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order, steam rising from the saucier station, the line cooks hoarding towels and readying their mise en place . Natalia and the new guy were playfully bumping hips to the boom-boom “Take me!” of a rock god’s sex anthem about love in dreams’ deep waters. Dear Lord.
    “Nat, you have the kitchen. I’ll be a little late.” She’d been giving her more responsibility anyway. It was good practice. When the second restaurant opened, Sera wouldn’t be able to be at Marina every night.
    She made it back to her apartment in seven minutes. The place felt strangely silent, with different shadows; she was rarely there in the late afternoon. She threw her jacket on a chair, but it slid slowly to the floor. She banged through to the bedroom.
    Harlen had left his tablet on the nightstand—he liked video games and played them stretched out on his belly naked in the bed, so tall his feet hung off the end. He was over almost every day, though at weird hours. But, then, her chef’s hours were skewed, too, so they did manage to see each other often. He had a toothbrush and razor in the bathroom, but she was hoping to make the joint living situation a permanent thing soon.
    The dreamjack was in a box on the dresser. The thing cost around fifty grand and required a remote user license, but Harlen had pulled some strings at Chimera. Without it, Sera couldn’t get Darkside quickly. She’d have to wait around until she fell asleep naturally and descended slowly into REM.
    She plucked the metal jack out of its foam and pressed the sides to turn it on. The tiny green light said it was charged—Harlen was very careful about that. She toed off her kitchen clogs and lay down on the bed, then placed the jack in her ear. The high-pitched sound it emitted was best suited to calling dogs, and the pre-migraine ache behind one eye made her tense up. But then, abruptly, her bed seemed to fall out from beneath her.
    Her vision went dark, a spark of panic lighting in her chest, but that was just because she was a control freak and didn’t like the sudden plummet, the cold fluid rush that tingled along her nerves, or the darkness folding around her like an origami box meant to cage her.
    Darkside. She had a moment of disorientation, her dreamscape shattered into far-flung colors by her arrival, before she felt herself again.
    The atmosphere gradually hazed into a familiar setting—the Fawkeses’ kitchen—the shapes of the appliances mere silhouettes and suggestions. She’d have to concentrate to see and remember minute details. As it was, she simply stood at the sink with an empty glass in her hand.
    It was that morning all over again.
    Turning to the side, she knew who she’d find. This wasn’t her first nightmare about it. She’d dated Harlen years ago, but the breakup had been bad, and when they’d gotten back together, his mom and sister had been less than thrilled. And while they now seemed welcoming on the surface—and Sera was sure they meant it—there was still that protective vibe about Harlen dating her again.
    As expected, Eleanor was standing beside her. “You’re not right for him.”
    Damn but dreams could be brutal.
    Even in a dream, Sera would never push his mom out of the way, so she turned around and left the kitchen on the other side, where the arch led to the tiled front hallway. And then she walked out of the house and the dream at the same time.
    Eventually, his family would get to know her all over again. Eleanor would stop watching her with wary eyes and accept her. And the bad dreams would go away. Everyone just needed more time.
    Finding the boundary of a personal dreamscape was impossible for most people; dreams were infinite. So it took an act of will to perceive the Scrape sands blowing up against the steps to the house’s front porch. The grains skimmed over the brick path to the driveway and were stuck in the grass of the lawn like early snow.
    Stepping off the porch, she headed across the yard and