“We are going to do this,” Aramin says in the pause that follows. “And we are going to do it quickly. In and out. Let’s keep this efficient.”

Red doesn’t answer at first. Then, finally, he nods, his jaw tight.

“And then what?” Adena asks quietly.

“Step by step,” Jeran says.

Before them, the first rays of dawn scatter purple and orange streaks behind the fallen city of Newage, and overhead, the stars are beginning to fade away. They’re still so bright through Red’s enhanced vision that I think their light must be heightened by the fog of my dream.

Be real, I wish. And then I think, Don’t be real. If this is just a dream, then Red isn’t really sitting at a campsite with the Strikers. If this is real, then he believes I’m now a monster. Real, not real. Either way, I lose.

Then I see Red turn to his side. His profile is framed in the shadows, but in that darkness, I make out the expression on his face. He’s looking over his shoulder, his eyes lost in thought, his body blurred in mist. As if he heard a whisper from some faraway place. From me.

I wake up gasping, my face damp with tears. The dim light streaking blue across my sheets tells me it is the hour just before dawn. I tremble, my head turning instinctively toward the window, aching and hopeful and bewildered at the dream I’d just had of Red. Not a dream, no. Every detail in it was so vivid that I can still feel the tingle of Red’s presence in my fingers, still feel the cold breeze at the top of the ledge where he sat with the others. It was a glimpse into something real. They are out there, and they are planning to make a move on the train tracks this morning.

I’m in such turmoil that, when Constantine’s voice appears in my mind, it’s too late. Through our link, I can almost feel him shifting into a sitting position in his own bed. The fog in his head has cleared. His medicine must have worked.

You are thinking about Red, he says.

He has sensed the storm of my feelings. He knows something has happened.

I can hear you whispering his name in your mind, over and over again.

I want to shake my head and lie to him. But I’m still too unsettled by my dream, still shaking off the bewilderment of sleep to hide it properly. The image of my mother appears in my mind, her back turned to me as she cooks over her old stove. I remember the guard holding a gun to her head when I first pledged my loyalty to Constantine. I think of where she might be now, in a place Constantine has yet to reveal to me.

You saw him, didn’t you? he says. You linked with him.

I didn’t, I reply. But he doesn’t believe me.

You are going to tell me everything, he orders, his voice at once gentle and menacing. And when we return to Cardinia, you will be pleased with where your mother is staying. Do you understand me?