And she dreamed. She dreamed she was being dragged beneath dark water and she floated in it, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, barely a body at all. A light glimmered beneath her feet—she did not go toward it; rather, it swam towards her, growing unsteadily brighter and larger as it neared.
It wasn’t a light, really—it was a picture, a vision, a room she had never seen before, but the sense of familiarity was stifling, as if there were something there to which she was drawn. But she could not see details, just waited, suspended, as the light-picture grew larger and larger and closer and closer until it was wider than she was, almost at her face. Then it passed through her, or rather she through it, and she was inside as one would float inside a soap bubble.
Jericho was there.
She was in
