Terminal Hypnos was exactly where Merlose said it would be; it's just, he didn't remember falling asleep.

  One moment he was in bed, staring at the ceiling, and the next he was somewhere else. Not quite awake, not quite dreaming. The dark room with fog and twinkling lights again.

  The watch on his wrist pulsed once. Warm, and he remembered Merlose’s instruction. He needed to imagine Terminal Hypnos, from when she showed it to him the night prior, after his run-in with the mustached man. She had taken him straight there, holding his hand the whole way. By the time they arrived, Charlie was waking up.

  She shouted the instructions at him in a way that made it feel it was more for her sanity than his safety.

  When he thought about Terminal Hypnos, one of the motes in the dark began to whirl and blink until it exploded into an image of the facility. He could see people moving through the arched entrance and under the impossible ceiling. The marble floors that reflected skies that shouldn't exist. The images rose up fully formed, as if the watch had been holding them for him.

  Charlie stepped toward them, through the image, and the dark room fell away.

  Now he was here.

  The terminal was vast because large did not do it justice. It was so open and spacious that it made his chest ache. The ceiling stretched up and up and up until it became something else entirely, a bruised purple sky with clouds that moved too fast. The walls were concrete and brutal, sharp angles and unforgiving lines, but someone had painted murals on them. Murals of fish playing chess, mountains wearing hats, and a single enormous eye that blinked every few seconds while looking mildly embarrassed about it.

  Agents moved through the space in pressed shirts and ties, clipboards in hand, and watches on their wrists. They walked with purpose and spoke in hushed, serious tones. They looked like people who had important things to do and not nearly enough time to do them.

  One of them was arguing with a cloud.

  "The form clearly states cumulus," the agent said, tapping his clipboard. "You're cirrus at best. Something was off in that dream."

  The cloud made a sound like distant thunder. Offended thunder.

  "Don't take that tone with me. Policy is policy."

  A girl sat on a bench near the water fountain, hunched over something in her lap. She had dark skin, darker hair pulled back in a messy braid, and the kind of posture that suggested she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

  Three girls stood over her. The tallest one had close-cropped hair, dark skin a shade lighter than the girl on the bench, and the kind of posture that took up exactly as much space as she wanted. Her watch gleamed like she polished it. To her left, a stocky redhead stood with her arms folded and her jaw set, radiating the energy of someone who'd rather be doing something with her hands. To her right, a slight girl with long straight hair tucked behind her ears examined her fingernails with studied disinterest, though her eyes kept flicking to the tall one, checking.

  "I'm just saying," the tall one said, her voice carrying the particular calm of someone who didn't need to raise it, "that if all you can manifest is a simple shield after three weeks, it might be worth asking yourself if this is where you belong. Standards exist for a reason."

  The braided girl on the bench didn't look up. "I'm working on it."

  "You've been working on it. Some of us managed it in one." She didn't say it like a brag. She said it like a fact, which was worse. "It's not a criticism. It's an observation."

  "An observation," the straight-haired girl echoed, a beat too late, like she'd been waiting for her cue.

  "It is though," the redhead muttered. "A criticism. That's what it is. Just say it."

  The tall one gave her a look. Not sharp, just enough. The redhead went quiet, jaw working.

  The braided girl drew in tighter. She didn't respond.

  The tall one noticed Charlie watching. Her expression shifted. Not to warmth exactly, but to interest. She assessed him the way someone assesses a chess board mid-game.

  "Wait." Her eyes went to his pajamas, then to his watch, then back to his face. "You're the rocket pajamas kid. You're him, aren't you? The one who broke into Terminal Hypnos?"

  Charlie didn't know what to say to that. "I didn't mean to."

  "Didn't mean to." Something lit up behind her eyes. Not delight the way a fan gets excited — more the way a competitor reacts to a new variable. "Do you know the encryption on that place? I tried to crack the firewall twice and woke up screaming both times."

  She extended her hand. "I'm Benedicta. This is Donna and Priya."

