Priya sounded somewhat stunned at the news, then definitely sad, but she soon returned to charming professional courtesy. “I must warn you, it’s a big step to let City property go.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be an absentee landlady,” Miranda told her.

“Fair enough. So why not long-lease the town house to a tenant? To your tenant, in fact? It would be an amazing opportunity for him.”

“Oh.” Miranda paused and thought. If I’m going to make a grand gesture, why not make it a meaningful one?

It was time to go into the City again for another hospital visit and another attempt at the pool. After that she could visit Priya, then go through the town house with Fae and point out what could stay and what should go. She could stop in at her workplace to pick up some files and even pass by the City Corps, just in case someone there remembered auditioning a dancer who was all but perfect except for the small matter of a work permit.

Then she shook her head, angry at herself. She was still planning her days as if she could walk the boardwalks and sidewalks wherever she pleased. It would make more sense to meet Priya at the town house, invite her colleagues to come in for a quick visit, and make a phone call to the City Corps.

And then, somehow, she had to find Julian Outis. She knew she was putting it off—almost but not quite as if the world would end when they met at last. Maybe in a way it would. Maybe she would return to find herself at the end of a labyrinth, with the so-called real world nothing but a dream. Maybe she would not, which was world-ending in a different but no less drastic way. Denial was a powerful thing, according to her physiotherapist; perhaps it was powerful enough to invent talking spiders, guardian angels, blue-skinned men, and silver-haired women.

Miranda said nothing to the physiotherapist about all that. She simply pushed her way through her exercises with her jaw clenched against the simmering fear that still burned in her gut as the water pushed and pulled at her. It was supposed to be relaxing, she was told. It was supposed to make her feel supported and immune to falling. She smiled tightly and lied her agreement, yearning for the sensation of solid weight to anchor the universe.

—