It’s not an answer, and Thora knows it. But if she senses there is more he’s not telling her, she doesn’t seem to care. “Fine. But before you go and hang out with your fake wife, let me show you this one thing.” She tugs his hand, leading him through an alleyway back toward the clock tower. Santi drags his feet, but Thora is relentless. She leads him around the side, into the grassy courtyard where they once met as first-year students.

“There,” she says, pointing at nothing.

Santi tilts his head. “What am I looking at?”

“Observe.” Thora hefts the remainder of the bun and throws it straight ahead. As Santi watches, it disappears in midair. He steps forward, fascinated. “It’s like—an invisible door,” Thora says. “It un-exists things.”

Santi’s eyes drop to the grass. A memory comes: searching for an hour with nail-bitten and dirty hands, not comprehending how something could disappear so entirely. “My hostel card,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I tried walking into it, of course,” Thora says airily. “But it doesn’t work on me. I assume it won’t work on you either.” She gestures. “Give it a try.”

Santi pauses. Maybe this is another trap Thora is leading him into, a second suicide. But he believes in treating the world as real. There is nothing here for him to be afraid of. He walks forward, through the invisible door.

Nothing happens.

“I call it the annihilation portal,” Thora says cheerfully. “There’s something therapeutic about it. One time, I got all my least favorite books from the library and just sat throwing them in one by one.” She settles cross-legged on the grass, picking up pine cones and tossing them to non-existence by Santi’s feet. It sickens him: the repetitive, angry motion, the nothingness left behind.

“Thora, what are you doing?” he asks.

She blinks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You said you’ve been here five years. Has this been your life? Stealing impossible food and—and throwing things into the void?”

Thora stares at him in disbelief. “I thought you loved miracles.”

Santi rubs his face, exhaling. “I don’t think we’re supposed to exist this way.”

“Come on. What’s the alternative? Getting a job?” She scoffs. “Besides, it’s not like I’m stealing from anyone. Unless the ether has property rights.”

Santi shakes his head. “It’s not right. It feels like—like cheating.”

“Maybe if this were a game we had agreed to play. But I don’t recall signing up.” She drops her last pine cone and stands, confronting him. “Last time, I told you we had no meaningful choices at all. But I realized—that’s not true. We have one. To refuse to play by the rules.”