A young man, pale-faced with black hair and glasses, rushes into the room holding a stack of papers. "It has been confirmed. Garrett found her."

"Hm." Vincent scratches his head. "At last. It was only a matter of time. Garrett has always been my most loyal servant."

"There is a problem, though. She really remembers nothing." He lays the photos on the table and pushes his glasses up to his eyes.

Vincent sighs. "Interesting. That will be problematic."

"Sir, what are his orders?"

"They will remain the same. Continue to stay close, but do not harm her. We need her memories, wherever they are." His pale face is like stone. Only he can feel the quiver in his lip. It reminds him of the long battle that has ensued for thousands of years. It will soon be over, he muses. The balance will be broken. He sits there contemplating the life he believes he will soon live. He will be invincible and all-powerful. More importantly, he will never have to see her face, the constant reminder of his weakness, ever again. The prophecy says she will be the one to kill him, but they still need her—so she must live.