We soar over the stick forest.

I don’t fight.

I’ve got no wings.

If I get free I’ll fall.

First circles in the air.

Below is a boulder. It looks like an egg tipped on its side.

Across from it is a tree.

Between the two is dirt.

We plunge towards the dirt.

My stomach slams into my throat.

My skin pushes back from my face.

The earth opens like a mouth.

We’re swallowed.

I’m dropped to the floor. I get up. Stagger in the grey gloom.

My hand slaps against cold rock. Wall.

But wall runs into floor. Floor runs into ceiling.

Tunnel.

Second speaks to First: ‘We must tell him we have fetched.’

‘I will tell him. You will fix her.’

Second’s wings dip in disappointment.

‘You are good at fixing,’ First says. ‘You will make her shiny and new.’

Second draws himself up. Proud.

My stomach twists.

I’m a doll.

I’m a prize.

For him.

The real boss. First is only the boss of Second.

There’s someone else.

Second grabs my arm.

I’m dragged along.

I don’t fight.

Right now there’s no way out.

So I save my strength. Wait for my chance.

Ahead is a door.

It’s grey like everything else.

Second shoves it open. Pushes me inside.

I see shelves.

They hold clear cubes of jelly.

Can’t be jelly.

Something else.

The door shuts.

A lock clicks.

I’m trapped.

Second leaps. I jump back.

Raise my hands.

The broken one can’t make a fist.

Can’t defend me.

But Second just flaps over my head.

He lands by a shelf. Grabs two cubes and tosses them in the air.

A metal hand drops from above, catching the cubes.

More hands dangle from the ceiling.

The cubes are thrown back and forth.

Smashed together.

Pulled apart.

Second is watching the hands.

My eyes search the room.

Looking for a weapon … a way out … anything.

But there’s nothing.

Mum’s voice speaks inside my head: Knowledge can be a weapon, Iz.

She said that to get me to go to school.

Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

Second’s not as smart as First.

Maybe he’ll let something slip?

‘What is this place?’ I ask.

‘This is where we bring the colours.’

‘I’ll give you some of my colours if you help me get out.’

Second laughs. High-pitched. Grating.

‘Colours are not for Fetchers! We find. We give. But never keep. Colours are for him.’

‘Who’s “he”?’

‘He is the one who takes the colours.’

Useless.

There’s a hissing sound from above.

The hands disappear into a cloud of steam.

Something drops.

Same jelly. Different shape. A sphere instead of a cube.

Second plucks it out the air. ‘Medicine!’

He bounces over.

I back up.

He snorts impatiently and slaps the sphere onto my broken hand.

I try to scrape it off.

There’s nothing to scrape.

It’s sunk through my skin.

It burns.

First my outside. Then my inside.

I drop.

Twist.

Scream.

The burning shrinks.

Smaller and smaller until it’s nothing.

I sit up.

There’s no pain. Not anywhere.

I make a fist. It doesn’t hurt.

I touch my head. Unbroken skin.

Medicine.

Second looms above me. Another sphere drops onto my arm.

I try to shake it off. Too late. It’s part of me.

But there’s no burning this time.

Only fuzziness.

Second hauls me out the door.

I try to track where we’re going.

I can’t.

Everything joins together in greyness. It’s all tunnels. Until it’s not.

I’m in a room. A big room? A small one?

I don’t know. Sleep is dragging at me.

The world is fading.

The Fetcher dumps me onto the floor.

Not the floor. A bed.

My head hits a pillow.

He leaves.

I fight to stay awake.

I lose.