After the fifth time I nodded off, standing there in the darkroom with my fingers in the tray of stop bath, I decided I needed a nap. Solomon said that sounded like a great idea. We went up to my room, spooned together on the bed. I set my alarm for two hours.
What I needed was some good deep empty dreamless sleep, but as soon as I shut my eyes I was . . . somewhere else.
I was not in my bedroom. Not in Hudson.
Solomon and I still lay together. His forehead was still pressed into the back of my neck. But we were in a weird little hut that smelled like sweet milk tea. And there were birds calling outside that sounded like no birds I’d ever heard.
I got up and went to the window. Thinking I was ready for what I would see.
I was not ready.
Not for the massive bridge that arced overhead, a hundred times bigger than any bridge in the real world. Not for the old woman pushing a shopping cart, accompanied by a velociraptor. And not for the little kids practicing magic, summoning up images of monsters.
The other side. Where I was the Refugee Princess.
And it wasn’t just the world around me that was different. I was different too. I felt it inside. Some of it felt like weird fuzziness, as if I was drugged or half asleep.
Some of it felt . . . amazing. My arms tingled.
And I could see things. Whatever I wanted to see.
The Truth, even.
I lay back down beside Solomon. Still asleep, he wrapped his arms around me again. I shut my eyes to breathe in the smell of him. Of this moment.
I cannot keep you safe, I thought.