Agent Sharpe's classroom was almost empty. Not abandoned, but intentionally bare. Four walls, a floor, and nothing else. There were no desks, chairs, nor chalkboard. Just a wide-open space with afternoon light streaming through windows that looked out on a cloud swept sky. The suns in the sky were turning it ever more elaborate colors of pink and orange.

  "The room is blank for a reason," Sharpe said as the junior agents filed in. "By the end of today, it won't be."

  Charlie took his usual spot near Teddy and Gwen. The rest of the junior agents spread out around the room. Fiona and Kenji near the windows, the Reyes twins in a corner, Sadie Park hovering by the door. Benedicta positioned herself front and center, flanked by Priya and Donna. A few more were closer to the door.

  "Manifestation is the foundation of everything you'll do in the dreamscape," Sharpe said. "But before we practice, you need to understand what you're actually doing."

  She held up her hand. A ball appeared. It was red, rubber, and perfectly round.

  "This is an object. It has a function." She bounced it twice. "It does what balls do. It obeys my definition of what a rubber ball is. It doesn't want anything."

  She held the ball still in her raised palm.

  "Now watch."

  The ball shivered. Two small eyes blinked open. A mouth appeared.

  "Oh! Oh! The floor!" The ball's voice was high, almost vibrating. "Can I? Can I bounce? Please? Oh, please?"

  Sharpe kept her hand steady.

  "I'll be so good. I'll come right back. I promise." Its eyes were desperate. "I'll even take a wall. Any wall. Just one bounce. Please?"

  "Same ball. Now it's an apparition." Sharpe looked at the class. "Apparitions are semi-sentient depending on what the dreamer imagines. I gave it one desire: to bounce. Now it has opinions. It makes decisions."

  "I'm a good ball," it whimpered. "I'll just brush the floor and be right back."

  Sharpe released it. The ball went wild. It bounced off walls, the ceiling, and the floor. It made little yelps of joy with each contact. It caromed off Kenji's shoulder with an ecstatic "sorry!" before ricocheting toward Benedicta's head. She ducked.

  She snapped her fingers. The ball froze midair.

  "Ah, what fun!"

  Then it vanished with a pop.

  "First rule: apparitions cannot create other apparitions or objects. Hard limit. Only dreamers can create apparitions. Apparitions are tied to dreamers, and under normal circumstances, are controlled by the dreamer."

  She paced the room. "Now, the mechanism for all manifestations has two components: imagination and belief. You need both."

  She held up her hand. Another ball appeared, translucent and flickering. "This is a clown ball. It'll make anyone that witnesses it bounce turn into a clown. High imagination, low belief." She threw it at the floor. It vanished the second before it hit the ground. "Smoke and illusion."

  She flicked her wrist and another ball appeared. This one was solid but lumpy, misshapen. "An ultra dense ball. High belief, low imagination." It hit the ground with a heavy thud and cracked the tiles. "Functional, but limited."

  She snapped and the ball cratered in the middle of the room vanished.

  "Here's the difficult part. Belief isn't just confidence, it's confidence plus understanding." A perfect ball appeared. "I want this ball to return to my hand."

  She threw it at the wall. It bounced, rolled, and stopped near Fiona's feet.

  "I can picture a returning ball. I believe such a thing is possible, but I didn't picture the mechanism for how it is possible." She picked it up, closed her eyes, and threw again.

  This time it bounced off the wall, curved mid-air, and sailed back into her palm.

  "The difference was thinking the ball can manipulate air around it."

  Teddy raised his hand. "Is that why my cupcakes don't taste like my Mom's?"

  "Have you ever baked with her?"

  "No…" Teddy replied.

  Sharpe almost smiled. "Exactly. You know what they taste like, but you can't imagine you can make them as well as she does. You don't understand the process so that stops your belief."

  Benedicta raised her hand. "Apparitions follow the same rules?"

  "Same rules, higher stakes. If you don't understand decision-making, you'll create something that freezes the moment it encounters a choice. Be careful because you can also create things that have their own agendas if you hold too many thoughts for it."

