Of all the reasons Tanvi wanted to go back to being a dream runner, boredom had never counted among them. Her body twitched with jitters. Two days of being confined to her room with nothing to distract her from her dreams and memories but Venkat’s occasional visits, the purple book he’d left behind, and the food that appeared before her door, though, had her raring to jump out the nearest cracked window.

She thought about sneaking out, but where would she go? Madhu still had her pendant.

Instead, she’d scribbled a note for Asha and left it with her dinner dishes: I need to talk to her. If it actually reached Asha, she would know who Tanvi meant.

Tanvi even tried flipping through the purple book, but the memories, never further than a blink, continued to blister and spike.

Agonizingly distinct recent ones: the unbearable revelation of the bracelet; the feel of Venkat’s hand on hers that had her flushing in ways she didn’t understand; Nitya’s accusing words and their bee sting. Older ones riddled with moth bites: Nitya giggling in their blanket fort; Mom praising Tanvi for locating a lost earring; something about Dad, two rows of tiles, and a Scrabble board?

Tanvi could hear the giggles, could see the tiles, could feel the rosy sheen of Mom’s pride. She felt even sicker. If she hadn’t run away seven years ago, she might have those things plus a million more now.

What was she supposed to do with all these huge, dizzying feelings? Even the plain white walls of her room made her frantic, never mind the closet that had been her sanctuary. Just glancing toward its dark mouth was enough to gouge more holes in her stupid heart. She’d been lied to, and the anger and despair threatened to strangle her.

Assuming this jail cell of a room didn’t crush her first, that was. How could she break out?

She needed help, and Asha still hadn’t answered. Maybe, a voice deep within urged, she should tell Venkat everything.

On the third day, Tanvi jolted awake from a nightmare. Rain, she recalled, the dream’s tentacles still convulsing around her.

Even now, she saw the chilling ashen light filtered through noxious clouds. She saw a face like hers, but distorted by revulsion. She heard a sentence as serrated as a blade: “No one wants you.” She felt hands shoving her into a downpour, and talons sinking into her skin. It was what she deserved.

The gray feeling, as bleak and sodden as the cloud-stained sky in her nightmare, settled over her, draining her like an open wound.

Tanvi got up and inspected the mirror over her sink; hollows shadowed her eyes. She looked lost.

Were the other runners deteriorating, too, caged in their rooms like this?