The door tears out of the wall so suddenly the man loses his footing. I shove the truck into gear. It jumps forward as I let off the clutch too fast, but it works in my favor because the man isn’t quite able to mount the wheel well to enter The Fire Swamp.

We crawl forward, and I shift into second gear. The exhaust belches a burst of black smoke, but she gets her wheels under her, and we pick up speed. I take the corner around a line of storage containers too sharply, and one scrapes along the side of The Fire Swamp until it catches on the door gap and tears off a piece of siding.

I don’t stop.

The rifle goes off again, and something slams into the side of the truck.

I don’t stop.

He yells profanities and shoots again, running after me with an awkward gait.

I don’t stop.

I lumber over the curb, drive through one of the barrier gates, and make it to third gear once I’m on the road. I finally reach a speed that can’t be overtaken on foot. I drive with my eyes level with the steering wheel in case another bullet comes from behind. When I glance at the clock, my heart jolts stronger than a rough shift to fourth gear.

5:53 a.m.

Seven minutes until the Nightmare comes for me. I drive as fast as I can to put some distance between me and the storage units. The guy and his pal got some gas cans out of their attack. Hopefully that will mollify them.

I get onto the freeway, dodging the few stalled cars abandoned in lanes or on the side of the road. There aren’t that many, but there are enough to make me nervous. Anyone could be living in those cars. Or dying in them.

A look at the clock. Three minutes.

I take an exit onto an overpass that bends high into the sky over the other freeways and keep to the center lane as much as I can so it’s harder for anyone on the ground to spot me. With two minutes left, I stop the truck there and leap out. For a moment I think of putting the remaining two gas cans somewhere safer—like the cab or even the living room—but if someone wants to steal them or mug me, they’ll have nineteen hours to figure out a way to do it. No lock or key will stop that.

I lumber into The Fire Swamp to check on Stranna. She’s on the floor now, cushioned by the blankets I placed there, face smashed into the base of the couch. I ought to put her back on the couch, but I opt for a quick letter instead. I want her to wake knowing she’s safe.

You’re safe with me. If you’re still in the Nightmare Tunnels keep moving forward. There’s light at the end. You can escape the Tunnels into a dreamscape. Once you get out of the Tunnels, ask to see Crixus, and then ask for Cain. Or Icarus.

I upend the couch and cram it into the doorframe until it’s jammed so good it’ll be a feat to get out, let alone in. That’ll have to work for now, but at least it’s a barrier against the elements and the curious.

Nightmare mist creeps in and I barely manage to crawl up the ladder into the loft. As I collapse on the mattress, my last thought is that I didn’t get to eat my pasta.

“Fate seems to favor you, Cain.” Luc toasts me with an earthen cup of something liquid.

I’m getting faster at mentally adapting to Tenebra when I wake. The Real World fades almost instantly. I don’t know if that comforts or frightens me. I’m more bothered by the fact that I thought of this place as Tenebra instead of the Nightmare and of myself as waking up instead of falling asleep.

“Last I witnessed, I’d stopped your heart,” he says.

“You stopped it? How?” I push myself to a sitting position.

Luc rests on several cushions. Every time I see him, he’s smaller, paler, weaker. He gestures to a locked box in front of him. “I have a theory on how to send someone back to the Old World. I tested it on you.” He grins. “You were burning to death, right?”

Definitely. But somehow I survived. And not because of Luc. Because of someone else. Someone in the Real World. Why can’t I remember?

“How nice to have someone to test it on,” I say drily.

“You were dying anyway.” He shrugs. “Now I can make some tweaks to it.” He sips, seeming amused. He doesn’t ask how I survived, probably because he knows I can’t quite recall or put it into words.

“What happened after my heart stopped?”

“I waited for your form to fade. It usually takes some time, but you didn’t fade. After a few minutes your heart started back up. You must have a strong will.”

Even with the mental fog, I know it had nothing to do with my will. “So, my body laid here until I woke up just now?”

“No. You were unconscious. Once a person goes unconscious in either world, there’s little anyone can do from either side. The mind has shut off—it can’t awaken in the Old World or in Tenebra until it’s ready. Your body remained here until you woke in the Old World. Then it disappeared. That’s how I knew you survived.”

The more I learn about this place, the more I realize I don’t know. Luc seems to have studied all the rules and has all the answers. I suppose since he’s been here almost from the beginning of the virus, he’s had plenty of time to learn. A tinge of respect grows in me for what he’s had to overcome to survive. I wonder what he’s had to fight.

What he’s likely had to kill.

Which brings me back to what happened the last time I was in the Arena. The girl—the Spore. I killed her, and Crixus handed me my citizenship to Tenebra.

Citizenship through murder. What does that say about the other citizens of this place?

Luc continues to sip his drink, watching me. He doesn’t seem quite as confident as before. I can feel the pressure of a question hanging between us, held back by his force of will.

I speak first. “I’m still going to help your father.”

He seems to relax and sounds more young man than Emperor. “Really?”

“Tell me what I need to know.” He thinks I’m doing him a favor. But I’m doing it for me.

I murdered a Spore girl. I’ve doomed hundreds of people in the Real World with my cure. I’ve become a villain there. But in here, I still have a chance. I want to do something right. Helping Luc save his father against the attack of the Spores seems a good place to start.

Finding a working cure will undo all I’ve destroyed.

But at this point, I’m no better than Hex Galilei. And I’m determined not to die that way.

A knock sounds on the door. At Luc’s acknowledgment, Crixus steps in, bringing the usual stench of sweat and blood with him. Luc’s nose wrinkles.

“Do you ever bathe, Crixus?”

At least it’s not just me.

Crixus just grins. “I have Cain’s final citizenship papers.” He holds a scroll tied with a strip of cloth. I forgot the ones he gave me earlier were temporary. Like a driver’s permit.

Now I get the license.

“Very good.” Luc takes the scroll over to an ancient desk against the wall and unfurls it. He lights a candle and drops some wax onto the bottom corner of the scroll, then presses his ring into it.

Now it’s stamped with the Emperor’s approval.

He gives it back to Crixus.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “So now I can walk through the coliseum fire?”