  "Just Benedicta," Priya added. "Not Benny. She'll correct you."

  "I won't need to correct him." Benedicta's handshake was firm and precise. "You're basically a legend already. Everyone's talking about you."

  Donna leaned forward. "How'd you do it? Did you punch through it?"

  "That's not how encryption works," Priya said.

  "I know that. I'm asking what it felt like."

  "You asked how he did it, and then asked if he punched through it. That's two questions and one of them is stupid."

  "Say that again."

  "Both of you." Benedicta didn't raise her voice. They stopped. She turned back to Charlie. "You have to tell me how you did it. Was it visualization? Pattern recognition? Some kind of…"

  "You were being mean to her."

  Benedicta blinked. "What?"

  Charlie nodded toward the braided girl on the bench. She was watching them now, her eyes flicking between Charlie and Benedicta like she was trying to solve an equation.

  "Just now," Charlie said. "You were being mean."

  Benedicta studied him for a moment. Not offended, just recalibrating.

  "I was being honest. Gwen's been struggling, and honest feedback is how people improve. Ask anyone in the program." She said it evenly, like she believed it. Maybe she did.

  Donna cracked her knuckles. "She's right. You don't get better by being coddled."

  "No one asked you to weigh in, Donna," Priya said.

  "No one asked you to exist, Priya."

  "Thanks for the introduction, Benedicta," Charlie said. "But I should go."

  Benedicta's expression didn't flicker. She just watched him go with a look he couldn't quite read. Curious, maybe. Or something colder.

  "We should compare notes sometime," she called after him. "I think we could learn a lot from each other."

  She said it like she was offering Charlie a gift.

  "Maybe," Charlie said, which was easier than saying no.

  He walked over to the bench. The girl, Gwen, watched him approach with the wariness of someone who'd learned that attention usually meant trouble. She held what looked like a notebook tight to her chest.

  "Are you okay?" Charlie asked.

  She studied him for a moment. "You just blew off Benedicta."

  "Did I?"

  "She's top of the Junior Program, and her parents are both Senior Agents. She doesn't talk to people; she collects them." She tilted her head. "And you walked away to ask if I was okay."

  "She was being mean to you."

  "She's mean to everyone. Most people don't notice because she's charming about it."

  "I noticed."

  Gwen almost smiled. "Yeah, you did." She scooted over on the bench, making room. "I'm Gwen."

  "Charlie."

  "I heard, Mr. Rocket Pajamas." She gestured at them. "They're nice, by the way. I like the faded ones on the knees."

  Before Charlie could decide whether to sit, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

  "Charlie."

  Merlose was waiting by a pillar that had opinions. They were carved into its surface, and they kept changing in spirals. Currently, it felt strongly about the inadequacy of modern architecture.

  He looked back at Gwen, and she smiled. “Nice to meet you, Charlie. See you around.”

  He nodded at the girl with the notebook and walked the short distance to Merlose.

  "You made it," she said. “Think you can stay asleep long enough to make it to the Director tonight?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Sorry about yesterday, the detours ate up a lot of time.”

  “Trust me kid, I know. Glad you were able to use the liminal space to get here though. Saves me a night of schleping you through pirate fantasies and oversized lawns.”

  "You said to hold the image."

  "I did. Most people take a few tries." She looked him over. "You look rested."

  "I'm... I'm sleeping. Right?"

  "That was a joke, Charlie."

  "Okay. I'll remember that one."

  That made her smile for some reason. She nodded to the group of girls walking away from Gwen. “Saw you met Benedicta Crispin.”

  “Gwen says her parents are senior agents. Is that weird? Having a full family be agents? Do they talk about missions over breakfast?”

  “They probably would if they could remember any of this in the morning, but alas, they are human after all. Just don’t tell them that, and it’d be more like morning juice smoothies before Pilates.”

  “Was that a…”

  “Yes, Charlie.” She started walking. "Come on. The Director wants to see you."

  "The Director?"