  She manifested a chair, sat. "Everything you create is temporary by default. Three ways it ends. One: voluntary release." The chair vanished; she landed on a large pillow that appeared between her and the floor. "Two: you wake up. Three: concentration breaks."

  "What about permanent things?" Kenji asked. "The building? The watches?"

  "Pinned manifestations. Continuous maintenance by someone who never loses concentration. Coma patients. The Fixer creates tools, the Holder maintains structures, and board members maintain infrastructure. The SCA has redundancy for pinned things, like the vice-board members who can step in. The system isn't invulnerable, but it's lasted for thousands of years."

  She gestured, and workbenches filled the room.

  "Your assignment: create a toy with a secret function. The toy tests imagination. The function tests belief and understanding. Begin."

  Charlie found himself between Teddy and Gwen, across from Benedicta.

  Teddy's hands were already moving. He spread his hands and a flat metal board with plastic football players appeared. Charlie had played the game with his grandfather once years ago. It got boring very quickly, but Charlie was surprised Teddy's players were running actual plays.

  "I'm trying to get them to tackle," Teddy muttered. "They keep just bumping politely."

  "That's because you don't actually watch football," Gwen said.

  "I watch that one game."

  "Belief plus understanding. Not belief plus Super Bowl."

  Benedicta was already done. She had manifested a wooden cat, perfectly detailed, prowling the table with an effortless grace.

  "Secret function," Benedicta said, noticing Charlie watching. "It reports what it sees directly to me. Second pair of eyes and ears. Useful for keeping track of things."

  Charlie closed his eyes and tried to focus. A spinning top? Simple.

  Nothing.

  He tried harder. A yo-yo.

  Nothing.

  Around him, creations filled the room. Fiona's singing mechanical bird. Kenji's volcano with never-ending mango soft serve.

  Charlie's hands stayed empty.

  Everyone else is making something, but you can't. They see you. They see how slow you are. You'll never belong here.

  "Hey."

  Sadie Park slid onto the bench next to him. She had a round face, dark eyes, and the kind of smile that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

  "You're Charlie, right? The rocket pajamas kid?" She leaned her elbows on the workbench. "I've been wanting to introduce myself. I'm Sadie."

  "Yeah. Hi."

  "You look like you're concentrating really hard on nothing."

  "That's... actually what's happening."

  She laughed. It was a warm laugh, the kind that invited you in rather than shutting you out. "I like that you just said that. Most people would pretend they were about to make something incredible."

  "I’m trying…but you interrupted me."

  "Oh no. My deepest apologies." She put her hand on his arm. "Can you ever forgive me?"

  "I’m not mad. You don’t need to apologize," Charlie said, not sure why she was still touching his arm.

  "You know what helped me? Don't think about what you want to make. Think about something you've already seen that felt real. Like, something you could pick up with your eyes closed."

  "That's what Sharpe said. Belief plus understanding."

  "Right, but she makes it sound like homework. I'm saying, think about something that mattered to you. Not something cool. Something real." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "You'll get it. I can tell."

  "How can you tell?"

  "I just can." She smiled at him in a way that seemed to mean something more than the words did. Then she hopped off the bench. "Come find me if you get stuck. I'm right over there."

  She walked back to her workbench, glancing over her shoulder once.

  Charlie watched her go, then looked down at his empty hands. Something she'd already seen that felt real. Something he could pick up with his eyes closed.

  He remembered the Waste and Merlose's ridiculous pink flashlight with the cartoon bears. She'd probably picked it up while cleaning her kids' playroom that morning. Something familiar. Something she believed in.

  His thought turned to Bartleby and his offer. He could feel his cheeks flush as nothing continued to happen. He wouldn't have to be embarrassed like this if he had just said yes.

  Charlie focused on the cheap plastic light. The rattle of loose batteries. The way she'd slapped it twice.

  He felt the weight of something in his cupped hands. He opened his eyes to see the pink flashlight. It was smaller than Merlose's, but identical besides. Even the cartoon bears.

  He pressed the button.

  Nothing.

