Henri throws the next knife with such velocity that, when I slap it away, my hand starts to bleed. He yells, ‘We can’t all live in Chicago in the clouds, John!’

When the next knife comes, I snatch it by its handle and whip it into the snowy ground. The snow around it turns black. I catch another knife and slam it down, too. ‘If we had found the right place, we could have had a real home! We never even tried! And you picked Paradise? Of all places?’

‘I did my best! And that’s where Malcolm Goode was! You found the tablet, John! You haven’t even used it yet!’ Henri shouts. The blue light behind him disappears, and the darkness in the snow starts to seep outward and spreads, until it’s like we’re wading in a black sea. Henri pulls a large knife over his head and wings it at me. When I try to defend myself, my hands feel stuck to my sides. I’m watching the knife fly through the air, flipping, end over end, and I know it’s about to hit me right between the eyes. Once it’s a couple feet away, a huge hand reaches out and snatches it out of the air. It’s Setrákus Ra. In one fluid motion he has the knife firmly in his grip and whips it over his shoulder and back down again, swinging it at me.

As the tip of the knife plunges into my skull, Setrákus Ra yells, ‘Your pizza’s getting cold!’

I sit up and I’m back in bed, in the Hancock tower. I’m drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Nine stands in the doorway with a whole pizza on a platter. His mouth is full and he continues to chew while he says, ‘Seriously, man, you got to eat it while it’s still hot. And I still want to get some training in before our double date.’

‘I saw Setrákus Ra again,’ I say. I know my voice sounds flat. My tongue feels sticky. ‘And Henri.’

Nine swallows and waves his hand in the air, still holding half a slice. ‘Oh, yeah? Forget about it, they’re just dreams. That’s what I tell myself, and it usually works out just fine.’