“God, I should hope not,” he said. “What are you, fifteen?”

“I’m nineteen,” I said, annoyed. “Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m young.”

“Didn’t say it did,” he said, putting up his hands. “You just look young, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

“So, Rose, why are we talking?” he asked casually, like the answer was not actually that important.

“Right, sorry.” I winced. “You’re a patient here.”

Something in his face twitched and he looked around, like he was worried someone would overhear us.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Was, at least. I’ve sprung the coop.”

“You’re leaving too?” I asked.

“Mm-hm.”

He didn’t give me any more info than that, narrowing his eyes at me like he was waiting for me to say some code word that would reveal to him that I was a safe person to give information to. That was when I started to feel watched too, like everything around us had become hushed and still while turning its focus onto us. I broke eye contact with him to look around, only to see the lobby exactly as it had been for the past five minutes—busy and bustling. I turned my focus back to the man, to find him still staring at me appraisingly, barely moving, like he was ready for me to either soothe or stab him.

“I’m a dreamdiver,” I said, deciding that blunt and straightforward was going to be easiest with the man whose head was anything but. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve been in your dreams the past week.”

I saw him clench his jaw, like he was getting ready to snap. I jumped back in before he could.

“I think you know something about this place,” I said. “And I … I’d like to know what you know. If you’d be willing to tell me.”

He stared at me for a long moment, tilting his head like if he got the right angle in staring at me, he’d be able to discern if I could be trusted. That was what it felt like—someone sizing up an enemy to figure out their potential usefulness.

Then, suddenly, he turned to the desk, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling something down before handing it to me.

“My phone number,” he said. “Now’s maybe not the best time and place to get into it. Text me.”

And with that, he stalked off without another word.

“Wait,” I called out, and he turned around, that eyebrow lifted again in a demand. There were a million questions running through my head—what happened to you? Why were you here? What was the dream about the old hallway about? What’s your ability? But I went with the simplest.

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

He was silent for a moment, like he was considering the question and the answer he would give.

“Damien.”