  He pressed it again, but still it didn't turn on. Then he smiled and slapped the side twice.

  The beam shot out across the workbench. Where it touched, the wood turned rainbow colors, and cartoon bears appeared on the surface. Then that strip broke into jigsaw pieces and fell away. The table collapsed inward with a crash.

  Teddy grabbed his football game. Benedicta's cat scrambled on the table before it toppled into the debris and stopped moving.

  Charlie released the flashlight. It vanished.

  Silence.

  "Well," Benedicta said. "Now I know why Mother calls you dangerous."

  Sharpe was already at Charlie's side. "Interesting idea, Agent Brunswick. Original or are you borrowing from somewhere?"

  "My handler, Agent Merlose, used it once."

  "And you rebuilt it from memory." She picked up a jigsaw piece. A cartoon bear waved at her. "Same function? Same output?"

  "Yeah, but I broke your table."

  "The tables are as real as Agent Crispin's humility." Benedicta scoffed with a smile. She faced Charlie fully. "Building constructs from things you've seen other agents use is a legitimate technique. Most agents develop their first arsenals this way. It's easy on your belief and practical. That's good. It requires observation, memory, and adaptation. Keep at it."

  "I couldn't make anything from scratch."

  "So you found another way. That's problem-solving." She glanced at Benedicta. "Next time, aim away from the only Junior Agent in here that would report me."

  "I would not," Benedicta replied.

  "Yes, you would, but the cat was impressive. Keep at it, Agent Crispin."

  A scream cut through the room.

  Sadie had stumbled back from her workbench, from something on the bench. It was a music box, delicate and ornate, playing a melody that sounded like it was coming from very far away. The lid was opening on its own, and what emerged wasn't a dancer.

  A serpent's head, then another, then another. They kept coming, necks tangling and splitting, each head slightly different but all wearing the same flat expression. A hydra, pulling itself out of a box far too small to contain it.

  Every head turned to Sadie at once.

  "You didn't make this," the first head said. "You copied it."

  "You've never had an original thought," said the second.

  "Empty," said the third. "Completely empty."

  "You have no imagination," they said together, heads swaying in unison. "You never did."

  Sadie sobbed, backing away.

  "Stay back," Sharpe commanded. "Park, look at me. Fear fuels manifestation like confidence does, but it's still yours. Take a breath and release it."

  "I can't…"

  The heads lunged, mouths open. "Nothing original. Nothing new. Nothing that's yours."

  Sharpe was suddenly swinging a giant, oversized wrench that caught the nearest head in the jaw. The whole thing flew back into the wall and evaporated just as it hit. The last head dissolved with its mouth still moving.

  "That's retirement," Sharpe said. "Unlike dreamers, when an apparition is destroyed, it's gone."

  Sadie was shaking and sobbing. Sharpe put an arm around her.

  "I'm taking Park to see Dr. Banerjee. The rest of you are free to leave. Do not manifest anything until our next session."

  "Who's Dr. Banerjee?" Teddy whispered.

  "Tiger in a lab coat," Fiona answered. "Third floor. Rogue apparition from a famous psychiatrist. He's nice. Likes to rhyme."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Sharpe guided Sadie through the door and everyone watched her go. So much for the first apparition lesson.

  The room was suddenly very silent without Agent Sharpe.

  Benedicta smiled.

  "Well. That was dramatic." She picked up a jigsaw piece. "A pink flashlight. With teddy bears. Very intimidating, Brunswick."

  "He completed the assignment," Gwen said quietly.

  "Did someone ask you?" Benedicta turned on her. "I don't recall inviting commentary from the girl who could only write in her diary."

  Gwen's jaw tightened.

  "You knew the task was to make something, not jot down notes, right?" Benedicta stepped closer. "Some of us are preparing to be field agents." She smiled. "You're being prepared for... filing?"

  "Leave her alone," Teddy said.

  "Or what? Your football players will tackle me? The ones that can't?" She swept the metal toy off the table with the back of her hand. It flew through the air before evaporating when it hit the ground. Charlie could hear the players moan before it went.

  Benedicta's eyes dropped to Gwen's notebook.

