Chapter Eleven“Welcome to Gomorrah,” Ariel says triumphantly.
Looking around, I debate pinching myself to make sure this isn’t an elaborate dream.
Though five in the evening at JFK, it’s already night in this world. The sky is clear, which allows me to take in the impossible view.
A view that drives home the point that we’re not in Kansas (or New York) anymore.
There is no moon in the sky. Instead, the darkness above us is dominated by what looks like a majestic nebula—an interstellar cloud of dust and gasses. The yellows and reds in it form long columns, eerily reminding me of fire and brimstone about to rain down from above.
Unpeeling my eyes from the surreal heavens, I look around. We’re in a colosseum-like outdoor space that serves as a gate hub, only—and I can’t believe I didn’t