  "The one in charge. The one who's been in charge for thirty years. The one who never wakes up." Merlose glanced back at him. "Don't stare at her. Don't ask about her body. Don't mention the word 'coma.' She's heard every joke, and none of them are funny."

  They walked through the terminal. Charlie tried not to stare at everything, but everything kept being worth staring at. A man was feeding documents into a shredder, but the shredder was a mouth, and the mouth was critiquing the font choices. A woman sat at a desk that was also a pond, her paperwork floating on lily pads. A door opened and closed on its own, each time revealing a different room, none of them connected to anything.

  "How do people work here?" Charlie asked.

  "Carefully." Merlose stopped in front of a balcony that overlooked a drop that went down forever. Or up. Hard to tell. "Here's our ride."

  "Ride?"

  Something rose from the depths. Two heads. Scales that shimmered between green and gold. Wings that shouldn't have been able to support its body but clearly didn't care about physics.

  A dragon. A two-headed dragon.

  "Oh, you're looking well today," the left head said to the right head.

  "Me? Look at your scales. Absolutely radiant."

  "Stop. You're too kind."

  "I'm only being honest. Has anyone ever told you that you have the most elegant horns?"

  Merlose climbed onto the dragon's back like she'd done it a thousand times. "Shortcut," she said. "Get on."

  Charlie climbed on behind her. The scales were warm and smelled like old books and something sweeter he couldn't name.

  "New passenger," the right head observed. "How exciting. You look so strong when you're carrying someone."

  "I look strong? No darling, you look radiant," the left head replied. "I love new passengers. They always look so wonderfully terrified."

  "You're not terrified, are you?" the right head asked Charlie directly.

  "A little," Charlie admitted.

  "Honest! I love honesty. Don't you love honesty?"

  "I adore honesty. It's one of my favorite qualities in a human."

  "Mine too. We have so much in common."

  "We really do. It's like we're one dragon."

  "Wouldn't that be something?"

  The dragon launched into the air without warning. Charlie grabbed onto Merlose's waist as the terminal fell away below them. They rose through the impossible ceiling, through the purple sky, through layers of architecture that folded and twisted like origami.

  "Do they always do that?" Charlie shouted over the wind.

  "Do what?"

  "Compliment each other."

  "It's the only way they communicate. It's a figment of another senior agent. She's a twin." Merlose pointed ahead. "There. The Director's office."

  The office was a tower that grew out of nothing. No foundation or supports. Just a structure that existed because it had decided to. The dragon landed on a balcony that materialized the moment they needed it.

  "Wonderful landing," the left head said.

  "Couldn't have done it without you," the right head replied.

  "You're too modest."

  "I learned from the best."

  "Who, me?"

  "Who else?"

  Merlose climbed off. Charlie followed. The dragon watched them go with four adoring eyes.

  "Lovely meeting you," both heads said in unison. "Do come again."

  The balcony led to a hallway. The hallway led to a door that was ordinary. Aggressively ordinary. Plain wood, brass handle, and no markings.

  "That's it?" Charlie asked.

  "What did you expect?"

  "Something more... dramatic."

  "The Director doesn't do dramatic. She does effective." Merlose knocked twice. "It's Merlose. I have the boy."

  "Come in."

  The voice was quiet, not weak, just quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't need to be loud.

  Merlose opened the door.

  The office was small. That was the first surprise. After the terminal's vastness, after the dragon and the impossible architecture, the Director's office was just a room. A desk with two chairs and a window that looked out on something Charlie couldn't quite focus on.

  The Director sat behind the desk. She was older than Charlie expected, but not old. Her hair was gray at the temples, her face lined in ways that suggested thinking more than aging. Her eyes were the most awake eyes Charlie had ever seen.

  She didn't look like someone in a coma. She looked like someone who had never slept a day in her life.

  A man stood beside the window. Charlie hadn't noticed him at first—he had the kind of presence that slid past attention until he wanted it. Tall, thin, with silver hair cropped close and a watch that looked older than the others Charlie had seen. He didn't introduce himself. He just watched.