  "Why do you always have that anyway? Doesn't it just vanish when you wake up? None of the notes are permanent."

  Her hand moved to cover it. "I just recreate them when I fall asleep. They're my notes."

  "Doesn't look like notes." She reached. "Looks like you're drawing little hearts around Charlie's name. Or maybe Teddy, but I'm not sure anyone would stoop that low."

  "Hey, low blow," Teddy said, but his words lacked any sort of fight.

  "It's just notes," Gwen reiterated quietly.

  Benedicta grabbed it and tugged. Gwen held on, something like panic crossing her face.

  "Give it," Benedicta said.

  "Let go, Benedicta, please."

  "What secrets is little Gwen Holloway keeping?" She yanked. The notebook came free. "Donna, if you wouldn't mind."

  Donna grabbed Gwen's arms from behind. Priya stepped between Gwen and Benedicta, arms folded, not touching anyone but making it clear Gwen wasn't getting past her.

  "Let her go," Charlie said.

  "Stay out of this, Brunswick." Benedicta flipped pages. "Sketches and notes. Why are you writing like you're talking to yourself? Are you secretly weirder than Brunswick?"

  Gwen was crying. "Please. Please give it back."

  "It's just a book." Benedicta walked to the window and opened it. She manifested a small catapult, set the notebook in its cradle, and reached for the lever.

  "Benedicta, don't…" Gwen's voice was a shriek.

  Her hand wrapped around the lever. She smiled and pulled. The notebook sailed out into the pink and orange sky. Its pages fluttering as it tumbled down and down. Eventually falling past the clouds.

  Gwen made a sound like something breaking.

  Benedicta laughed. Donna released Gwen and joined in louder. Priya smirked.

  "Just manifest a new one like you do every night," Benedicta said at the door. "Anyway, I'm waking up soon. Try not to break anything else, Brunswick. Teddy."

  They left.

  Gwen collapsed, crying in small, hitching breaths.

  Charlie stood frozen. He wanted to help. To say something that solved whatever Gwen was feeling. He'd never been good at this part.

  Teddy knelt beside her. "Hey. We'll figure something out."

  "It's gone," she whispered. "It's gone, it's gone…"

  "Come on. Let's get some air."

  He helped her up. "Charlie? Coming?"

  Charlie stared at the window. "Yeah, in a minute."

  Teddy guided Gwen out. The others had already filtered away after watching the show. Some looked mildly amused, some looked upset. None of them helped or stepped in.

  Charlie couldn't blame them; he hadn't either. Now he was alone. He walked to the window. Terminal Hypnos floated above the clouds. Below them was a sea of clouds, and the notebook had fallen into whatever existed beyond that.

  He thought about Gwen's face. Whatever was in those pages had made her cry to lose them. Charlie closed his eyes. Thought about the notebook, where it landed. Maybe if he focused, he could make a tunnel to take him there.

  He pressed his hand against the wall next to the windows, and a door appeared. Simple wood, brass handle.

  He stepped through.

  The puzzle room was familiar. Innumerable shelves at impossible angles and cluttered chaos. He wedged a book from the room into the door behind him.

  He worked fast. This time it was a music box, moving tiles, and a taxidermied version of his first dog, Wilson. Solutions came fast; they had to be, if he wasn't going to get caught.

  A second door appeared in the opposite wall. He pushed through.

  Darkness hit like weight.

  It was the Waste. The stark darkness pressed against his eyes, and the light from the puzzle room spread out on the cracked earth outside its threshold. Charlie stood frozen, unable to see past that.

  He needed light. He closed his eyes and told himself he needed to not just imagine, but he needed to believe. Understand what light did. Alone, without the other Agents around, he found it came easily.

  A small glow appeared. Round, tennis-ball-sized, and bobbing gently in the air. Two tiny dots for eyes.

  "We need to find something around here. Can you help me?"

  The light bobbed. A nod.

  It floated forward. Charlie grabbed another book and wedged it in the exit door. He checked the first door from the second, and he could still see into the classroom. He followed the floating light as it carved visibility from darkness. The ground felt like standing on an unfinished thought.

