It is night. The moon shines brightly through the thin cracks; dancing, hypnotizing, a masterpiece reflected through a boxcar. She watches through stormy grey eyes, the sounds of the train, the rocking, calling her to sleep. But the lights have won her attention.

Memories. They haunt like a poltergeist, judging, flickering through a mind that doesn't want them. They make her dreams unbearable, and the beautiful night into an unpleasant place. But they cannot be helped. They, too, want some attention. And the puzzle still needs to be solved, lying deep, somewhere in memory. Maybe not even hers.

They run through the hallway, a mass of confusion. Rubble is scattered, broken bits of wall and floor are crushed beneath their feet. Ms Anchor's wrinkled hand is the only concrete thing, something to hold onto, something to keep Moth afloat. Why is Ms Anchor here? She vaguely wonders. They rush into a room and close the door, sucking the noise out, restoring the pretence of calm. "... listen on the bus in half an hour...follow the road to the school...find your father.." the old teacher explained, the screaming outside, the ambulance ringing in their ears. "He'll give you the answers." Answers.