July 27, 1932, around 400 p.m.

The light filtered through the lace curtains on the windows, tickling Victory's eyelids. She opened them slowly. Everything was in soft focus, the edges smeared. That was possibly her dressing table and mirror across the room. Across the room? It might as well have been a mile away. The world was her bed, the gentle cotton of the coverlet, the sweet softness of the pillows.

Wasn't she supposed to be awake? She scowled at the question. Inertia took over. Victory flicked in and out of awareness, dreaming her room, dreaming the motes dancing in the sunlight. This sleepiness that had taken her over was luxurious. Her body wanted to participate—wanted to give in to the kindness of gravity and melt into the milky sunlight.

No. This wasn't right. It was day. Victory Ralston was too well drilled in her routine to accept this. With some effort, she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

Something was wrong. She blinked and looked at the clock on the table next to her bed. It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon.

Why was she asleep? No one slept through the afternoon in the Ralston family. She looked down and found that she was still in her exercise clothes from the morning. She hadn't even taken off her canvas running shoes.

Was she ill? She had to be ill. She felt her forehead, checked her pulse. Nothing seemed to be wrong with her except for the fact that she was so very tired.

But why had no one come for her? You didn't just skip things at Morning House. You would no more miss the day's activities than you would walk around the house naked. Why had no one knocked at her door?

Another question: When the hell had she fallen asleep? She remembered coming back to her room—the morning in flashes. Breakfast. The heat. Exercise being called off early. The glint of the water and the cast of the sky. Coming inside. After that... nothing. Her lack of control troubled her. Moreover, she didn't hear anything. No creaking of floors, opening of doors, voices from other rooms or outside. Morning House might not be loud, but it was never silent, never completely still.

She forced herself upright and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Her head was full of cotton. She heard...

Nothing. No sound aside from the ticking of the clock at the end of the hall. No voices. No sound of people moving, cleaning, chatting. She put a tentative foot to the floor and lifted her body heavily from the bed. Out in the hall, the doors to her siblings' bedrooms were closed. Victory moved toward the stairs, where someone was walking around. Victory followed the noise and found Max's nurse in the hall, worry twisting her features.

"Miss Victory," she said. "Have you seen Max? I... fell asleep. I can't seem to find him. I've looked all over downstairs, upstairs..."

Victory's heart began to hammer in her chest, beating her into awareness.

"Maybe he crawled into bed with someone," she said. "I'll check our bedrooms."

She ran back to their hallway and began with Unity's room. She was asleep on her bed.

"Wake up! Wake the boys up. No one can find Max."

"What?"

Victory moved on to Clara, who was also asleep on her bed in her exercise whites. This was like a terrible dream, some fairy tale where a sleep takes over a castle. Victory shook Clara hard, and her eyes flew open.

"Max..."

Clara immediately sat upright. "What about Max?"

"He's missing."

Clara rubbed her eyes hard and swung herself out of her bed. She stood for a moment, visibly trying to rouse herself, to think, then she began moving. She ran with such raw purpose that Victory followed her—down the grand stairs, out the front door, into the hazy sunshine and pulsing heat, the green waters shining all around them. Clara kept running down the lawn, down the stairs, toward the lagoon. She pulled off her clothes at the water's edge, stripping down to her undergarments, and plunged in. Victory was steps behind her, still trying to wake up and put everything together. Clara was already cutting through the water in large archangel strokes. She dipped under the surface.

Victory stood, unsure, then jumped into the water fully clothed. The shock of it bolted her awake a bit more, and she began to look as well, taking a deep breath and sinking under. She swam along this shallower edge, where the water was only a few feet deep, surveying the rocks and vegetation, looking frantically. Her hair flowed around her, obscuring her view. She stood up to push it back.

This was when she saw Clara come up as well, carrying Max's body in her arms.