  The light stopped a few feet in front of him and bobbed downward.

  "The notebook!"

  It was lying open, and the pages fluttered even though there was no wind. Charlie knelt and picked it up.

  "Thank you," he whispered to the light that bobbed overhead. It gave a little wiggle and a high-pitched noise that sounded happy.

  Then the darkness moved.

  They emerged from beyond the light's edge. A minotaur first, its bull head lowered, brass ring glinting in its nose. Then a woman with snakes for hair, her eyes thankfully closed. A wolf that walked on two legs, saliva dripping from its muzzle. Something with too many arms that might have been a goddess once. A man with the head of a jackal, wrapped in rotting linens.

  More shapes behind them. A dozen. Maybe more. Circle forming.

  The minotaur spoke first, its voice a low rumble. "The boy. The one who tunnels."

  "The boss wants him," the werewolf added.

  "The boss will be so pleased," a woman with scissors for hands said. The blades opened and closed excitedly.

  Charlie's heart pounded. The door behind him was still open, a faint rectangle.

  "I just want the notebook. I'll leave."

  "The boss wants you. Come with us now," the minotaur was holding a giant axe.

  Charlie thought about the flashlight. Tried to remember what it looked like: pink plastic, bears, and rattling batteries. He felt it in his hand.

  Raised it and pressed the button.

  Nothing. He went to slap the side.

  The minotaur's hand closed around his wrist and twisted.

  "None of that. The boss wants you awake, but the more you resist, the more this will hurt."

  More hands closed around him. His arms and shoulders. One of them pulled the flashlight out of his hand, and it evaporated. The little light darted frantically, helpless.

  "Let me go…"

  The minotaur jabbed a thumb over its shoulder. "This way, to Terminal Omega."

  Engines roared.

  Twin headlights blazed through like suns, and the apparitions screamed at the noise. Chrome and leather slammed into the werewolf and a thin man with a terrifying smile. It was two motorcycles, sleek and snarling, with headlamp eyes burning. On one rode Sharpe, her oversized mechanic's wrench striking apparitions as she rode.

  "Get your hands off my student."

  The motorcycles hit like battering rams.

  It was her own personal demolition derby. The bikes tore through, headlights blazing. Wherever they struck, apparitions shattered into pieces that didn't reform.

  One tried to run. The second motorcycle skidded sideways and slammed it with the rear wheel. The creature dissolved into nothing.

  The woman with scissor hands lunged for Charlie. Sharpe's wrench caught its face. Fragments.

  Less than a minute, and it was over. Motorcycles idled, engines purring in something that sounded like satisfaction, and headlamps dimming.

  "Good girls," Sharpe said, patting one's fuel tank. It rumbled happily.

  Charlie stood frozen, notebook clutched, little light trembling at his shoulder.

  Sharpe walked toward him.

  "Through. Now."

  He ran for the door, light bobbing beside him. Sharpe released the motorcycles and they popped out of existence.

  She kicked out the books propping the doors and slammed both on their way. He tumbled into the classroom. Notebook still in arms. Light hovered anxiously.

  Sharpe stepped through, and the door vanished.

  Silence.

  "I…"

  "Don't." Hand up. "Not yet."

  She walked to the window. Shoulders rising and falling.

  "You tunneled into the Waste. Deliberately. For a notebook."

  "I didn't know that was the Waste. Benedicta catapulted it into the clouds. Gwen was sad. I wanted to help."

  "You visited the most dangerous location in the dreamscape. Alone. Without telling anyone."

  "I didn't mean to. I just went to the place where the notebook would be."

  "Do you know what would have happened if I'd stayed with Sadie five more minutes?"

  "They said they'd take me to the boss."

  "I know. I heard."

  She looked at the notebook, then his face, and then the light at his shoulder.

  "You made that?"

  The light bobbed shyly.

  "I needed to see."

  "And the doors. Both open the whole time."

  "I didn't want to get stuck."

  Quiet.

