he Getty Museum was packed.

Couples, whole families, students on field trips, and groups of tourists wandered across the premises. They made their way through the museum with an explorer’s vigor as they took in the artwork of old and new masters. A blond man in his thirties and a young girl of about seven stood out in the throng. Her curly maple hair sprung off her shoulders as she scaled the stairs like a track star.

Young Natalie Poole.

Her father struggled to keep up with her. As he followed her sequined sneakers, he smiled just as brightly as she did.

The two of them proceeded through a packed alcove of the museum marked by a sign that read “The Works of Vincent Van Gogh.”

There was hardly any standing room. Natalie’s father hoisted her up onto his shoulders so she could tower over the masses and see the paintings better. The look on her face was priceless as she took in each work. Her grin was wide. Her eyes shone. This glad expression mirrored her father’s. The two clearly shared a love for the artistic treasures they were beholding.

The man eventually led small Natalie to a less crowded part of the room. He was holding her by the hand now. “See this one, Nat. This is my favorite. Van Gogh painted it in 1890 just before he died.”

She gazed up at where her father was pointing. Her tie-dyed shirt had a plastic button with the words “Birthday Girl” printed on it. She tilted her head and bit her lip as she studied the work.

“He looks so sad,” she said.

She stepped closer to where the painting was mounted—her face steady, her eyebrows raised with curiosity and wonder. “What’s it called?”

Natalie’s father knelt down to his daughter’s level and patted her hair. “It’s called The—”

“Knight! Wake up!”

My eyelids jolted open as I was ripped away from the dream. Daniel was kneeling over me—his hands on my shoulders from having shaken me out of my sleep. There was an urgency in his expression. Noise and commotion filled my ears as the Lost Boys and Girls in the bunker swarmed around us.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, clambering up.

“They found us,” Daniel said.

Sheets and pillows went flying. An alarm wailed. Fairies zoomed all over. Orders were hollered as kids gathered weapons and bolted for the exits that led up to camp.

Realization struck me like lightning and my eyes widened.

“Who? Arian? Mauvrey? Alex?”

Daniel grabbed my hand and began pulling me through the chaos.

“All of them,” he said.