  "Charlie Brunswick," the Director said. "Sit."

  He sat. Merlose stood by the door, hands clasped behind her back.

  "Do you know what you did?" the Director asked.

  "I... uh... broke into Terminal Hypnos?"

  "You solved the SCA's central encryption. A firewall designed by our most imaginative architect and reinforced over his sixty years. He updates it constantly to account for new dream patterns and psychological profiles." She leaned forward slightly. "It was designed to be unsolvable. Not difficult. Impossible. The kind of impossible that makes dreamers wake up screaming and never remember why. I’m curious what you saw."

  "I don’t know, Ms. Director. Director ma’am. Sir."

  "I’ll tell you what I see when I look at it: a possessed eighteen-wheeler barreling down on me." The Director looked past Charlie to the agent. Merlose was leaning against a wall. She stood up straight at her name.

  "Agent Merlose."

  "Ma'am?"

  "What does the Terminal Hypnos firewall look like to you?"

  "Oh, uh, I'd rather not..."

  "No use hiding it here, Agent Merlose."

  "Ma'am, it looks like a massive hospital, but like one from a haunted house with monsters and all the lights off."

  The Director returned her gaze to Charlie and studied him. "Do you understand what that means?"

  Charlie shook his head.

  "It means you either got one in a trillion lucky or your mind doesn't process threats the way other minds do. Where others see a nightmare, you saw a pattern you could slip through. Where others feel fear, you feel curiosity." She paused. "It also means you can tunnel."

  "Tunnel?"

  "What we call it when encryption specialists can bypass firewalls almost at will. We have a whole department that handles encryption, and none of them have ever been able to navigate into Terminal Hypnos."

  Charlie thought about the fear dream. The ship and the fish. The way he'd found a door that wasn't there because he'd believed it was.

  "Do you know why I can do that... tunnel?" he asked.

  "We don't know. That's part of why you're here." The Director leaned back. "But Merlose tells me something out there is interested in you. Maybe even more than us."

  He looked to Merlose and back to the Director.

  "Who? Bartleby?"

  "Is that what it's calling itself now?" A flicker of something crossed the Director's face. Amusement or maybe exhaustion. "Yes, fine, Bartleby. We just call it the Hive. Whatever face it was wearing and whatever name it gave you. It wants you, Charlie."

  "Why?"

  "Why does it want anyone?" She paused. "It feeds on each person it brings into itself. It's been around longer than the SCA, maybe even as old as humanity. I can guess why it would want a child with your... gifts, but imagination is the one thing the Hive can't produce anymore. It absorbs people, gains their conviction, but loses their originality. The way you process the dreamscape seems to indicate you might just be what the Hive's been missing. You're not just a threat to them. You're the next step."

  Charlie sat with that. A step. A thing to be used and then moved past.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Join us." The Director said it simply. No drama or sales pitch. "The Junior Agent Program. Four years of training. You'll learn how dream space works, how to protect yourself, and how to protect others. You'll work with other recruits your age. You'll have handlers, instructors, and structure."

  "And at the end?"

  "At the end, maybe we'll understand what you are. Maybe we'll understand why the Hive wants you. Maybe you'll have developed enough control to be useful instead of dangerous." She met his eyes. "Maybe you'll finally have a place where you fit."

  She didn't say the last part like it was a selling point. She said it like it was a fact. Like she could see exactly what Charlie wanted and wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

  "What if I say no?"

  "Then you go back to your life. You dream like everyone else. You forget like everyone else. And the Hive keeps looking for you, except now you don't have a watch, don't have training, and don't have anyone watching your back."

  Charlie looked at Merlose. She was staring at a point on the wall, her expression carefully neutral. He found he trusted her as much as he trusted Grandpa, and that man had never steered him wrong. Intentionally, of course.

  "Okay," Charlie said.

  "Okay?"

  "I'll join."