  "Leave the notebook, I'll take it to Holloway."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  He set down the notebook on one of the tables and turned to leave.

  "Brunswick."

  He looked back.

  "If you tunnel into the Waste again without authorization, I'll personally recommend your removal." She held his gaze. "Understand?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good." Her expression shifted. "Now follow me. Say goodbye to the light."

  Charlie turned to it and mouthed 'thank you.' The light did a loop and bobbed before popping out.

  She led him to a training room he hadn't seen before. Inside, an older girl worked with a miniature castle, tiny soldiers patrolling its walls.

  "Agent Courtney," Sharpe called.

  The girl looked up. Dark skin, locs in a practical knot, calm expression.

  "Agent Sharpe." She glanced at Charlie. "Rocket PJs?"

  "I see Agent Brunswick's reputation precedes him," Sharpe replied. "Charlie, this is Agent Courtney. She's the captain of my Board Games team."

  "Board Games?"

  "Shush. Courtney, I believe we're short one puzzler with Agent Berger's expulsion."

  "Correct, tryouts are next week."

  "Cancel them. I'm recommending Agent Brunswick."

  She eyed Charlie. "A first year?"

  "First month," Sharpe corrected.

  Courtney raised an eyebrow. "First month?"

  "First month and already breaking in and out of Terminal Hypnos."

  The older girl studied him, then smiled.

  "That'll do. Welcome to the team. Training starts Monday."

  Charlie left the training room with his head spinning. A Board Games team. First month. Courtney's casual acceptance as if it was obvious he belonged there.

  He was halfway down the corridor when a voice called out behind him.

  "Brunswick. Wait up."

  Charlie turned. Benedicta was jogging toward him, alone. No Donna or Priya. Her expression was friendly, almost warm.

  "Hey," Benedicta said, falling into step beside him. "I wanted to catch you before you left."

  "Why?"

  "To apologize." Benedicta held up her hands. "The notebook thing was out of line. I was frustrated because your light was better than my cat, and I took it out on the wrong people. That's not who I want to be."

  Charlie studied her. Benedicta seemed different without Donna and Priya flanking her. Smaller somehow, and more human.

  "You were pretty mean to Gwen."

  "I know. I'm going to apologize to her, too." Benedicta looked genuinely embarrassed. "Donna and Priya were laughing, and I got caught up in the moment. I shouldn't have let it get that far. I'm actually on my way to apologize to Gwen."

  Charlie didn't know what to say.

  "Anyway," Benedicta continued, "I noticed you struggled with basic manifestation today. The flashlight was clever, but borrowing your handler's manifestations will only get you so far."

  Charlie's face warmed. "I'm working on it."

  "I know. That's why I'm offering to help." Benedicta spread her hands. "My parents work in the encryption wing. I have access to training rooms most junior agents never see. I run extra practice sessions sometimes. Saturday naps: two-three hours, low pressure, and no teachers watching. You should come."

  "Saturday naps?"

  "You don't nap?"

  "No, I do, just don't train during them."

  "Well, if you happen to nap on Saturday, feel free to meet me in the encryption wing, room 7B. I'll show you some techniques that helped me when I was starting out."

  Charlie thought about Sharpe's class. His empty hands while everyone else created. The flashlight had worked, but only because he'd copied Merlose. He couldn't keep borrowing forever.

  "Okay," he said. "I'll be there."

  Benedicta's smile widened. "Great. Saturday. Room 7B. We can't really plan on timing, but I always take long naps on Saturdays around midday."

  She walked away, and Charlie felt something he hadn't expected: hope. Maybe Benedicta wasn't so bad after all. Maybe things were turning around.

  *

  The encryption wing was deeper in Terminal Hypnos than Charlie had explored before. The corridors here were narrower, the architecture stranger. Walls that seemed to breathe. Floors that shifted color depending on which direction you walked. He passed a door that was upside down, another that was transparent, and another that was just a frame with nothing inside it.

  Room 7B had a normal door. Charlie knocked.

  "Come in."

  Charlie pushed the door open.

  The room was empty except for Benedicta, Donna, and Priya. They stood in a loose semicircle, arms crossed, smiling.

