Free Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) by Sarah Noffke Page A

I’m exploring. Although true, I’m mostly baffled by the Lucidites and their Institute.
    Inside the musty cardboard box are yellowing photographs of people I don’t recognize, a penny bank with change locked inside it, a broken smoke detector, and an old mink stole. I push this box to the side and scavenge through the next. All crap. There isn’t anything that sticks out as super important. This is like the contents of someone’s forgotten storage room. They’d never be back to sort through this junk or claim it, because in the end we really don’t need things. The belongings people accumulate throughout their lives will always own them. People seem to think if they had more they’d be happier or freer, but their possessions only chain them to the earth.
    I open another box, taking a quick glance at the hour glass. Four million grains of sand remain. Forty-five minutes. Inside this box a rotary phone sits beside a doll, a pair of ballet slippers, and a trinket box. I pull off the lid of the velvet-wrapped trinket box, and with my fingertips push around the small objects inside. I gasp and the box hiccups between my fingers—its contents almost spill to the floor. Recovering myself, I probe at the tiny objects that startled me. Four pearl-and tan-colored teeth. Small ones. Baby teeth. Still gross. Mingled with some stranger’s teeth are a couple of lone earrings which have apparently lost their match, and a tiny little piece that looks like a hearing aid.
    Slamming the lid back on the box I throw it sharply against the wall, sending it sliding back behind a mountain of boxes and books. A growl escapes my clenched teeth. The camera flashes its judgmental eye on me, greedy to record my frustration.
    Snaking through the tiny path, I make my way to the oak shelf at the far end. A piece of medieval armor looks out of place beside some type of animal horn and a hand mirror. Up high on the top shelf stands a vase, another stack of books with faded covers, and something shiny, too high for me to reach. I pull a box down from a nearby stack and step onto it, grabbing the object that stole my attention. It’s a bracelet, a beautiful one. Two inches wide and made of alternating bands of silver and copper. It’s tapered at one end, where it sits closest to the wrist. The silver bands have raised circles. The copper is smooth, like water. I love it instantly.
    A small pin releases the bracelet, and it opens in half on a pair of hinges. I stick it on my wrist and snap it shut. Clink. It’s cold and warm at the same time.
    Like one of those plastic bracelets people adorn in a hospital, it makes me feel I’ve been admitted to a place. The coolness slowly starts to fade as my body heat presses against it. Maybe it’s my imagination, but the metal seems to soften as it connects with my skin. We’re one.
    The bracelet isn’t the answer to this stupid riddle, though. I love it, but I can’t explain why it’s important. Scanning the room, I search desperately for something that catches my eye as incredibly useful.
    I pick up the hand mirror on the bottom shelf and look into it. The handle is gold and ornately decorated with flowers and vines. Spots from age fleck the surface. Looking into the mirror I see myself for the first time in a long while. I’ve been so overwhelmed with everything that I can’t remember the last time I looked at my reflection. I’m older somehow, although for the most part nothing has changed about me. Maybe the green outline of my eyes is a little darker than I remember, but it could also be the lighting. A smile spreads softly along my pink mouth. This girl, the one looking back at me now, she’s a Dream Traveler. An odd expression lingers in her eyes as the label sinks in. The smile subsides, but the neutral appearance doesn’t disguise an emotion I’ve rarely witnessed on my own face. Pride.
    Somewhere in the shadows behind me, something moves. I don’t see it directly, but instead in the