The hospital bed was stiff. Fallon hated being in it. It only reminded her of bad things: her grandfather’s death, her mother’s miscarriage, her recovery from Barren Pines. After waking up in a hospital for the second time, Fallon was ready to leave. The doctors and nurses were kind, but stressed. The hospital was overcrowded and had been for some time. The terrorists did a lot of damage to the people of Destiny City. Fallon was just a single casualty among many -- and she had survived, coma-free.

That night it was dark, and the room was quiet. The volume on the machines was turned down, but Fallon reached over and turned up her heart monitor until the steady beep, beep, beep filled the room. To most, its noise might be a nuisance, but to Fallon, it was a comfort. It reminded her of the little metronome that she kept by her bedside, the one that she turned on while she fell asleep. Without it, she had a hard time going to bed at a decent hour. Instead of thinking about all the things that could be ordered in her closet, or the dust falling on her windowsill, or the shoes in her closet that might need polishing, Fallon could just focus on the tick, tick, tick of her metronome and get a good night’s sleep. At the hospital, she used her heart monitor.

Her mother asked the nurses not to turn it down. It would make Fallon wake up. There was even a little sign hung on it that said as much. Fallon glanced back to the machine. The sign was gone. Who had turned the volume down?

As soon as the thought entered her mind, a figure stepped out from the corner of the room. “Hello, Fallon.” Moonlight filtered in through the window, illuminating one half of Wolframite’s face. It looked like he was wearing a mask. He took another step, and Fallon saw his full form, jump rope in hand, glowing in a shroud of moonlight.

A dark grin was etched on his face. “It’s late, Fallon. What did I tell you about leaving your house when it’s dark?” The smile widened, became chesire. “I told you I would kill you next time you left your house at night.” It did not look like he was stepping, but Wolframite moved toward her, gliding like a ghost.

Fallon began to shiver. “I’m in the hospital. I’m not outside.”

Wolframite stood beside her bed, one hand on the rail. It gnarled into a claw, veins swelling. “This is not your bedroom. You are only safe in your bedroom, Fallon. Anywhere else is dangerous. Too dangerous for you. Don’t you understand? I thought you knew that.” She shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. It was like all the air in the room had been sucked out.

The strange boy wearing green ribbons took a step back. He seemed taller, his shoulders broader. If he had facial hair, Fallon might have thought he looked like the Brawny man in Shakespeare’s clothing. “It’s a shame you don’t know how to take good advice. No matter -- I’m sure Leonette will be happy to see you again.” Wolframite took a step back and whipped his jumprope above his head.

Fallon was shaking so much she could barely breathe, her arms banging against the hospital railing. No! She couldn’t die, not here, not now, not like this. Wolframite grinned, a laugh ripping from his lips, and moved to strike her in the same way he had struck the youma in the alleyway. The handle flew toward her chest, but Fallon could not move. She was frozen.

And then, something unexpected happened.

A green prong stabbed through the floor, spearing straight into the ceiling. It deflected the jump rope before contact was made. Another prong followed it, then another, then another until a cage had formed around Wolframite, trapping him inside. The green leaves of the fern sprouted outward, binding the Negaverse agent in a shell until all the space was filled. Fallon could not see him, or hear him. Her arms regained their feeling, and she sat up in the bed.

The little capsule shook for a moment, and then, slowly, reopened. Instead of the mangled remains of the Negaverse agent, Fallon watched a flower unfurl, widening into a blossom. It was a soft, muted purple, and at the center, a cool gray stone stared back at Fallon. The IV cord that connected her to the hospital machine had disappeared, and Fallon was in a white dress. She climbed out of bed and touched the flower.

It was the softest thing she’d ever felt. Outside, the sun was rising. Fallon fell backward into the soft pollen of the flower, hands tracing over the smooth surface of the gray stone. The window popped open to let in a cool breeze, and in a nearby tree, the birds sang a steady tweet, tweet, tweet to help her fall back asleep.

The sun grew brighter hotter, and then, suddenly, Fallon’s eyes were open -- this time, in reality. There was no flower in her room, and no Negaverse agent. The tweeting of the birds dissolved back into the beeping of her heart monitor. Sunlight cast a yellow glow across the white floor

There was another girl lying in the second hospital bed on the other side of the room. It had been empty before, saved for overflow in the recovery rooms. Was this a dream too? Was this girl suddenly going to leap from the bed and transform into Wolframite?

In her sleep, the new girl in the room turned to her side. She was a tumble of black hair and pale skin, even with her face scrunched up in anguish. It took Fallon several seconds to realize that she was staring into a face that she knew very well.

It was Jada Chamberlyn.