“I am yours, yet others use me more than you ever do. What am I?”
I gritted my teeth and clamped my eyes shut.Focus. Breathe. Focus.
“My name,” I blurted after a moment, praying to every higher power in existence that I’d gotten it right.
The screen flashed green, and the figures appeared:
“1/4.”
One out of four questions, it had to mean. I’d gotten it right.
But crap. Three more questions.
I swiped at the screen anxiously, needing it to hurry up and present the next one.
“The faster you run, the tougher I am to catch. What am I?”
“A monkey?” I blurted—it was the first thing that came to mind.
The screen lit up red.
“Your breath.”
I cursed, but to be fair, I felt my answer was valid.
The next question appeared:
“I can take you a thousand miles away in the span of a second and raise people from the dead. What am I?”
“A memory,” I said after a beat.
The screen flashed green.
“2/4.”
Somehow, that one had come easier to me.
I held my breath for the next.
“I blossom, yet have no petals. What am I?”
“A child,” I replied—the answer again coming intuitively. Perhaps because I remembered Martha using the word “blossom” when describing the kids. And I knew Fairwell’s attitude regarding them.
The screen flashed green.Thank heavens.
“3/4.”
I had under two minutes left. I dared not look down to check the state of the glass, but who was to say that monster couldn’t crack it sooner?
Focus. Breathe.
“You need me, yet you give me away. What am I?”
I hesitated. “Love?”
The screen flashed red.
“Money.”