  The Director nodded. No smile or celebration. Just acknowledgment.

  "Good. Agent Merlose will be your handler."

  The man by the window shifted. "Director, if I may."

  It wasn't a question. The Director gestured for him to continue.

  "The boy is clearly an encryption prodigy. Perhaps the most significant one we've seen." His voice was measured, reasonable. "Agent Merlose is a rogue apparition specialist. Capable, certainly, but this isn't her area. I'd recommend assigning him to someone in my department. Senior Sleeper Agent Maddie Crispin has been asking for a challenging mentorship, and her encryption work speaks for itself."

  Charlie saw Merlose's jaw tighten. Just slightly.

  "Maddie Crispin," the Director repeated. "Your best encryption specialist."

  "One of the best in the SCA. She was a prodigy herself, once. She'd understand him."

  "She'd understand his abilities." The Director's voice was mild.

  "With respect, Director, the boy needs technical training, not…"

  "The boy," the Director said, "broke into Terminal Hypnos wearing rocket pajamas and had the Hive whispering in his ear within forty-eight hours. What he needs is someone who will chase him across eleven dreams and throw him out a window to save his life." She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. "Agent Merlose will be his handler. If you wish to discuss further, we can review my directive with the full board."

  The man's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes recalculated.

  "Of course, Director." He inclined his head slightly. "A suggestion, nothing more."

  Merlose's neutrality cracked. "Ma'am, I have to agree with the Watcher."

  “The Watcher?” Charlie asked, confused at the dynamics happening around him.

  "Sleeper Agent Darren Argyle," the Director said, nodding to the blonde man. "Aka the Watcher. He sits on the board with me, and he oversees all Sleeper Agent operations here at the SCA. That includes encryption specialists, shield specialists, manifestation specialists, and rogue apparition specialists, to name a few. Which includes the tenacious agent against the wall that secretly wants to storm out of here. Isn’t that right, Agent Merlose?"

  Merlose blinked. "Aye, Ma’am, including me."

  "Agents report to senior agents who report to handlers who report to supervisors who report to department heads who report to him. And he reports to me. Technically."

  "Technically," the Watcher echoed with a wry smile.

  Merlose cleared her throat, and she looked at the Watcher with new eyes. Then back to the Director. "Ma'am, with respect, I'm a rogue apparition specialist, and Charlie is clearly encryption. Retrieving him was already outside my assignment. Being his handler would just bring us both down."

  "Assignments change."

  "I have enough responsibility in the waking world. Two kids and a husband. I don’t get enough sleep as is."

  "And when you wake up, you won't remember any of this. Your family won't suffer." The Director's eyes were not unkind. "But Charlie needs someone who won't give up on him. Someone who's seen what he can do and isn't afraid of it. Someone who understands that he's not a problem to be solved."

  Merlose opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

  "Was that a compliment?" She asked.

  "It was an observation."

  "It sounded like a compliment."

  "Then you heard it wrong."

  "I'm taking it as a compliment."

  "Take it however you like."

  The Watcher watched this exchange with an expression Charlie couldn't read. Not angry, but not pleased. He just observed, and in doing so, lived up to his name.

  Merlose exhaled slowly. Looked at Charlie. He couldn't read her expression, but he was getting better at not trying to read expressions and just waiting to see what people did next.

  "Fine," she said. "But if he touches something he shouldn't and gets absorbed by a nightmare, I'm putting it in my report."

  "I would expect nothing less."

  The Director stood and extended a hand. The meeting, apparently, was over.

  The Watcher was already gone. Charlie hadn't seen him leave.

  "Welcome to the SCA, Junior Agent Charlie Brunswick. Training begins tomorrow night. Try not to solve any encryptions between now and then."

  Charlie reached across the desk and shook her hand firmly.

  "Was that a joke?" Charlie asked and released her hand.

  The Director’s hand froze halfway over the desk, and she looked at him for a long moment.

  "No..." she said slowly. "It wasn't."