  "You actually came," Benedicta said. "I honestly didn't think you'd be that stupid."

  Charlie's stomach dropped. He turned for the door.

  Donna was already there, blocking it.

  "Relax, Brunswick. We're not going to hurt you." Benedicta circled closer. "We just need to talk."

  "What do you want?"

  "I want you to understand something." Benedicta's friendly mask was gone. "You don't belong here. You stumbled into Terminal Hypnos by accident, wearing pajamas, and everyone treats you like you're special for it. Do you know how that feels for the people who actually worked to get here?"

  She let that sit.

  "I cracked my first encryption when I was eleven. My mother recruited me and trained me for this, but I still had to earn my spot." Her voice was steady, almost conversational. "You wandered in by accident, and the Director handed you everything I spent years working for."

  Charlie didn't answer. He didn't have an answer.

  "The Director. Sharpe. Even your own handler." Benedicta shook her head. "Have you heard the way Merlose talks about you? She didn't want to be your handler. She argued against it in front of the Director. You were an assignment she got stuck with."

  "That's not…"

  "I’ve heard her say it with my own ears. The Watcher wanted my mother, and Merlose asked to be reassigned. You heard it yourself, I’m sure." Benedicta tilted her head. "Or is this another instance of Charlie Brunswick not understanding what’s happening?"

  Charlie's mouth closed.

  "Sharpe put you on the Board Games team after one month. One month. Courtney trained for a year before she made the roster. Berger trained for two. You didn't earn that spot. You got it because you're a novelty." She stepped closer. "And novelties wear off."

  The room was quiet. Donna shifted by the door, jaw tight. Priya watched Benedicta the way she always did. Her eyes checked and followed the tall girl.

  "You can't manifest from scratch. You can't refuse a door without having a tantrum. Your only trick is tunneling, and the one time you used it, you almost got absorbed." Benedicta's voice never rose. "You're not gifted, Brunswick. You're lucky. And luck runs out."

  Charlie felt each word land. The worst part was that none of it was entirely wrong. He had stumbled in by accident. Merlose had argued against being his handler. Sharpe had fast-tracked him. He couldn't manifest from scratch.

  "So here's my suggestion," Benedicta said. "Drop out. Go back to dreaming like everyone else. Let the people who earned their place do the work." She said it almost kindly, like she was doing him a favor. "You'll be happier. Trust me."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Then you'll keep embarrassing yourself until you do. And I'll be there for every minute of it."

  Silence.

  Priya shifted her weight. "Benedicta, maybe that's…"

  "Enough?" Benedicta glanced at her. "It's enough when he understands."

  Priya went quiet. But she didn't look at Charlie. She looked at the floor.

  "You done?" Charlie asked.

  Donna moved away from the door. Not toward it, toward him. She got close, with hard eyes and radiating heat.

  "She asked you a question," Donna said. "Are you going to drop out or not?"

  "I heard her."

  "Then answer."

  "Donna." Benedicta's voice was even. A suggestion, not a command.

  Donna wasn't listening. She shoved Charlie hard in the chest. He stumbled backward into the wall and slid down. It was a dream, but the fear was real. The wall had hurt.

  "She's trying to help you, you idiot," Donna said. She pulled her fist back.

  "Donna." Benedicta said it the same way. Same tone, but she was already walking toward the door.

  Donna slammed her shoe into Charlie’s chest. Pain bloomed. He curled in, arms around himself.

  Priya hadn't moved. Her arms were still folded, but her face had gone tight.

  Benedicta opened the door and stepped into the corridor. She didn't look back immediately. Priya read her and followed without a word. At the doorway, Priya glanced at Donna.

  Donna kicked Charlie's shin and stood over him, breathing hard. It was like she was waiting for permission to keep going, but the audience had left. She looked at the empty room, then back at Charlie.

  "Drop out, Brunswick."

  She walked to the door.

  Benedicta was in the corridor. Charlie saw her look back once, just before Donna cleared the doorway. Her eyes found his. It wasn't guilt, and it wasn't satisfaction. It was something Charlie didn't have a word for. Then she turned and was gone.

