“Listen,” he hisses.

No—I’m not shrinking. I’m falling through the stars and into the void of Ophelia’s mind. Everything flashes like fireworks, pink and purple and yellow and blue, and then there’s nothing. I scream out for help, but I’m met with silence.

I blink, and I’m standing in front of Queen Ophelia and her pure, undiluted black stare. I didn’t mean to call on her, but she answered anyway.

“Did you think you could hide from me forever?” she asks, voice cold. “I know everything. I see everything.”

“You can’t see the future.” I try to still my heart. “You don’t know how all of this ends.”

“Don’t you see?” Her voice sounds from every direction. “It ended the moment you came looking for me.”

All around me, a thousand locks click into place. I turn frantically for an exit, but there isn’t one. There are only shadows, and I’m trapped in Ophelia’s mind.

This time there’s no escape.

I wake abruptly, gasping for deep breaths of cold air. Another nightmare, even after all this time.

I groan, rubbing my temples like I want rid of the memories. So many of them feel like strangers. Things that used to mean everything now mean nothing at all. I still see Finn, but I wish I didn’t. He doesn’t belong in Infinity; he doesn’t belong in my dreams.

Sometimes I think it would be better if I could forget everything that happened before I died. To get rid of the reminders. But is that too much like taking the pill? Is wanting to erase your memories like giving up a part of your consciousness?

Maybe it’s possible to do a reverse Exchange, where instead of sharing thoughts, a person could forget them completely. Maybe I’d even agree to it.

An Exchange.

An idea bubbles up inside of me, bursting to come to life. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, when I was standing in front of her and she was begging me to listen.

But it isn’t safe to go alone. Not without a veil. Not without help.

I leave my room in a hurry, racing down the walkway until I reach his door.

Gil answers my incessant knocking with an agitated look. “Nami?” He blinks, straightening his shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a puffiness in his eyes that I notice right away. “I thought you didn’t sleep?” I point out, narrow-eyed.

“I don’t,” he clips back, and then runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Not usually, anyway. But it’s been a long day. And—and sometimes I miss dreaming.”

I make a mental note to bring up this conveniently-left-out fact at a later time. “I need a favor.”

He frowns, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m listening.”