Ostwall, Amissah, 10416 P.C.

In a breath, it seemed, Todd found himself on his chest, sprawled on the cold, hard ground. Pain wracked his side, and he rolled over, gasping as the movement caused the pain to flare. Groaning between clenched teeth, he struggled to his hands and knees, looking around in confusion. The place was oddly familiar, like out of an old dream. He realized, slowly, that he was in an alleyway between two buildings, kneeling on concrete. Blood dripped from his shaky fingertips. His head swam. Staggering to his feet, he leaned heavily against one of the buildings, pressing his hand to his side as his mind fought to remember how he had gotten here.

Jessie's betrayal. Annabella's words.

Michael.

It dawned on him like a brick in the face: he stood in the very alley where Michael had taken his last breath.

He was back in Amissah.

Choking on a strangled sob, Todd slid to the ground. What had happened to Annabella? He had left her in the clutches of the enemy — not by choice, not at all. He wasn't even sure what had happened. What had brought him back?

The incredible pain in his side and shoulder stole his breath away. With trembling fingers, he lifted his shirt, struggling to see the extent of the damage. The Veiled Lady's sword had nicked his side, and although the wound wasn't deep, it bled profusely. He struggled to staunch the flow of blood with the fabric of his shirt and jacket. His shoulder wound also wasn't very deep, but it bled enough to be worrisome. It hurt like nothing else. He needed help.

He knew where he was. Cathy and Henry's wasn't too far away from here; how would his sister react to seeing him again, and in such a bloodied state?

The truth punched him like a fist to the gut: Cathy wasn't his sister. She never had been.

It can't be true. It can't be!

Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled out of the alleyway, looking around. Darkness cloaked the town. A few lights shone from various buildings, but Ostwall was asleep. He vaguely remembered the time difference — almost nine hours, he had calculated. It wasn't long past midnight here, and it made his short, painful walk to Cathy's easier. No one was around to question him.

The Farthing house was frighteningly normal and unchanged, as if he could walk up the porch steps into the house and find out that his adventure in Desmond had never happened. Didn't the old structure understand that nothing would ever be the same again?

There was no snow on the ground. The air was even a bit warm as he stepped up the porch stairs. He hesitated at the door, breathing heavily. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he leaned his forehead on the door, struggling to compose himself. It felt like he had been gone for an eternity, and now he was back — back and wounded and alone and terrified. He wouldn't find help in Cathy or Henry, he knew that. He wouldn't even find help in Mikayla or her parents. Todd was alone in this world and with the terrifying knowledge that soon enough, he'd be found.

Jessie knew him far too well.

He dragged his sleeve over his eyes, wiping away the tears before he gathered up the courage to knock on the door. It was met with silence, and he trembled in it. The loss of blood from his wounds was beginning to make him lightheaded. He pounded on the door, leaving a streak of blood. The sight of it was dizzying, and he found himself stumbling into it and sliding to his knees.

The door opened, and he fell inside with a gasp. Cathy's cry of alarm echoed in his ears, and he fumbled to get up, the world blurring, his limbs weak. He heard Henry's vulgar curse, but he was losing consciousness, unable to comprehend what was happening as he was dragged somewhere, voices echoing around him:

"Todd! Oh, heaven! Get him in the bathroom, he's bleeding!"

"I'm calling the police."

"No! Call an ambulance!"

Todd was numb, eyes fluttering, struggling to focus as Cathy bombarded him with questions about his wounds, about where he had been— "Oh, gosh, your eyes!"

She was pulling off his jacket, tugging off his shirt, exposing the ugly gash in his side. "Cathy," he stuttered, on the cold tiled floor, his back against the bathroom counter. He trembled as she pressed a wet cloth to his side.

"Oh, Todd, what have you done?" she sobbed.

He stared at her, his mind foggy. He saw his mother's face — but Tessa Vinson had never been his mother. "Am I adopted?" he whispered.

Cathy looked at him, her blanched face streaked with tears, eyes wide with shock. "What?"

"Am I adopted?" he repeated, the words a whisper on his lips. He wanted to know. Needed to know. He needed to understand how this had happened, why it had happened, why he had been lied to his whole life about who he was.

Fresh tears tumbled down her cheeks, and she wiped at them. "How do you know that?" she whispered. "Who told you that?"

So it was true. His parents hadn't actually been his parents. Cathy hadn't actually ever been his sister. Todd wasn't from Amissah at all.

'Trust your Father, Deliverer. Trust Him.'

Todd ignored Bartholomew's soft words, too busy pushing himself to his feet amid Cathy's tearful protests. He had to see the proof. He grabbed the counter, struggling to get up.

"Todd, Todd, stop, please," Cathy sobbed, holding onto his arm.

"Keep him in there, Cathy," he heard Henry call. "The police are on their way."

"No! Henry, how could you? He's my brother!"

Their conversation was white noise amidst the terror consuming Todd whole. He clung to the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Past the blood that smeared his chin, past his messy hair, past the scar on his cheek. He stared at his eyes. Those glowing, emerald eyes.

The son of a god stared back.