Either I rarely dream when I sleep, or I forget my dreams when I wake. Tonight, however, I’m certain this is a dream.

Both the Sun and the Moon loom over me, a hundred times bigger than they usually are. The Sun dims, and the Moon brightens. The cirrocumulus clouds drift closer to the celestial objects, but instead of blocking them out, they travel behind them. Constantly changing color, the sky morphs from blue to pink to purple to red, while people riding the self-driving hovercrafts and automobiles pay no attention.

Hovercrafts travel by air, automobiles travel by ground, and individuals can apply to operate both in autopilot mode. It’s almost too easy to enter your destination, then take a nap, watch a movie, or catch up on work while in the moving vehicle, never worrying about crashing. In fact, autopilot is so safe that it’s against the law to own a vehicle that can be driven by humans. Only select individuals in the IF and other military branches, including myself, are exempted from this law.

I can suspend my disbelief enough to accept the impossible astronomical event in the sky, but not the man who’s strolling next to me with my arm hooked around his. The cobblestone streets filled with pedestrians lead us past diners, boutiques, and pharmacies, yet my eyes linger on the man’s tense expression.

“Hey, Duarte, are you thinking about earlier?”

With the intensity of igneous rock, his dark brown eyes transfix mine, causing my steps to falter. “No,” he responds, expression dissolving into a warm smile. “Just wondering where you would like to eat.”

I nudge him. “Have you tried asking me?”

“Of course not. That would be too easy.”

I lift my other hand, palm facing out. “Don’t complain later about me making your life difficult. You bring this on yourself.”

“I want to make a good impression.”

“You have four years to make up for.”

Duarte dips his head. “I know.”

I slow my gait and pull him back until we’ve stopped. Placing a hand on his cheek, I oblige his eyes to meet mine. They’re wet, and I instantly regret what I said. “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

He smiles in an attempt to brighten the mood. “I’m good.” He shakes me off and unhooks his arm to grab my hand. “Come on. I know a great bibimbap place on Olympic. Plenty of vegetarian and vegan options.”

I let him guide me forward. When did Duarte and I become friends? We never enjoy each other’s company, and I still haven’t forgiven him…

Doesn’t matter. This is a dream. Nothing matters.

“Perfect.” I peek to see if we blocked anyone’s path, but the streets are empty. That’s strange. Just a second ago, hovercrafts and automobiles crowded the roads while pedestrians jaywalked and bustled through the streets. Lights still stream from the shops and restaurants, but there are no people to be found.

“Hey, am I losing my mind or did—” My voice cuts off in a strangle as I turn back around. I’m not holding Duarte’s hand. Instead, my fingers are wrapped around a parking pole whose white sign with navy letters reads:

EMPIRICAL

PARKING ONLY

ALL OTHERS WILL BE

TOWED AND OBLITERATED

Well now, I didn’t know parking signs could be bigoted. Seems a bit unreasonable.

But where did I misplace Duarte? I release the pole and scour the street. I almost miss the only figure present, because she isn’t moving. She stands about two blocks west, dressed in an all-white flowy dress that brushes the ground. She’s facing away from me, her silky black hair with streaks of silver reaching below her hips and reflecting the moonlight.

It’d be impossible if this weren’t a dream.

I take two steps forward, and the woman mirrors my movements, heading away from me.

I forget what I’m searching for. All I want is to see her face.

Two pictures of my mother live in my portal. One showcases my parents’ marriage, a full-body photo with my father staring at the camera and my mother smiling up at him. It’s only a profile view of her face due to the angle, but it allows the observer to admire her unique hair. Women get gray hair all the time, even those who are young, but usually they choose to dye it. I understand why my mother didn’t, for her black hair has silver streaks in perfect blocks, about a centimeter wide and a meter long from root to tip.

The second picture I own is a portrait I painted of what I thought my mother would look like directly facing the camera. Almond-shaped amber eyes, soft angled eyebrows, heart lips, and a determined gaze. Despite differences in hair color and face shape, we look quite similar. But is my reimagination correct?

“Mama?” I call out to the woman—my mother—and sprint toward her. She glides forward just as quickly. “Wait, please!”

As I run through the streets, the Sun disappears and the sky darkens. The buildings shrink in size and the cobblestone ground becomes gravel and later wooden planks. I’m traveling across the boardwalk of a vacant pier in the dead of night. No stars. No light besides the glowing green Moon.

The monstrous roller coasters and ferris wheel hide demons and secrets, but my gaze is set on the black and white figure in front of me. Her hair and clothes stay unmoving in the wind as she reaches the edge of the pier. “Don’t!” She can’t swim! She’ll drown!

She stops.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Yes! I finally catch up to her and plant my feet a few paces away, out of breath. The inky ocean lingers around us, pitch black. “Mama,” I address, “can I talk to—”

Her head turns fractionally, the moonlight illuminating her right cheekbone. I step closer. Once I’m about a meter away, she swivels to face me.

I shriek.

Her two eyes are amber, as I predicted, but a third colorless eye lies above her left one. They blink out of sync. She lunges at me, and I jump back, collapsing onto the boardwalk. Her lips part, and a guttural growl haunts the night. I crawl onto my hands and knees to stand up, but a knife pierces my achilles tendon.

I cry. I scream.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Is a dream different from reality if you can still hallucinate agony? Fear? Regret?

This is reality.

The black pincers piercing my bloody ankle protrude from her fingertips as she drags my body over the planks.

“No!” I kick her arm with my other foot. It’s too late.

