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My sinuses sting and I have to clamp my teeth together to stave off the tears threatening to well up in my eyes.

I can’t lose it now.

I need to figure out what this all means and where to go from here.

The Witch of the West was the woman from my memories who dropped me at Em and Henry’s farmhouse. My entire life, I daydreamed about what I’d say or do if the woman returned to me. There was nothing I wanted more than to fill in the blanks about my life before that fateful day.

And when given the opportunity, I destroyed it.

The tears come, blurring my vision, and I give myself one minute to feel all the emotions.

But there is no going back now. There is only moving forward.

I have to stay in Oz and find out why the West took me to Em and Henry. But more importantly, I need to figure out what she was trying to tell me before Rook appeared, stabbed me, and stole the golden mask.

In my head, I can hear Henry, almost as if he’s standing beside me. Make yourself a list of priorities. Start with something small and go from there.

Henry loves a good list.

“Okay, Henry,” I mutter. “List of priorities. First, I need to assess my wounds.” I look down at my dress, then the floor where I landed, where blood has turned the stones tacky. It’s not as much blood as I would expect for a gut wound.

“Second: food and water to replenish my energy. Third: get outside somehow to call for Toto. Then…” I look around the gallery and spot the Tinman tucked into the corner on the other side of the room, slumped against the far wall. A breath of relief huffs out of me. At least I’m not alone. Though being alone with the heartless Tinman might come with its own set of risks.

There’s a needle in his hand, a tin box on his lap. He appears to be breathing. “Fourth: get the Tinman up and on his feet. If I’m going to find any answers, I’m going to need some help.”

And who better than the heartless mercenary?

But will he agree to it? I can be persuasive if I put my mind to it.

“Wound first.” Still shaking with nerves, I carefully position my hands on either side of the tear in my dress and pull it back, ripping the fabric wider. I don’t feel any pain, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m out of the woods. I could be in shock. Or maybe the Tinman gave me some of his drug to help with the pain before he passed out.

Once the dress is pulled back, I examine my side. The skin is bright pink and slightly bruised where I think the blade sunk in. Blood is dried and flaking down my hip. I tear the dress more, searching, pressing, examining.

There’s … nothing. Not even a scratch.

“What the hell?”

I should be dead. And if not dead, at least mortally wounded.

I didn’t imagine Rook stabbing me, did I? Maybe this is the witch’s blood staining my dress? Maybe it’s the Tinman’s?

Then why is my dress torn?

Step one is done, I can hear Henry saying. Move on to the next.

Yes, you’re technically right, Henry, but how am I not injured? What does it all mean?

For now, I guess I can explain it away by magic. I don’t understand much of what goes on in Oz, magic being at the top of the list, but I know magic is capable of a great many things.

The important detail is that my guts are not spilling out and I’m not currently losing blood.

“Step two: food and water,” I mutter, but I don’t know this castle. From the outside, it looked massive. I could be searching for a kitchen for hours. The Tinman has clearly been here before. “Come back to food and water. Wake the Tinman first.”

I always gave Henry a hard time about his lists, but right now I’m grateful for the firm parameters and the direction it provides.

With a quick scan of the gallery, I find Tin and I are alone. There are no winged monkeys. No more witches. And no wizards.

On my feet, I make my way across the room to him and give his boot a kick.