two of them. He nodded gently, then stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  “Okay,” she said immediately, fixing the pillows behind her. “It’s just us. What’s going on with you? Your dad says you’ve been acting weird ever since you left the... that building.”

  It’s just us... Zach replayed those words in his mind, dissecting them as fast as he could. Unfortunately, when he found the implications, Oliver’s memories came to the surface, confirming them.

  Oliver and his mother had been close. No doubt about it. He’d been worried about John noticing any irregularities, but this was the real problem. He saw it in the way she stared at him, patiently waiting for his answer.

  On the other hand, he might be able to play this. If they’d really been as close as his memories told him they’d been, if he waited long enough, she’d try to pry it out herself, wouldn’t she? Try to entice him to say whatever she thought he was reluctant to say. Maybe lead him somewhere.

  If anything, it was his best bet. So, he kept his mouth shut, not really having to fake the unsettled look he knew was in his eyes. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them—uncomfortable on his part alone, he thought.

  Finally, she broke it, his gamble paying off.

  “Does this have anything to do with what you were trying to tell me after... after Leo died?”

  Again with Leo. Maybe I can try to get some information here. With the number of times his name had been mentioned, perhaps he’d had something to do with whatever Oliver had been up to those last few weeks. Or rather, leading up to those last few weeks, as Leo had already been dead.

  Maybe if I push back a little...

  “I wasn’t trying to tell you something,” he said in mock defensiveness.

  “Oli, half the time, you walked around like a wraith; the other half, you sat there like a sculpture, writing in that journal of yours.”

  It was an effort to hide the feeling of triumph that came to him then. Small as it was, it felt good to hear someone mention Oliver’s journals. But how could he push this? Get more of it, if she did indeed know more. Parents did sometimes read their children’s journals.

  “It hurt,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t—don’t—know what to say, how to feel.”

  It only bothered him a little that the words weren’t entirely meaningless. With Oliver’s memories pouring in bit by bit, it did make it difficult to know what and how to feel. To know what to say and how to say it.

  But it wasn’t weakness admitting this to her, because he shielded it behind the fact that he was trying to get information. Trying to understand more about his host’s body. I’m not weak!

  “Did you read it?”

  She sighed, sympathy touching her features. Sympathy he’d deliberately put there, so it didn’t bother him now. At least, not much.

  “Ava says she kept my Deck in that cubicle over there. Bring it out, and let’s draw.”

  A deck of cards? Now?

  He nodded even as he walked to the cubicle on the right side of the door. There was a small wooden box, a diagonal line painted in gold across the lid. It tickled Oliver’s memories. More so when he picked the box up and carried it over to Eve’s bed.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, handing her the box.

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  “Your father said you’ve been spacing out a lot,” she commented, sliding the wooden lid off. “Lost in your thoughts? I don’t blame you. Constellation or Palms?”

  For a second, he stared at her blankly. Then Oliver’s memories kicked in, kick-started by seeing the cards. Constellation or Palms. Predictive or advisory divination.

  Combing through Oliver’s memories, Zach realized that every religion in this world had a variation of these cards to help them connect to Creation itself, or whatever else people of the other lands called their gods.

  The cards were used to help gain insight on what might potentially happen—things and situations they were better off avoiding, or life events they could look forward to—or to help make small decisions that proved too difficult to make by themselves.

  He looked down at the open box, at the two decks sitting there. As the querent, it was his job to say which reading he wanted, even if Eve knew what he might choose. In her eyes, he was mentally stuck, unable to voice whatever it was he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  “Palms,” he said.

  She removed both decks from the box, mixing them in the palm of her hands. Each deck had fourteen cards, and she moved the twenty-eight in her hand deftly, showing her familiarity.

  “Now, obviously, this is my Deck,” Eve said, not looking at the cards as she continued shuffling. “You know the one back at home, but Ava gifted this one to me years ago, before we got rid of our faith. But I felt the connection to it then, and I still do.”

  Zach nodded, remembering that people did not use others’ Decks as it was a deeply personal thing. Like your own bible. But as it was her Deck, she could use it on whomever she liked. As long as she shuffled the cards and dealt with the layout.

  “You know the drill,” Eve went on. “Just like when we did it last time. Whatever you’re wrestling with, keep it in your mind. Hold it.”

  Zach looked up at something in her voice. She was studying him intensely. “I forgot to ask,” she said almost absently. “You were in my room earlier. Before I woke up, I mean. I could’ve sworn I saw you talking with someone. He looked almost familiar.”

