I stepped forward, bringing the edge of the void close to me, to feel the seams where my world ends and someone else’s begins. I could feel a few different threads, one that was sharp and cold but not in an entirely bad way, like a rough wind that chaps your face but also makes you feel like you have more oxygen in your lungs, like you’re more alive somehow. That was Sam, I knew it immediately.

I turned my head away from the sharp wind and smelled fresh cut grass and sunlight. Still cool, in the way any subconscious other than my own is, but softer, drawing me in. Caleb.

Turning once more and I found the final thread—smoky and pulled tight, a warm glow that gave off no heat emanating from the seam. Mark.

If I had just stopped at Sam and Caleb. If I hadn’t gone into Mark’s head, had remembered that he’s a mimic, that he would remember … maybe it would have all been okay.

“Did you just…” Mark asked, eyes wide.

We’d woken up at the same time, just like I had with Damien, and Mark stared at me over Sam, still asleep on his lap. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Sam’s comfortable couch, the hum of classic movies on the TV, the dark room, the seductive pull of other people’s subconsciouses, was irresistible.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I whispered.

It hadn’t been as bad as Damien’s nightmare—not as viscerally violent or confusing, but what I had seen in Mark’s head definitely was a nightmare. Pleading with his sister to fix him, while crying over the fact that he would be broken forever. The pain and self-loathing had been such a sharp edge I worried I’d wake up with physical cuts.

“Where’s Joan?” he asked urgently, leaning over Sam to hiss at me.

“What?”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Oh, I think she’s still in the kitchen,” I said. “With Adam maybe.”

“So she wasn’t…” He looked so, so afraid.

“No, no, no,” I said, realizing what he was so panicked about. “That wasn’t her. Not really. It wasn’t really Sam either.” No one had heard his brokenhearted lament except for me.

“Right. Okay.” He nodded his head and his shoulders went down in relief. But then he looked back at me, eyes narrowing. “Why me?”

“What?” I asked, unsure what he was asking.

“Why did you go into my dream?” he asked, jaw clenching.

“Oh, um,” I stumbled, “I was—”

“You did it with everyone, didn’t you?” Realization dawned on his face as he leaned back and away from me. “You know, I’d almost be impressed by that level of control if it wasn’t so…”