Alexei couldn’t sleep. The memories of a young Dahlia Verk haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, another memory pierced his heart.

He awoke to the sound of his phone.

How long was I out? I don’t think it was long. I still feel exhausted.

“Da,” Alexei said.

“Hello, Alexei. I see that you rang our special drop box,” Dahlia said. “I had an alert set up. It was a bit delayed, but the important thing is that I got your message. What is so urgent that you broke the silence after all these years?”

“Has any of your infrastructure been hacked or otherwise compromised?” Alexei asked.

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Dahlia said nothing. Instead, she said, “Why do you need my help?”

She was good—always answering a question by asking another: a common deflection tactic.

“I have it on good authority that a hacking group known as the Timeslicers have hacked several Black Iris infrastructures, or otherwise rendered them useless. I invite you to parley with key members of the Collective ASAP at a location of my choosing,” Alexei said.

“Very well. Please provide the details via a secure transfer to the following MORP domain.” Dahlia provided Alexei with a random-looking string of letters and numbers that ended with a .un extension. A few minutes later, she verified the string.

“We need to prepare if we are to travel to the states. Expect us within the next twenty-four hours or less,” Dahlia said.

“D . . . it is good to work with you again, even for a little while.”

“It’s been a long time,” Dahlia said as she hung up.

Alexei thought about her for a long moment.

Why does she make me feel this way? he wondered before drifting off into a deep slumber.