“And if we do go into the Zealscape, you think I’ll be able to lucid dream,” I say, looking nervously at the entrance to Mirage. Most of the time, when people plug into other people’s dreams, they’re carried along helplessly by the other person’s fantasy. They can’t really change much. It’s why most people do it alone. Nazarin hopes if I can lucid dream I might be able to affect things, at least a little. The problem is, lucid dreaming might not always change the reality in a way you’d like.

“Yes. This serves two purposes. Question Mia in the Zealscape, if we must, and see how you fare within the dreams. I’m certain you’ll be able to manipulate things, judging by how you’ve integrated the brainload.”

“Maybe.” I’m noncommittal. And frightened. Years of training at the Hearth—it should be easy. I have flashbacks to those shared dreams. I can almost taste the bitterness of the drug as Mana-ma gently placed it on my outstretched tongue.

“Will it hurt?” I ask. I remember so much pain. And mental pain is so much more painful than the physical.

“It hasn’t hurt me.”

“And you haven’t become addicted?” That’s another fear. I only tried Zeal once or twice, but it was years ago. What if I’ve changed since? What if I go into the Zealscape and come out of it to discover my brain is flawed and that I’ll want nothing more than to go back in? It’s a stupid fear, perhaps. I’ve seen scans of my own brain. I know all synapses fire normally. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t still love the violence. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t grow to need it.

“No,” he says. “I’m not addicted. But I think about the Zealscape, sometimes. The power. The freedom. I think anyone who’s tasted it does, even if their mind isn’t hardwired for violence.”

Nazarin’s been undercover for a while. I’m sure he’s had to commit violence, and not just as a false member of the Ratel. As a detective, he’ll have seen things, done things that would be difficult to forget.

“OK,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

My nervousness doesn’t fade as we walk toward the door. I’ve never been in a Zealot lounge, and I’ve no idea what to expect. I wonder what Mia knows. If anything. I can’t help but wonder if Tila wrote Mia’s name on the table to send me off the path and keep me out of harm’s way. It’s the sort of thing she would do.