Steve said, “attended a Rêve seven days ago put on by an outfit called Silver Sunrise that caters to retirees.” The report was brief, but he didn’t need much detail to paint the picture. He wanted just enough to make sure that Maisie understood what she’d been involved in, and what her holding out meant. Just about anyone else he could crack like a nut, but she was naturally strong, and at the moment too guarded. Thus far, she’d only conceded enough to provide the real-life names and dreams of people like Graeme, in the middle of the chain. Not the one at the end, to whom the old man was to be delivered. Steve cursed himself for not pressing her on it earlier. Instinct had urged him to get beyond Graeme, but he’d wanted to give Maisie time to settle into the idea of Chimera and to work out on her own whether or not she wanted to join. The delay was his mistake, not hers. He’d had no idea someone was suffering, and neither had she. Steve had reinitiated the Silver Sunrise Rêve—unsurprised that it hadn’t been used since William went missing.
