[This is a continuation of the last chapter due to the character limit.]

A wry smile finds its way onto my face. “You’re pretty funny when you’re exasperated.”

Martin just gapes at me, then covers his face with one hand. “I do despise you, Rose. You are quite exasperating indeed.”

I can’t help it. The grinning. This is so much better than last night’s dream. At least I don’t have to pretend to be Eliana with Martin. And maybe he can be an ally in this. “Actually . . . I have been trying to figure out what’s going on. In my world.” I explain the situation to him. How his world is a fictional book in mine, how the narrative seems to change with each dream, how I reappear wherever I stop reading. He listens intently. As my explanation gets longer, he settles into a loveseat in one corner of the room and rests his head in his hands, nodding occasionally so I know that he’s still paying attention. His dark hair falls in his face. It’s not tied up today, and I can see that it’s about shoulder length and a bit greasy, unkempt. I wonder if me stressing him out has led him to look so much more . . . disheveled. Or if he always looks like that. After all, The Tales of Alvione barely focuses on him at all.

When I finish, he says, “I see,” and then falls silent. After an uncomfortable, long moment, I decide to sit beside him and rest my hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, buddy?”

He doesn’t move, his face still hidden by his hands. “You say many strange things.”

“About what? Time-traveling, world-jumping dream worlds?”

“‘Duh’ and ‘buddy.’”

I laugh. “Well, yeah. I guess you have a point.”

He finally looks up at me. The frustration that had etched his face earlier is long gone. Instead, it’s been replaced with a look of concern. “How will I know if I’m speaking to you or Eliana? How will I be able to contact you, if you read ahead?”

Hm. It’s a fair question. “Maybe we should have a codeword. Something weird, but not too weird. Like pineapple.”

“What is ‘pineapple’?”

“Okay, maybe something less weird. You can choose a word. Something you wouldn’t say by accident but that wouldn’t alert Eliana to anything strange. It seems she doesn’t remember our conversations exactly right anyway.”

He sighs. “Pineapple is fine. It is strangely memorable for a nonsense word.”

I find myself smiling at him again. He doesn’t return my smile and regards me warily.

“You are unnerving.”

“What? Why?” I frown. “Do I seem that different from Eliana?”

He nods slightly. “Unrecognizable.”

I feel myself fading. I hadn’t noticed it before, but I can tell now that I must be waking up in the real world, because he’s getting further away, surrounded by blackness like I’m having some kind of tunnel vision. He seems to notice it as well—maybe it’s the look on my face.

“Are you waking?” he asks worriedly. “Don’t read ahead. Please! We have more to discuss!” I can feel his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, and the last thing I see before I wake is a frightened look on his face.

I sit up with a start in my bed. It’s morning already. My bird noises alarm is going off, getting louder and louder. I shut it off and slide the book down off my chest. I scramble for a bookmark and mark the page. I don’t want to read ahead by accident. Better to be a few pages behind and read through what has already happened.

Clearly the dreams do not move at the same pace as reality. What feels like a fifteen or twenty minute conversation in the dream seems to actually take up several hours of sleeping in the real world. Should I try timing it? No, that would be too hard. I don’t think they have pocket watches in Alvione, so I’d have to just stand in front of a bell tower. And that seems like a waste of time.

I won’t read ahead before tonight. I feel obligated not to for Martin’s sake. But I will have to do some reading ahead if I can only progress half an hour every night. This dream thing will go on for longer than I’m alive at that rate.

I sigh and unlock my phone, settling down against the pillows for a moment. My thumb freezes in its mindless swiping through social media as I see a popup notification for an email. From Alys Stone. Author of The Tales of Alvione. I tap it and stare at the screen as the email loads.

Hi Rose,

It’s great to virtually meet you. Unfortunately, Alys passed this last year, and I am unable to answer your question. I’m glad to hear you enjoyed her books.

Thank you for your message!

Martha Brown, Literary Agent

Representative of the Alys Stone Estate

My phone drops into my lap. I close my eyes.

“Fuck.”

What now?