The other man rolled to the side. Started to get up. Finch reached out. Caught a booted foot. Pulled the man back down toward him. He opened his eyes just a slit against the terrible light. Saw the man’s face.

“Bliss! Bliss!” Finch hissed. Still in the grip of darkness. He dragged Bliss closer as the man kicked, struggling to get free. Jumped on top of him. Punched him in the kidneys. Once. Twice. Three times. Knuckles aching. Bliss grunted. Finch delivered an elbow across the face, through Bliss’s guard. Bliss went limp. Saw the man’s eyelids flutter, his eyes almost roll back into his head.

Finch got up, staggering. What did you do to me? Keening. Kicked Bliss in the ribs. A bark of distress and Bliss curled onto his side.

Meant to launch another kick, but was brought up short. The ground around them had caught his attention. Dull red tiles. Yellow-green weeds thrusting up between them.

Looked up. In a sudden panic, he realized that the terrible light was the sun. He stood in the middle of an empty courtyard. A rusted, crumbling fountain. Blank azure-amber eyes of some long-dead hero astride a rusting horse. Mottled brown fish spouting air beside him.

Above the wall facing him: the looming white dome of one of the camps. Took a quick glance behind. The green shimmer of the two towers just visible through an archway leading out. A flock of pigeons circling. The clapping sound.

He was between the Spit and the Religious Quarter.

On the other side of the bay from his apartment.

The sun was out.

In the middle of the night.

Finch began to shake. Fought down nausea.

Said, gasping the words, “What the fuck did you do, Bliss?” Almost couldn’t stop saying it. Taste of grit in his mouth. Skin still twitching.

Bliss raised his head, still on his side. Through blood-greased teeth: “Don’t be frightened. We went through a door. Like any other door.”

Finch kicked Bliss again for that. This time he didn’t cry out, just lay there. Found his gun. Squatting beside Bliss, Finch shoved the muzzle against the man’s left cheek. Forced Bliss’s face against the stone.

“Answer my questions. Answer them without any bullshit,” voice calmer than he felt.

This wasn’t the first time he’d put a gun to someone’s face. But he was threatening a man who, in his former life, had made speeches and led parades. A man now reduced to snooping in apartments after dark.

“I’ll answer them! Stop hitting me.” Startling bloodshot white of Bliss’s eye trying to look up at Finch from that extreme angle. Face already darkening with bruises like a stormy sky.