Len was staring at him critically, one eye squinting more than the other. He didn’t look shocked or disturbed. The security team filed past them, out of the parked transport.

“Is this the first incident?” Len asked.

Ambrose blinked away the afterimage of the dragon’s face, burned into his memory like the outline of a bright light. The fear hit him all at once: I am going insane. He took a deep breath and gingerly pressed a finger into his ribs. No pain.

“Let’s just do this.”

He climbed out of the vehicle into a dim, windowless dock that smelled moist and subterranean.

“We’re inside the canopy itself,” Len explained. “Part of the old network of research and development labs directly beneath the UniCorp building.” He palmed a spot in the blank gray wall, and a hidden door slid open. Ambrose followed his brother into a surprisingly plush elevator, like the one in the lobby.

The security team crowded in around them. Ambrose felt the butt of a disruptor press into his back.

“Sorry,” mumbled one of the Associates—the first time Ambrose had heard any of them speak.

As the elevator sped silently upward, Ambrose attempted a quick Process Flow. His ability churned, running on fumes, making him dizzy. He thought he sensed a shadowy progression of events like forgotten words on the tip of his tongue. A single murky endpoint emerged: his likelihood of finding Mistletoe increased in Unison.

That didn’t make any sense. She didn’t even have a login ID. His ability was still haywire.

“Floor three seventy-five,” Len announced. The Security Associates made a few imperceptible shifts in weight. Two or three cleared their throats.

Ambrose had a sudden memory of an American History wiki he’d studied years ago: skinny, grim-faced soldiers not much older than Len, huddled together aboard a primitive steel box of a boat, waiting for the ramp to fall open onto the beaches of France. And then he remembered the next image in the series, the tightly packed pile of motionless bodies that had moments before been young men.

“Wait,” he said to Len, but it was too late. The door slid open.

The lab was dimly lit and empty. Ambrose exhaled. Len gave him a concerned look as the security team stepped into the room and began an efficient sweep, disruptors extended. Eventually one of the Associates beckoned with a quick wave.

“Clear,” Len said, and stepped out. Ambrose followed. The door slid closed behind them and disappeared into the wall. They were behind the scan-tube platform. Ambrose walked up the steps and ran his hand along the smooth, cool steel of the closed tube, the instrument that had changed his life forever.

Carpe somnium, Ambrose.

Coming back to UniCorp HQ reminded him of everything he’d given up. What if he’d chosen to ignore Dita’s transmission?