"Real water," Flynn says, gentle, smoothing right past that edge. How can he fault her for it? He'd had to sit on the edge of the steaming pool for nearly an hour, suspicious and too afraid to hope, before getting up the courage to put a foot in. Even then he'd scouted around the entire building, into its nooks and crannies, smelling for the copper-scent of blood.

"Clean and clear," he continues softly. "I checked. It's beyond strange, Cecelia. It's like... like Wellstone put on different clothes. I can't begin to think what it means, and I'm sure you'll be able to put something together once you've had a chance to poke around, which you really don't have to do now, if you'd rather stay here."