Vessa woke to an orange sky, though whether it was in the middle of rising or setting was unclear. Her fingers touched something soft, and she picked it and brought it to her eyes. Orange petals. She sat up and saw a field of orange flowers surrounding her. Autumn trees encircled the field and seemed to be perpetually burning. A deep breath in gave a mix of floral, decaying leaves and smoke. She stood up and spun around.

  “What are you looking for?” A familiar voice asked, but Vessa ignored him; even as she felt for him. He was faint, but that simply meant she had to push for it.

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  “Oranges.” Vessa said as she turned to look at him and laughed.

  “They’re here somewhere.” He replied and frowned at her, but she kept laughing, her hands going to her knees.

  “What is so funny?” He asked and Vessa looked him up and down. Same dark brown skin, eyes, and hair. His clothes were the only thing changed. Orange silk robes that flowed with flames licking at the edges. She kept laughing, her knees hitting the ground and stirring up all the scents, making her choke. Vessa got ahold of herself after she stopped coughing. Stood up and looked him dead in the eyes.

  “Nothing.” Vessa said and gripped the numbers firmly, as she had been taught to do with teleporters, the same technique that had helped her all these weeks. She shook her head. Her teachers had said whoever could hold their target to the farthest distance could eat that day. She had hated Mathen, but he taught them at night so each day would be a challenge for him. Where was he now? Was he still helping, or had they tortured that out of him?

  “Why shouldn’t I kill you?” She asked, and he scoffed, but backed away a few steps and became slightly transparent. It didn’t matter she still had him in her grip.

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  “Because you can’t, but I can see you’re mad and in truth, so am I.” He said and Vessa said nothing, simply waiting for him to continue. He frowned again.

  “You were not supposed to kill the child. From all our communications with both the Wisher ambassador and the leaders of the Number Assassins, you were supposed to fail. I doubted that at first, but when I talked with you.” He gestured all around them to the field and past as his eyes turned cloyingly concerned. Vessa couldn’t think. Douwell had said as much. She had known, but hearing it was something else entirely.

  “I believed them. So what happened, Vessa?” He asked, his hand out stretched Vessa stepped back and looked around. Faint memories, unreachable, but there enough to know they existed.

  “So, you’ve been talking to me in my dreams?” Vessa asked as she picked a direction and walked away. Everything was different shades and hues of orange. The green stems, the blue of the sky and the brown of the trunks were there, but barely. Was she going to kill him? She laughed again. She was good at killing. Too good.

  “Yes, it was the only place where I could be sure of privacy, so I could talk to you and make an offer.” The Umbaan rep said and Vessa just stared at oranges hanging from branches. She had succeeded past what they thought she could do. She laughed again. Succeeded didn’t seem the right word.

  “To join you?” Vessa asked as she picked an orange. It made sense. There had been others who’d made the same offer. Vessa had never taken them. She wasn’t stupid. There was no escape.

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  She looked at the fruit in her hand. She breathed in. The orange was overpowering with floral taking second place, but the smell of smoke was all over this place, even with no fire in sight.

  “Yes, we can offer you safety. You never have to fear being hurt again.” The Umbaan rep said, and she looked at him as juice slid between her fingers.

  “Why no floral scents?” Vessa asked, and he became even more translucent.

  “What?”

  “I woke up with the taste of oranges and the smell of smoke, but nothing floral. Yet it’s all over this place.” Vessa said and looked around.

  They were in an orange grove, no flowers or autumn leaves anywhere in sight, just an endless grove. Even the sky was hard to see, covered up by leaves; which in turn seemed faint in comparison to the multitude of oranges. Had she walked this far in?

  He said nothing, becoming so faint his features were gone and he was just an orange glowing light. Why was he still here?

  “The Umbaan seeks many people who are escaping their previous life. At first, none believe escape is possible.” He said, not answering her question, and Vessa looked away, staring at the trunks, trying to see their color and texture. Was she going to kill him?

  “No.” Vessa said as she searched for the color and texture of the trees as her eyes tried only to see the fruit hanging down. She had been taught how to escape dreams. She’d been taught a lot of things. Vessa laughed again.

  “What do you mean?” He asked and Vessa looked towards him, even as a glowing light he was becoming fainter.

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  “If you’d like to meet others, then I can bring you to them and, of course, it makes sense you would want to meet them before making your final decision.” He said, as everything glowed orange and he blended in so she could distinguish where he was. She ignored it and focused on the trunks and their lack of detail, how they blended as if they weren’t even there.

  “Were you one of these people running?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Dreamers are notoriously jealous of the Dreaming and believe all with even the slightest talent should answer to them.” Vessa said, holding back laughter. Her mind was breaking. This Dream he had concocted was making it worse.

  “I am, which is how I know escape is possible. Even from the more powerful players.” He said as her eyes found browns and greens and just like that, she woke up to her white cell. The over bearing wait of regret warred with the orange and smoke to overwhelm her.

  Vessa pressed her face into her pillow and breathed in cleaning chemicals and linen. She pulled off her long sleeve shirt and stared at the key and eye in bold black stitching. It settled her eyes even as orange dots swam in her vision. She put it to her face and breathed in. Only seeing black and magenta.

  She laid there and held up her overshirt, the white of the ceiling peeking through. Her mind pounding with pain. As her ears heard voices that weren’t there. When the headache subsided. She got up, put the overshirt back on and paced.

  She was going crazy.

  She plunged back into the numbers, past the emptiness, and then into the ocean of numbers. Immensity of rushing numbers washing away all thought.