Poesy didn’t fix reveries. She collected them. Kane craned his neck, following the cases all the way up to the ceiling. There must have been thousands in this room alone. How many lay in pieces? How many people were locked away in false realms?

What little hope Kane had for Poesy finally crumbled, and it left him dizzy and drifting. He stumbled back, catching on the corner of a wide desk. The Others glared at him, but no alarms sounded. Nothing changed. They went back to inspecting the charms, Kane’s same grim conclusion hanging over each of them in the silence.

Kane turned to the desk. It was covered in papers and books and odd, sharp instruments. He picked up a scroll full of diagrams and cryptic print. Buried beneath it was a book with a bright red cover. Chills prickled across Kane’s neck. He knew that red.

Kane slid the journal forward and ran his hands across the supple leather. The elastic band slid off smoothly, his eyes filled with his own penmanship. Except not quite; all the words were backward.

Kane made sure no one was watching as he took out the journal Poesy had given him from his backpack. The two books were identical. Experimentally, he flipped them both open to the back-most page and scribbled across one. On the other, like a bruise rising to the skin’s surface, the scribble reappeared in reverse.

Deceit slid through Kane’s heart, oil-thin and burning, amplifying the humiliation he already felt. He’d dutifully recorded every lousy detail of his recovery (even his dreams!) into that journal with no intention of giving it back, but Poesy had been reading along the entire time.

He was sure this is how Poesy had sent her invitation for tea. On this hunch, he put his pen between the pages of one journal, then opened the other. The pen rolled from the spine, a bit warm from its journey.

Kane’s anger gave way to wonder. He did the trick several more times, captivated by the magic. He could feel himself getting carried away, so before anyone noticed he grabbed both journals and shoved them into his backpack.

Then he saw the egg.

On a cleared corner of the desk, nestled within a satin cushion, was a bejeweled egg no bigger than an acorn. Its surface was crammed with exquisite gems of every color. There was no mistaking it: he had found Helena’s reverie.

“It’s here!” Kane called, and the others hurried over.

“You sure?” asked Elliot.

“I’m sure.”

Several other charms were scattered around it, but Helena’s felt different. From it drifted a rumbling, desperate energy, as though it verged on hatching.

“Good. No negotiations needed, then. Someone grab it,” Elliot said.

“How about you grab it, Elliot?”

No one wanted to touch the thing. Then the lights flickered, and everyone looked up. A far-off creaking sent shivers down Kane’s spine.