In the odd light of this gentle miasma, Kaylin could see the words more clearly; they grew more solid, and they gained an unfortunate weight. She was by no means weak, but she knew that carrying this weight in her palms, arms partially extended, couldn’t be done for long. She turned, slowly, toward Mrs. Erickson.

Mrs. Erickson’s eyes were luminous, wide, almost unblinking; the color of the fog itself was so strongly reflected in those eyes, they seemed to be one and the same for a disconcerting moment.

It was Teela who caught Mrs. Erickson by the shoulder, her grip on the older woman almost the same as the grip she maintained on Terrano. Kaylin could see that much before the fog rolled over her eyes, obscuring anything as mundane as a doorway. The marks on her arms were glowing more brightly, gold at last coming up through a sheen of silver gray.

She closed her eyes; the landscape that emerged from the fog was painfully disjointed to look at, the colors that she could perceive clashing like a visual screaming match at a volume that would deafen the unprepared. Into the reddened darkness of closed eyes in bright light, came physical sensation: the ground beneath her feet—which in this case wasn’t so much ground as puddle. She could hear words being spoken, words being repeated, in a language she didn’t understand, but nonetheless recognized.

Words, like the marks on her arms.

“Is it safe to open my eyes?” she asked, assuming that the door was still open and the rest of the people she’d come with were still bearing witness.

“It is safe,” a familiar voice said. Only one.

“Helen?”

“Yes. I am here. I could not guarantee Mrs. Erickson’s safety, but I can guarantee yours.”

Kaylin opened her eyes.

She realized, belatedly, that the burden she’d carried no longer resided within her cupped palms; her hands were empty. Instead of lowering them, she stretched out both arms, up and to the side, regaining normal movement absent heavy weight.

She was standing in a pool, but the liquid the pool contained wasn’t water; her feet weren’t wet. Or soaked. She would have stepped onto dry land, but there wasn’t any in sight as far as the eye—or hers, at any rate—could see. She was surrounded by shallow, still liquid. The color was golden.

“That is not what I see,” Helen told her. Her voice was measured, but it wasn’t entirely calm.

“Is everyone else on the outside of the room?”

“They are. The doors closed when the fog began to clear.”

“You closed them?”

“It was a precaution. The room itself is secure for now; I believe even Terrano would have difficulty breaching the protections; they are not entirely of my design.”

“The occupants?”

“I do not believe they are what you would consider ghosts.”

“Are they like Amaldi and Darreno, then?”