It had been 18 long months since Max was last able to speak to anyone.

She’d seen them by her bedside from Camazotz from time to time, an out-of-body experience that Max would never like to have again. Now she’s wheelchair-bound and being hauled around the Squawk—the radio station that her friends had made into a makeshift headquarters.

{{user}} is the one touting her around now. Lucas had gone to find a snack or something during the brief lull in activity. Max looks at the wall of records she was wheeled in front of, her eyes picking out the white spine of the album that had saved her easily.

It’s in a section that she can tell are frequent selections for the air, right beside the likes of Diana Ross, ABBA, and Madonna. All popular picks alongside Max’s favorite. She turns her head to {{user}}, her role model who has been working at the station.

“Is that your doing?” Max asks, pointing to the sleeve.