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about? After you told me where the dream takes place?”
    I bite into my lip and taste the metal of blood.
    Lie,
She tells me again, but I do not want to lie anymore and I do not understand why I should. Telling the truth will only make me better, and I want to go home.
    My tongue rests behind my top front teeth, preparing to say something—anything—but the muscle locks and the air in my lungs refuses to support the sound. I strain to a point that my face feels hot.
    “Emma?”
    I shake my head, trying to force any word free. I cannot breathe now, and the harder I try to speak, the worse the pressure becomes.
    Men in white lab coats and gray scrubs drive into the room the second I start to convulse. And yet, I continue to try. I have to overcome this. I want to go home.
    I told you to lie,
She says coolly.
You don’t understand yet, but you will.
    I only understand that I am at war with myself, and I do not know why. One way or another, I will win.

CHAPTER 4
    D r. Travista crosses one leg over the other and settles a touch-screen tablet in his lap. He taps a few notations, with an audible
tickticktick
accompanying his fingers. He sighs before looking up at me. “How do you feel today?”
    “Fine,” I say.
    “Any nightmares?”
    “None.” I am back to lying, only now I have my own reasons. The tests after the episode had been horrible. I do not want to relive them. “I am really great.”
    He tilts his head and removes his glasses. His expression is mocking and pitying all at once. I do not like this look. “We both know that’s not true.”
    I bite the inside of my cheek. “They are not as bad anymore.” This is the truth. Noah has been mysteriously—or not so mysteriously, considering Sonya’s reaction—missing from them. Some nights I am utterly alone, and it is almost peaceful because there is no one to fear. “I swear this is the truth.”
    He points his glasses at me with emphasis. “Now,
that
I believe. Can you try describing them again? We aren’t in the examination room. Just two friends talking in a comfortable setting.”
    The room
is
nice. Real plants and dark woods. Bookshelves with books I will never read because they have to do with chemistry and physics and physiology and other such complicated subjects. Dr. Travista is very smart. Declan calls him a genius.
    The furniture is all burnt-red leather. I like this color. It makes me warm despite the colder days.
    I caress the soft leather arm of my chair and consider the setting of my nightmare again. Nothing feels safe to talk about. I think words like “monitors” and “doctors.” “Noah.” This word especially gives me pain and threatens to withhold more oxygen. I wish I could tell Dr. Travista about the cylinder of water if for no other reason than to end his relentless questions. To prove to Her that She cannot control me.
    I focus on the gray day outside a paned window. Autumn moves quickly into winter. Declan says we might see snow early this year.
    “Emma?”
    I return my attention to him. “Sorry. What was the question?”
    “The dream. Is there anything you can tell me?”
    The dream. Not the nightmare. He does not know there is a difference for me. I feel safe in the dream. Despite this, I still do not feel comfortable telling Dr. Travista anything other than, “Stars.” I sense She waits close at hand for the moment when I would reveal too much, preparing to stop me.
    “I thought you said it took place inside.”
    “Through a window,” I lie. It bothers me how lying is becoming so easy. “It is the only time I get to see them. It is the only part of the dream I wish to relive.”
    “Stars, you say? Would you like to see them? I think we can arrange that.”
    I feel a noticeable shift in my expression to one of excitement, and it is unfamiliar to my muscles. I like this emotion and wish I had cause to feel it every day. “Could you? Tonight?”
    Dr. Travista chuckles. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you just ask