As Alexis walked to the throne, she knew she was alone yet not alone. He was here, too- the lover of her dreams, the one who was Nate yet not, the one who loved her like he had, but didn’t break her heart. That was how she had always known it was a dream before. Now, though, she wasn’t sure what to call it. She’d touched the statuette and been transported into a dark, formless corner of the barrier, yet now she was back on earth- she knew it from the taste of the air, and the strong sense of being underground.

When she reached the end of the arcade, the pathway she was on curved and widened, forming a platform in front of the throne. There, in the center of the flat space, she saw shadowy footprints in the dust, those of bare human feet, standing facing the throne.

Almost without conscious volition, acting as she had done in the dream, she toed off her shoes and stepped into the footprints. They fit perfectly, as they had in her fantasies. The certainty that she had been in this chamber before, that she’d done this before, was overwhelming, as was the knowledge that the moment she blooded herself, placed her hands on the altar and said his name, he would be there with her.

The certainty- and the nerves- had her hesitating. Then, knowing she didn’t have a choice, not really, she pulled a ceremonial knife she didn’t recognize from a weapons belt she didn’t remember putting on, and drew the blade sharply across her palm. She hissed against the pain, and blood flowed, dark crimson in the amber torchlight. Then she reversed hands and cut her other palm. Her bloodied fingers slipping on the haft of the knife as she set it aside.

“Gods,” she whispered, hope and fear spiraling up within her. “Help me to be worthy.” More, she prayed for the gods to help her understand what the dreams were telling her- about her mother. About herself, and the man who wore the hawk medallion.

Knowing there was no other way, she closed her eyes and pressed her bloodstained palms to the altar, and said the words that had come to her in a dream, though she was no seer: “Tzakaw muwan.” Summon the hawk.

A detonation rocked the room. Water splashed the walls and the footpath, and the sound of ripples turned to thin screams coming from the carved onlookers, who hadn’t moved, yet somehow seemed to gape in awe.

She turned, knowing what she would see.

He stood opposite her, at the edge where the stone and the water met. His eyes bored into hers, hard and intense and no-nonsense. He wore combat gear, with his black shirt unbuttoned at the top to show a glint of gold. He was Nate, yet not, just as she was Alexis, yet not.

She was the smoke and he was the hawk. And that was all that really mattered as his eyes darkened and he strode toward her, his intent as clear as the need inside her. . .