Walls grew up gradually around them, the dirt path became neat brick, and the plant life began to look more orderly. Ava kept an eye out for the maskhål this time, and spotted it easily. The one in her LitenVärld had seemed to squirm, and was tinted with violet and yellow hues. This seam was thinner, uniform, and seemed … stable? Was that possible? Rather than a shifting, moving scar between two worlds, this one looked like it had been reinforced with a honeycomb pattern of lines. It pulsed regularly as Ava watched it, somewhere between organic and mechanical.

The maskhål opened into a recognizable LitenVärld food court, bustling with people. Ava sighed in relief, letting the familiar wave of white noise wash over her: the low murmur of voices, cutlery against plates, footsteps. She wasn’t sure she could have dealt with another wilderness, empty except for killer furniture. This LitenVärld looked nearly identical to their own, but the lunch rush was much calmer. No screaming children, no couples arguing over budgets, no amateur interior designers melting down over curtain patterns. It was soothing, exactly what she needed to calm her nerves.

“Do you think this place accepts money from other universes?” she asked Jules. The second she’d smelled the food court, her hunger rumbled through her. But when she turned to look at Jules, she saw that they were hanging back by the wall, eyeing the cafeteria uneasily.

“I don’t think we should eat here,” they said.

Ava rolled her eyes and handed Jules the FINNA. “You’re just mad because nothing is trying to eat us.”

She got in line. The familiarity was almost as comforting as the thought of getting some food in her belly. She recognized everything from the food court in her own LitenVärld: slices of smoked salmon, potato salad, smörgås arranged in neat, orderly lines, the silver carafes dispensing surprisingly decent tea and awful hot chocolate. Ava got a tray and loaded it up. She paused in front of the desserts, having automatically reached for a plate of the addictive chocolate cake. Her therapist had been yelling at Ava to try and eat at least A Fruit and/or Vegetable A Day. She added an apple from a large glass bowl before moving toward the register.

The apple felt odd in her hands, and she examined it as she waited to pay. It was as round as a tennis ball, red as a fairy tale with bright golden splotches. The splotches looked uniform, evenly dotted around the circumference of the fruit, as if they’d been designed that way. She looked back at the bowl, and saw that the other apples were exactly the same. As if they’d been stamped from the same mold.