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“We graduate soon,” Rose told her. “We could live close to the community college, take the same classes. We could be roommates.” Her heart lifted at the idea. “Everything’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Laine’s smile was strained again, like it’d been on the hot afternoon when they sat together in Central Park, but Rose didn’t mention it. She was just relieved to see her friend relax a little.

“I don’t deserve you,” Laine said.

“I don’t deserve you either,” Rose said. She kicked, and the swing swayed. “But here we are.”

10

My flight back to London is uneventful, but it exhausts me anyway.

I spend the long hours suspended in a state of being half asleep, and in my semiconsciousness, the illusions spun by Étienne haunt me. Even though the interior of the plane feels solid, and the chair I sit on must be real, I find myself questioning my surroundings. When I look out my window, I half expect to see not a blanket of clouds, but the endless rooms of the museum again, that I would blink and find myself back in those corridors.

Did I think Étienne would somehow have mercy on me, that he would defy his own patron god by helping me out? Did I really think I would pass the first test pitting me against him?

The thought makes me laugh bitterly at myself. His glittering eyes had been ruthless. No matter how charming he had seemed at my confirmation, no matter how much he’d appeared to sympathize with what I would go through, he was still the Regent of Lies. He had a job to do. And he would do it well.

Maybe I’m just jet-lagged. A little rest might do me good. And sure enough, the instant I arrive back at my flat and lie down on the couch, I drift off into a restless sleep.

I stir awake to see water filling up my living room, so that I’m drifting in its current. Panic rises in my chest. Is this still Étienne’s illusion? Am I still trapped in it? I float in the darkness and the cold, trying in vain to find the glitch, the crack in the wall, anything. The world around me grays, and the beating of my heart slows in my chest. I can’t breathe. My mouth opens, but only a stream of bubbles comes out. I try to reach for a surface but find only a ceiling, and then I’m sinking to the floor.

It doesn’t matter that, in real life, I would find this scene ludicrous, because in a dream state, the brain abandons all logic. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for rational thought, is deactivated, and the emotion and memory centers are highly engaged. And as my brain struggles to weave incoherence into a narrative, it taps into my deepest fears.

This is it, this is the end. This is when Laine dies; this is when my own luck runs out.

This is what’s wrong with me.

Then, right before I drown, I see someone swimming to me. It’s Étienne, his golden hair swaying in the water, his eyes locked onto me. He pushes me against the wall and presses his mouth to mine, kissing me hard. Even in this frigid water, he is heat and light, his lips burning my own, his body warm and alive.

And through his kiss, he fills my lungs with air.

I kiss him back desperately. His hands come up to hold my face, and I wrap my arms around his neck, and then he’s pulling me close to him, pressing us together, and in this moment, I forget the water, I forget the drowning, I forget the tests, I forget the gods. There is only him, and me, and in the madness of my dream, he is all that makes sense.

None of this is real. I can hear his voice echoing in my mind. You can breathe.

But I don’t want to listen right now. My survival depends entirely on him, and I desire nothing else but for him to consume me. He is everything that I want, and the sear of his lips against mine, the feeling of his arms pulling me to him, his hands running along my back, fill me with an overwhelming tide of longing. God, he feels so good. I can’t get enough.

Please, Étienne, I think desperately. Please don’t stop.

I wake trembling, gasping, convinced that Étienne must be beside me on the couch. Only when I look do I realize I’m alone, the heat of his kiss nothing more than another illusion. Already, the vividness of the dream is fading away. The longer I’m awake, the more absurd it seems, and the further away I feel from it. From him. From that strange, intense, all-consuming desire I’d felt for him.

I settle back against the couch, confused and a little embarrassed, trying to shake off the dregs of the dream. Still, he lingers in the back of my mind, refusing to fade. In the cold reality of consciousness, my emotions seem ridiculous. Why did I feel that way about him? I’m sure I would never desire him so badly in real life.

On my side table, my phone lets out a loud buzz. This must be what had finally shaken me out of my dream. Grateful for the interruption, I lean over to see that I’ve missed several calls from Katie over the last hour.

“Yeah?” I answer groggily, still rubbing my eyes. “What’s up?”

“Are you on your way yet?” Katie says.

Wherever she is, it must be a party, because I can barely hear her answer through the pounding music and shouting.

“On my way?” I look out the window and frown. “For what?”

Even with all the noise on the line, I can still hear Katie’s resigned sigh. “Charlotte’s birthday?” she replies. “Tonight, remember?”

Charlotte’s birthday. The theater. I’d completely forgotten.

I swear silently and shoot out of bed. “Right,” I exclaim back as I head for my dresser. “I’m sorry, I’m getting ready. I’ll be there before ten. I promise.”