Hennessy leaned over one of the shelves. The tediously normal-looking cell phone on it brightened to display a photograph of two young men as the lock screen. One was Ronan, laughing explosively. The other was a rather self-contained-looking fellow, striking in an unusual sort of way, smirking a bit at whatever he’d just said. They were not exactly opposites but their appearances nonetheless gave the impression they were. Ronan’s dark, dramatic eyebrows, the other guy’s light, barely visible ones. Ronan’s emotions screamed upon his face while the other guy’s whispered. “Is that him?”

Ronan addressed the dream at large. “Traitor. You didn’t have to show her.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s filling a hole inside himself with your toxic presence,” Hennessy said. She kind of hated looking at them together. It made her feel ugly inside. “Are you guys in love five-ever or do you think you’re a pretty board game to pass his time?”

Now she sounded ugly, too.

But Ronan just picked up another phone and, after a space, mused, “Your phone can be simpler than mine, of course. You’ll only need to be able to call Jordan, right? There’s no one else?”

A single question, clear and factual. What a weapon. And he’d delivered it in the same tone he might have said anything else, so she didn’t notice the blade of its meaning until it was stuck inside her.

Suddenly, Hennessy had a very clear understanding that the cruel exterior Ronan Lynch wore was not all posture.

Every lock screen in the shop briefly showed Hennessy’s face. But it was not truly Hennessy. It was Trinity, June, Brooklyn, Madox, Jay, Alba, Octavia, Farrah, Jordan. All dead. Almost all dead. It would have been easier, in some ways, if Jordan were dead, too. Simpler, anyway.

Ronan said nothing else. He just let the silence do its violent work.

She found she was both awed and grateful for this bit of nastiness in response to hers. “Did you want to drink my arterial blood after that slash, or just roll around in it?”

“Whatever,” Ronan said, but it was clear they had come to an accord. He picked up a matte-black phone. It was the size of an acorn, and when he clipped it onto his earlobe, it looked just like a tunnel piercing, making him look even more like a hulking goth than he had before.

She could feel him thinking: Small. Subtle. It’ll only place and take calls, not text, but that’s fine. Fuck texting. I don’t care about texting. I don’t need to text ever again.

Even in his own head he lied to himself.

Ronan said suddenly, “Can you imagine if all dreams were like this? It’s so easy.”

“Okay, Bryde,” Hennessy said mockingly.

“You really don’t see the appeal?”

“Of shopping for electronics in your head?”