Once again smoke hung thick in the library’s rafters. Words appeared. At least this time the vapors formed words. The first time it was shapes, and yesterday it was numbers. Both were incomprehensible. Shira knew what the words meant individually. Now all she had to do was make out the larger meaning, their message. Was it an instruction or a warning? Would she have to convince anyone else to join her? How much time would she have? Time. Maybe the numbers were a time. Now that Shira thought more about it, the shapes were similar to road signs: stop, yield, one way. She had thought, map for shapes and a code for the numbers. Because those were confusing to her. She’d focused on what she wasn’t good at instead of what she already knew. That had to be it; to save her brother and the world she had accidentally created, Shira had to use what she already understood. She gazed up again. The words dissipated like a slow motion explosion, transforming into a whisper: don’t be late. She’d never been late in her life.