  “That was Lucas,” he said immediately. “He’s part of the Medical Function. I wasn’t feeling too good, so he gave me a quick exam.”

  “That’s strange,” Eve said, still shuffling. “You never admit to being sick or needing help.”

  Idiot! How could you slip up like that? You could’ve said he was checking on her.

  “You’re alright, though?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good. You have your question?”

  Again, he nodded. It was becoming increasingly clear that he would have to work on speaking in front of her. These silent nods were not at all sustainable. But didn’t John say Oliver had always been a quiet one?

  “Then let’s start,” she said, laying down the first card.

  Black with blue hues, the card was put face down, showing him only its blank back. There was a tiny, swirling script written diagonally on the card. He couldn’t make it out; the harder he tried to read it, the more it looked like squiggly lines.

  Knowing that it was supposed to say something, his surprise lasted only a minute before Oliver’s memories confirmed that it was normal. He frowned. He could remember Oliver doing this with Eve, but he couldn’t remember the actual session.

  Did that mean these cards had something to do with those tower beings, with his being transmigrated here?

  She laid the next card down, black-blue as well, with those illegible lines making up the background. The next card came down, red with a sickly yellow tint. The lines of script behind this card were almost more legible. Almost.

  Just as he was about to comprehend them, they reverted to those squiggly lines.

  Something from Oliver’s understanding of the Deck told him all he had to do was focus on the cards. This wasn’t something he could push. So, he focused as Eve silently placed the cards in a circle right there on the bed.

  How do I get home?

  The question came clear as day.

  When it seemed like she might go on drawing cards for the next hour, she finally pulled a card he could read. The second it touched the circle, he was able to read the script at the back of the card.

  Events, Timing, Outcomes.

  Those three words repeated in that same order for the entire length of the card.

  He read it out loud as memory told him to, and Eve stopped laying down cards. She set the Deck down in the middle of the circle, took the card he’d read from, and placed it facing upward right on the top.

  “That’s odd,” Eve said softly. “You pulled a constellation card.”

  A single smile split the card in two halves. The teeth were perfect little white spears, framing a dark and slightly gaping mouth. Sadistic and frightening, that sick red-yellow hue covering it threatened to turn his stomach.

  “Deception. Psychic warning. Hidden danger.”

  He hoped his face didn’t show the panic he felt at those words, particularly deception. He fought against himself and forced his eyes to meet hers. She looked concerned for him.

  “Deception hints at malevolence; someone, or rather a situation, isn’t what it seems. It disguised itself as something else. The Psychic warning means your inner core, your intuition, is telling you something’s wrong, some aspect of your life. The hidden danger...”

  She closed her eyes, tilting her head to the side.

  “I only see the camp. Maybe some people aren’t happy you were let out.”

  Zach felt chills. How could cards be so accurate?

  “Like father, like son,” Eve whispered to herself, gathering the cards back into the box.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his shock temporarily easing his hesitance toward her.

  “You pulling a constellation instead of a palm, the Deck you actually named. I’ve only ever seen it happen with your father, whom, by the way, we are not telling about this. You know how he feels about these things.”

  Zach nodded absently, looking back down at the cards. He noticed she was shuffling them again.

  “That wasn’t really helpful. The palm Deck was supposed to help you make a decision, help find what was bothering you. Maybe this time—”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head intently.

  He couldn’t explain his sudden fear of the cards, but he knew it was there. And he would respect it. Unfortunately, it seemed Oliver had never possessed this fear.

  “What’s wrong?” Eve asked with a frown. “Leo was always the one who wanted nothing to do with this, also like his father,” she muttered the last bit. “You wanted your own Deck.”

  He had to change the conversation, something nearly impossible, as he remembered what this woman represented.

  “Emily ran away,” he said, the first thing that came to mind. “Dad told me earlier.”

  Again, that mask of sympathy came over her face.

  “I know, I heard. I’m sorry, Ol. I know how much she meant to you. I told the Head that it’s dangerous she went out there by herself, that we should go looking for her. But... you know how she is.”

  There it was. She spoke of her own mother as if she were a stranger. But there was something else as well. At the mention of the Head, she looked down at her lap, her eyes seemingly going through the covers, as though she were staring at something underneath.

  She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head clear of whatever thoughts had been swirling there, and focused on him again.

  “Your father told me about the experiment to prove you were safe. How did that go?”

  If she wanted to change the topic, there would be no complaints from his side.

  He told her, starting from the moment John had found him in the hold—making sure he called him father, of course—all the while doing his best to ignore the pull of familiarity, the pull that seemed to ease its way into him, the pull that made him feel like he was talking to his mother.