“Of course not.” My breathing is shallow. I force myself to fill my lungs. It doesn’t help. I still feel as though I can’t breathe.

Hold it together, Taema. Hold it together.

“Are you all right?” Malka asks with false concern.

“Fine,” I say with a little half-smile. “Just … amazed to meet the man in person. So to speak. I’m to … go in?” I eye the second Chair.

“Yes. You observe the dreams, I observe you, and we see how you do. Another Test, as I said, yet this one is not quite so … complicated.”

I give a strangled approximation of a laugh. “Let’s hope I do as well.”

“Yes. Let’s hope.”

The half hearted smile slips from my face.

The room is soundproof. Outside in the hallway, dozens of people must walk by, but I can’t hear any of them. It’s as if this room is all that exists, and the only sounds are the short susurrations of the machine, and the faint sounds of three humans’ breaths.

“What do you want me to suggest to him?”

“Nothing this time. Just observe. You don’t want him to notice you.”

“All right.” I turn off the brain recording. I’m not sure if it’ll work in the Vervescape, and Kim told me not to use it for too long.

She plugs me in, prepping syringes. If they can do it Chairless, like they did with my Test, why go through the steps here? Perhaps it’s still in process, or the level Ensi dosed me with was too low. I hadn’t even realized I was on it.

“Night, night,” Malka says from above me.

I float away.

*   *   *

Mr. Mantel’s dream is grainy. Small flecks of white float along my vision like static. I focus on making myself invisible as a ghost. I’m not here, I try to tell the dream. Don’t notice me. I’m just another speck.

The static parts, the dream clearing. The colors brighten until it’s as vivid as Mia’s dreamscape. Mr. Mantel has a woman tied up on a bed in a penthouse apartment. It’s Sharon Roux. The woman is the mayor of San Francisco.

She’s as naked as he is, their clothes scattered around the room. Fresh bruises paint her legs and upper arms. Nowhere they’d show in her suit. I furrow my brow, until I see her smiling. She wants the restraints, and he wants to restrain her.

He crawls on top of her again, beginning anew. He hurts her, she cries out, she smiles, he smiles. It’s different from the Zealscape. He’s not killing her. There’s no blood. No oily muck. No monsters. They’re both enjoying themselves with pleasure and pain.