  Donna slammed the door behind her.

  Charlie sat there, breathing hard, back against the wall. His chest and shin ached, but his pride ached worse. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but he wished he could wake up. When he never did, he braced himself against the wall and stood up.

  He opened the door but didn't see or hear his assailants. He stepped into the corridor and started to walk. If this was his last weekend in Terminal Hypnos, he would take it in one more time.

  The encryption wing twisted around him. He'd been so focused on finding the room that he hadn't paid attention to the route. Now every corridor looked the same. They all had narrow, strange, breathing walls and shifting floors.

  He picked a direction and walked.

  The architecture got stranger the deeper he went. Doors that were windows and windows that were doors. Stairs that led sideways. Charlie kept walking, sure he'd find a main corridor eventually.

  He didn't.

  Instead, he found a hallway where everything was wrong.

  Not impossible-wrong like the rest of Terminal Hypnos. Reversed-wrong. The shadows fell toward light sources instead of away. A clock on the wall ticked counterclockwise. The numbers on a door read B8. Charlie had to squint to realize it wasn't just backward letters, it was the whole orientation, like someone had flipped reality along an invisible axis.

  There was a giant mirror on the opposite wall, and Charlie approached.

  His reflection moved with him, but wrong. When he stepped right, it stepped right. Not mirrored. Same direction. When he raised his left hand, it raised its left hand too.

  Charlie's brain itched. There was a pattern here. There was always a pattern. If the shadows fell wrong and the clock ran backward and the reflection moved wrong, then the rule was inversion. Everything opposite. Which meant if he wanted to go forward, he should...

  He stepped backward, and the mirrored image did the same. No longer inverse.

  Charlie stopped. That didn't make sense. If everything were inverted, then the version of him should stick to the pattern. He looked at the clock, which was ticking correctly now.

  He tried to think. The puzzle room that led to Terminal Hypnos had been solvable because it invited solving. The patterns were there to be found. But this place...

  Charlie looked at the mirror again. His reflection stared back, moving in synchronization.

  This place didn't want to be solved. Every pattern he saw led somewhere wrong. Every solution made things worse. It wasn't a puzzle, but an anti-puzzle. Reverse encryption that evolved with the solver.

  His instincts were useless here, maybe even worse than useless. They were actively working against him.

  The room swam. He felt vertigo and had to lean against a wall to stay upright. He closed his eyes. He could tunnel out. What good was a promise to Sharpe if he planned to leave anyway? He tried to focus on creating a door, but he lost his balance and fell to the floor.

  He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Part of him wanted to throw up, but he was surprised he was smiling.

  A puzzle that didn't want to be solved. Something that actively resisted the act. The antithesis of everything Charlie had ever known.

  The ultimate puzzle. It was here, in Terminal Hypnos, and Charlie knew he couldn't leave the SCA until he solved it.

  He turned on his belly and crawled toward where he had come from slowly. The vertigo was overwhelming, but he made it to the threshold and lay there awhile with his eyes closed.

  Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time felt strange here, but that was all part of the puzzle.

  Charlie opened his eyes.

  He stood slowly, not trusting his legs. He walked back away from the mirror. It looked like an ordinary mirror from the corridor. He finally turned and walked around the corner. A plaque caught his eye that he hadn't seen when he first passed.

  THE PUZZLER (by appointment only)

  Charlie stared at the name. Puzzler. The same word Sharpe had used. You're short one puzzler with Agent Berger's expulsion. His role on the Board Games team.

  But this wasn't a training room or a locker. This was deep in the counter-encryption zone, behind a mirror that broke the rules of reflection, in a hallway designed to resist being solved.

  Why would a Board Games position have a door here?

  He looked back around the corner. The mirror was still there, ordinary from this angle. Charlie didn't know what THE PUZZLER meant, not really, but he knew it wasn't about the game.

  He was fine keeping his promise to Benedicta. He probably didn't belong in the SCA anyway, but he would find out what was behind that mirror before he left.

  He doubted that would be Monday.