I step forward, drawing the mayor’s attention. “The mirrors are exits,” I say—not to her, but to my audience in the city above. “That’s how you get out of the dream. Look in a mirror—because there are mirrors everywhere now—and wait for the rainbow sheen, then jump through. You’ll wake up on a ship. There’ll be escape pods. You can go home. To Earth. The real Earth, which is alive, with no fog and no Beings.”

Elliott swallows and raises his head, struggles to focus. He knows my story needs his support. “It’s true,” he manages. “I’ve seen it. Mom,” he says, and his voice breaks. “It’s true. Please, trust me, just this once. Wake up. Live.”

A laugh like gunfire cracks out of her. “Trust you? You’ve gone from failing this family to intentionally undermining it in record time, Elliott.”

He flinches at his name, like it’s a weapon she’s flung at him, but he doesn’t look away. “No,” he says, his voice heavy. “I haven’t failed this family. You have.”

My breathing stills. He’s finally confronting her. I want to hope he can get through, that we can make it out of this without bloodshed, but my cynical side—which is all of me, really—knows this isn’t going to be pretty.

The mayor’s eyes flash. She doesn’t say anything. Even her silence is a weapon.

“You failed this family when you tried to hide my existence to win an election,” Elliott goes on. He takes a step toward her.

“Don’t move,” snaps the older cop. No one looks at him.

“You failed this family when you exiled Braedan.” Elliott takes another step. He’s next to me now. “You failed us when you exiled me.” His voice isn’t heavy anymore. It’s something like a black hole: burning with an impossible gravity, folded over and over on itself in an endless implosion. He takes one last step. He’s in front of me now, between me and his mother, standing at the top of the stairs—framed by the darkness of the warehouse below. The transmitter blinks at his feet. It doesn’t matter if the mayor notices it now. Our job is done, our message out.

Elliott covers his face with one hand and drags in a breath. When he speaks again, his words are muffled. “And you failed this entire island with the punishments you call justice. I didn’t want to admit it. But it’s true. It’s true, and I helped you do it, and I’ll never forgive myself.” He drops his hand and pins her with a look. “But I could forgive you. I could always forgive you. Even when I shouldn’t.”