Striding to his daughter’s bedroom, Michael wondered what his brother might ask his daughter. He arrived at Sara’s door, raising his knuckles. He exhaled heavily to let some of the fumes of anxiety burning inside him distinguish. He knocked on her door softly but heard no reply after a moment.

Michael opened the door, seeing the bed empty and hearing the shower off. He strode over and touched the sheet, feeling if the bed was warm to see if Sara had left recently. The sheets were cold. He had expected that Sara would’ve slept in, especially on her birthday.

He left his daughter’s room to go on the search for her. At ten in the morning, there were only a selective places Sara would choose to hang out. Michael walked to the cafeteria to see Kate almost choking on her biscuits and gravy, laughing along with her friends, and her boyfriend snorting out water from his nose.

Happiness coursed through him, and he was glad to see his sidekick having a blast despite these hard times. Michael wished to ask about Sara’s whereabouts but decided not to disturb Kate, and he continued on his way.

Kate probably wouldn’t know where she was hanging out with her friends anyway.

The next stop was the training room, where a few Prowlers cutthroat one another. Yet, Sara was not to be found. He went to the exercise room, anxious about where his daughter would be. She wouldn’t dare leave the Celestial Realm without my permission…

The Archangel phoned her anxiously. He met with her ringtone, and he dialed her again.

“What?” Sara asked, exasperated, filling Michael’s ears.

Michael responded with reassurance, “Why didn’t you pick up my phone call the first time?” He heard a noise as if people were talking in the background and demanded, “Where are you?”

“I’m watching some cheesy movies with Timothy,” Sara replied.

Michael's shoulders eased up a little. “Come to my office; it’s important.”

“Now?” whined Sara.

“Yes, Sara,” ordered Michael.

It was unusual for Sara to give this much attitude to her father, “I’ll be there in a minute," she grumbled and hung up, clearly displeased with him.

Michael stared at his phone as if it were radiating alien goo at him. On the way back to his office, he assumed why his daughter had been unhappy with him—he had ruined a good start to her day. He came into his office, telling his siblings that Sara would be there momentarily.

A few minutes later, with the Archangels chatting away about the possibilities of their next step being about the warlock, Sara walked in, and the door closed on its own. "Hello, Father, I didn’t mean to snap at you." The assassin glanced up at the four Seers looking at her. She dropped her arms to her side in surprise. “Uncle Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, and Aunt Sam, what are you doing here?”

“They are here to talk about Pitch,” answered Michael, strolling to her, and he kissed his daughter on her forehead. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

Sara leaned her head on his chest. He hugged him as a swell of happiness tingled inside her, and that bitterness she had about no one caring about her rapidly vanished. “Thank you, Father.”

Sam ambled over to her and grinned, “Happy Birthday, Sara!” She scanned the girl up and down, folding her arms and huffing, “Michael, are you feeding her enough?”

“Yes, of course,” Michael responded, quite offended by that statement. He clutched his daughter tighter.

Circling Sara to observe her growth from the last time the Archangel saw her, Sam nodded in content, and asked without a breath to pause her, "So, are you doing anything fun lately? Are you dating anyone yet? Your father isn’t bossing you around too much, is he?” A glare from Michael: “You and Kate are doing well? Tell me, are your missions fun? Oh my gosh, you have grown so tall!”

“Um,” Sara blinked at her aunt, unsure where to start. She left her father and replied quickly, “I’m not dating anyone; I’ve been watching a lot of shows. Me and Kate are on missions together, and yes, the missions are super fun. Thank you.” She gasped, breathing out her quick response.

“Cute pajamas,” remarked Sam. She clasped her hands and asked, “Can I feel your hair? I wonder if it’s silky like yours or your father's." She touched Sara’s hair without letting the girl reply. She smiled and said, “Oh, your hair feels amazing! Although I do recommend some hair cosmetics that will give your hair an extra shine and pop!” She bounced her pink hair. “See how full my hair looks?”

Sara thought her aunt’s hair didn’t need any cosmetics because it looked so naturally lush, with her smooth bronze skin completing her stunning complexion.

“Sam,” warned Gabriel in his German accent, shaking his head at his sister. He smiled at the nervous Prowler and inquired, “How have you been doing, Sara? And happy, sweet sixteen.”

The girl hunched her shoulders, not liking all the attention. She replied meekly, “Good.”

“Oh, girls, your age with raging hormones is never ‘good.’” stated Sam. She frowned at Sara, looking somewhat afraid, and the Archangel lowered her excited voice. “Hey, it’s us; there's no need to look like we are going to eat you or something.”

Raphael motioned for Sara to sit on a cushioned chair to hopefully relax her, to which she obliged. Yet confusion startled her gaze. “Is your father treating you well?”

Sara glanced at Michael with raised, slender eyebrows and nodded quickly.

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“That’s good to hear,” smiled the Archangel. He stood in front of her in a tan top coat, covering his simple white shirt and black pants. Raphael brushed a short strand of his chestnut hair from his face, and his amber eyes leveled at the girl’s nervous eyes. “I need you to be honest with me, Sara. Can you do that for me?”

Sara flickered at her father again, who gave an encouraging sway of his head. “Yes, Uncle Raphael, but may I ask you why I’m here?” Her voice trembled already, having a tickling feeling that she was in trouble, but for some reason, no one was mad at her...or seemed to be for now.

“Of course.” Raphael bluntly replied, “There’s a suspension that you helped Thomas Pitch escape when he was nine years old.”

Sara stared at him as if he had just spurted two heads. The information churned in her mind. She leaped to her feet, blinking in complete disbelief. “What?” She snapped her gaze at her father, wanting clarification and telling her this was a prank on her birthday.