Goosebumps appear across my arms and legs as the frigid water envelopes me. My mother yanks me deeper into the ocean—to silence—and seaweed runs along the right side of my face.

I cease breathing.

* * *

My eyes snap open to dim red lights and scaly tentacles writhing—

Hold on.

They’re just metal wires and pipes. My peripheral vision catches charcoal-rimmed eyes scrutinizing somebody’s fingers above my head. Fingers running through a lock of long, dark hair. Something tugs at my scalp, and my eyes widen.

Felix is caressing my hair.

“What are you doing?” My raspy voice comes out more nervous than I intended, but the tone accurately reflects how I’m feeling. I sit up and shift back, tucking my knees to my chest and placing my flimsy pillow in front of me as a shield.

He snatches his hand back while the whites of his eyes expand.

I repeat my question firmly.

“I—” He crosses his arms. “What are you doing?”

I scoff at the lamest comeback I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Look, love,” he begins, clearing his throat, “your hair was in your face, and I was simply moving it out of the way for you.”

“Yeah? For how long?”

“For—trick question. I was moving your hair out of the way when you happened to wake up. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t touch me.” I clutch the pillow tighter, willing myself to quit shaking.

“Ailee, you’re losing the plot here. I came to your aid—”

“Only my friends call me ‘Ailee.’ Are we friends?”

“Do you want to be?”

No. Maybe. Be smart about this. I hold up my bound wrists, letting the pillow fall against my shins. “Is it common for you to put your friends in handcuffs?”

A glint appears in his eyes, and he smirks. “Well, actually—”

“Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“This is but a necessary evil, love.” He winks. “Remember what I said earlier.”

I open my mouth to ask him for clarification when his eyes flit up to the ceiling. I keep my gaze on his face, for I know what he’s looking at. Cameras. It’s possible the pirates are recording audio too.

“Play the sweet maiden,” he continues, locking our gazes once more. “Do what you’re asked, and you just might make it out of here with your pretty head attached to your body.”

“What does he want?”

Felix’s expression sours, knowing who I’m referring to. “I don’t know.”

The bed beside mine creaks, and my concentration shifts to the blond man waking up. “Ailee?” Timour sits up to rub his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you, boy,” Felix responds, looping his thumbs through his belt.

Timour throws me a wary glance before eyeing the pirate up and down. “Who’s he?”

“Felix,” I answer.

“It’s ‘Quartermaster Oringo’ to you, boy, and you will address me as such,” Felix informs Timour.

“You’re second-in-command?” I ask.

“Yes,” Felix replies. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. I’m quite the valuable asset to have high up in the command hierarchy.”

“Who’s the Captain of this ship?” Timour inquires.

Felix glares at him.

Timour rolls his eyes. “Quartermaster Oringo.”

“I am,” Felix finally responds, head held high. “I’m second-in-command for all Cosmics, not just the ones on this ship.”

“You spend quite a lot of time with your prisoners for a Captain,” I observe.

“And you speak your mind too bluntly for a captive,” Felix retorts.

I tilt my head. “Keep your hands where they are next time, and I won’t have to speak at all.”

He steps forward, and my lower back hits the barrier of the headboard as I try to move away. “That doesn’t sound like much fun, now does it?”

“Ailee, what do you mean?” Timour questions, pulling his shackles taut. “Did he touch you?” He glares at Felix. “Back up, right now!”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You’re being rather overdramatic. I didn’t touch her. Her hair was covering her face, so I moved it out of—you know what? I don’t have to explain anything to the lot of you. We’re less than a day away from docking, and I need your”—he points at me—“help with something.”

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Timour declares.

Felix grins wide. “On the contrary.” He turns to me. “Require assistance getting down?”

“What do you need my help with?” I ask.

He tilts his head low, to stare at me from under his lashes, and slows his speech, “I’ll let you know when we get there.”

I dig my nails into my palms while reading his expression. There’s a double meaning behind his words. I don’t trust him. Not at all. But there aren’t many alternatives. Even if I somehow got a hold of a weapon, they’d kill or seize me before I journeyed two meters. Our best bet is to find a portal—one that isn’t busted—and alert the IF of our IPS location, speed, acceleration, direction of travel, and any other crucial tips. They wouldn’t come for me and Timour, but they’d come for the Eye and the opportunity to arrest hundreds of pirates.

I’ll play along for now.

“Can Timour accompany me?” I ask.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need him. Now, are you coming on your own, or will I have to drag you?”

I grip the handlebar on the right of my cot and swing myself over. Landing lightly on two feet, I say to Felix, “‘Kay, let’s go.”

“Ailee, come on,” Timour objects. “You don’t know what his plans are. He’s—you’re—” Struggling to speak and breathing heavily, he looks away, turning beet red.

I move around Felix and my cot to stand beside Timour’s hospital bed. Everything except me seems to be of interest to him at the moment, so I reach out a tentative hand to place against his pink cheek. Leaning in, my lips brush the lobe of his ear as I whisper, “We don’t really have a choice. I’ll be okay.”

His head twists slowly toward me while he grasps my upper arm. With his breath tickling my ear, he murmurs, “I know what dirty men like him do to pretty girls like you.”

I pull back slightly to look into his pain-filled eyes. “‘O ye of little faith?’” I quote—one of the few I remember from my brief enrollment in a Protestant middle school half a lifetime ago—attempting to lighten the mood.

His expression remains gloomy, but his lips twitch in acknowledgement.

“I’ll be back soon,” I tell him, even though I can’t guarantee that.

I withdraw, and he loosens his grip before tightening it and reeling me back. He kisses my temple delicately, whispering, “Don’t come back.”