“Honey, it’s true,” clarified Michael, coming to his daughter and squeezing her shoulder. He tried to settle herself back into the chair.

“No! I would never! Father, tell them that it’s not true!” Sara pleaded, tearing away from her father’s grasp. Her eyes filled with terror, and her lips trembled. She collapsed on the seat, wishing this was a horrible dream. She looked at her uncles, aunt, and father and shouted, “You know I’m not lying!”

“And we believe you,” said Raphael calmly, glaring at Michael not to interfere with her small meltdown. The Archangels sensed Sara was speaking the truth, and in her heart, that was how she felt. However, the Seer asked, “Sara, have you been getting headaches recently?”

Such an accusation had confusion swirling in Sara’s mind, which gave her a headache. A stunned and upset expression was on her face. “Yeah, how did you know?”

Raphael knew girls could get migraines daily, but he was positive Michael would’ve done something about that if Sara had any. He pursed his lips. His next question would answer what had been on his mind: “Do you get headaches when you think about that day when Pitch escaped nine years ago?”

Sara shook her head immediately, but she froze in her chair. Her eyes flickered around indecisively.

“Think of that day; where were you when Pitch was being executed?” Raphael urged gently, watching her look broken and scared. He whispered, “Sara, I know you are confused, and this isn’t right for us to ask you so much on your birthday, but I know you are strong. You have to trust us so we can figure this out.”

“I didn’t let Pitch out,” whimpered Sara. “I would never betray my father.”

The Seers looked at their brother. Michael grabbed her hand and looked at her with tears threatening to burst at any moment. “Don’t cry, you are my daughter; whatever you did, I know you never intended to betray me.”

The girl’s voice broke, guilt was already flooding over her like a tsunami, drowning her in apprehension. More so, if she had freed Pitch from his doom, she had to have a reason. She closed her eyes, thinking of where she was that night. Sara recalled, “I was at Pitch’s execution.”

“No, you weren't, honey,” said Michael. “You were in bed because you were out in the forest. You had fallen, hit your head, and gotten a concussion.”

Uriel asked, “Before Pitch’s fake death, do you know where you were?”

Sara thought back, and the smell of pine needles filled her nostrils. A sharp pain stabbed at her, and she gritted her teeth. “I was at the playground.” However, she visualized her bedroom, and she was reading a book: “I was in my room.” Food came to mind. “No, I think I was having a late-night snack.”

Knowing she had guessed too many times, Sara shouted with a dejected gaze, “I don’t know, okay!”

The Archangels exchanged worried glances and felt awful to have anyone, especially Michael’s daughter, feel solemn because of them. Once Sara had composed herself and inhaled sharply, Raphael asked, “I have an inkling that Thomas Pitch has erased your memories.” He stopped before processing to give the girl a moment to let this all sink in.

Sara stared in the distance, gathering her thoughts together. Hugging herself to comfort her wrecking emotions, she inquired back, “Why do you think that?”

“You keep getting headaches every time you think of that day, correct?” responded Raphael, his eyes watching her nod her head up and down. “And then you get confused, like your memory is fuzzy or someone has tampered with it, not knowing where you have been; is that also correct?”

“Yes,” conceded Sara, frowning at her uncle’s questions and how on point he was.

Raphael suggested, “I would like to pry into your mind to see if Pitch indeed has erased your memory of helping him.” He quickly added, “I am not accusing you of anything, but we should make sure that your headaches aren’t anything severe."

The young assassin desired more than anything to flee from this office as if her instincts were in flight mode. However, she remained firmly in her spot and fought to be strong, not just for herself but for her father. During desperate times, Sara couldn’t back away like a coward. She had to be willing to give whatever the Archangels wished—even if it exposed something she had stupidly done years ago.

Swallowing her pride and sacredness of what might come next, Sara looked up at Raphael with determination and said, “Do whatever you have to.”

For what seemed like the first time in ages, Michael beamed at his daughter.

“Thank you,” breathed Raphael. He explained, “I’m going to ask a lot of you; are you prepared for that?”

There was no time to lose any more to catch Thomas Pitch. If she had let him out, then she had to return the favor by capturing him. With Pitch free, she had a gut feeling there was only enough time they could afford to waste until something bad happened. It was like a ticking bomb about to explode any minute, but not know when the time would reach zero.

“Yes,” replied Sara, holding on to her steadfast emotions.

“Good,” smiled Raphael. “First thing, I need you to completely trust us from now on. Second, you need to relax and close your eyes, only thinking of that day of Pitch’s breakout. I will be honest; it will hurt, but if you fight me, it will be more painful.”

“Fight you?” wondered Sara.

Raphael said, “I’ve pried into people’s minds before, and it feels very uninviting because thoughts are private and personal. Everyone has their mind and thinking, so having someone go in and find stuff that maybe they have locked for a while can be unsettling.”

Reclining on the cushioned seat, Sara took a deep breath and relaxed her tensed muscles. Maybe if her uncle pried into her mind, he could figure out something about the person stuck in her brain. “No, if I help Pitch, I’ll do anything to stop him. So I’m ready.” She shut her eyes, gulping, knowing what would come but, at the same time, fearful of what not to expect.

The office became quiet as the Archangels held their breaths. Raphael pressed his finger against the girl’s temple and closed his eyes. His powers flowed from his fingertips, and he explored through her memories, muttering, “Think of that day when Pitch broke out, Sara.”

There, he found those three days unfolding from Sara’s memories, fluttering into his mind. He grasped those memories before they could flash by; however, darkness descended like a cloth over the echos of Sara’s past.