It’s not a room with my dad asleep on a couch or bed. We’ve stepped into a facsimile of a beach at night. A warm, salty breeze rushes through my hair. The sound of an ocean laps at the edge of a white, sandy bank, and the ceiling is an endless sky. Moonlight shimmers off the waves and stars twinkle, casting soft light on the flower garden at our feet.

“The ocean of tears,” I whisper, overwhelmed by thoughts of the first night we spent in Wonderland on a rowboat. Even though we were in a mystical place with death and lunacy at every turn, it was the safest I’ve ever felt because I fell asleep in Jeb’s arms.

Now, following him to the shoreline in silence, all I can think of is how gentle he was then, how he rolled me to face him in the hull of the boat while I slept, how he stroked my hair and promised to watch over me.

He’s reconstructed one of the most romantic moments we’ve ever shared. Maybe that means he’s been trying to forgive me all this time.

Unless he considers this a bad memory.

“Jeb, why are we—”

“You’ll be going to the island to sleep,” he interrupts. A surge of white light sweeps by. In the distance, a plateau looms high in the middle of the ocean. A working lighthouse sits atop the rocky slope. Jeb kneels and digs out a rope hidden in the sand. He tugs, straining the shimmery fabric of his shirt. A rowboat comes into view, closer with each pull. “You’ll be out of reach of the others across the water.”

Others. His cryptic explanation reminds me of the fairy sketch’s threat: You should be in pieces like the others.

“What others, Jeb? What else have you made?”

He hesitates, his body stiff.

“Butterfly!” Dad’s eager shout startles me. His form takes shape in the dim light, sitting in the hull.

Jeb heaves the boat ashore.

Dad leans forward and shakes his hand. “Thank you for bringing her.”

Jeb dips his head in acknowledgment. He steps back, giving me room to climb in.

Dad holds out a palm. I reach for him, but only when my fingers meet his warm and callused skin do I relax and step over the bow. He helps me onto a seat.

“Dad, I thought you were—”

“I’m okay, sweetie,” he answers, hugging me. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

I turn back to Jeb. “You’re going to stay with us tonight, aren’t you? We have to plan how to get everyone home. Please . . .”

“I’ll take the sea horse out to search for your duffel bag,” he says, avoiding my gaze. “There are clothes in the lighthouse for tonight. I’ll see that you have your own to wear tomorrow. Then we’ll discuss getting you both to the Wonderland gate.”

“Getting us there?” I gape at him in disbelief. “We’re not leaving AnyElsewhere without you!”

He scoots the boat into the water. Sand grates along the bottom as we cast off. “You’ll find food in the cupboards. There’s a yellow flower indigenous to this world. Morpheus saw some wildlife eating it once. It must have all the nutrients we need, because we’ve been living off of it and the occasional rabbit. There’s rainwater to drink. It won’t take much to fill you.” Having said that, he nods to Dad, a signal for him to row.

“Jebediah, you know you’re welcome to come.” Dad pauses, waiting to see if Jeb will change his mind. When he doesn’t, Dad picks up the oars.

Jeb watches our progress as glistening waves lap at the bow and the paddles dig through the water. The lighthouse’s beam sweeps by, illuminating the glint of his green eyes and his glowing tattoo. Then he’s gone, back the way he came, headed for the door.

Dad stops rowing long enough to touch my hand. “Allie.”

Loneliness cleaves through me in all the places that Jeb has always occupied. “He can’t stay here. He has to go back home, Dad.”

“It’s late. We’re all tired. I’m sure tomorrow he’ll see things differently. If we give him space, he’ll make the right decision. We need to have faith in him.”

“He hates me.”

Dad sighs. “No, sweetie. If that were true, then why is he still protecting you? He’s sending us to the island because he’s worried for your safety.”

“How is being on some lame island supposed to protect us?”

Dad resumes rowing. “Not sure. I was hoping he would’ve explained that to you.”

I clench my hands on the edges of the boat. “He won’t confide in me about anything. He’s even closer to Morpheus than me.” My bones weigh heavy, and my emotions are wrung dry. I lean my head back, closing my eyes so the sound of swirling water can unwind my knotted nerves.

“Well, it makes sense that they’re close,” Dad says. “Considering Jeb fused with Morpheus’s magic when they came through the gate.”

My eyes snap open and I sit up, stunned.

That’s why. Jeb’s barb to Morpheus about the pupil and the tutor, the strange purple color of the magic . . . how they’ve overlooked their hatred for each other and learned to coexist. More than coexist. Bond. Two guys who once were enemies have learned to rely on each other for survival.

“Allie, you okay?”

“I just . . . I wish he’d told me himself.”

“He was closed off with me, too,” Dad says. “When he first found me in the empty room where that creature left me. But we talked about my past and your mom’s predicament. I apologized for being wrong about him on prom night. He forgave me. He’ll do the same for you. Just be honest with him. Deep inside, he understands you didn’t mean to send him here.”

It’s so much worse than that. You don’t even know. If only I had the energy to tell Dad everything, but I’m too tired to even try. The light passes over the boat before leaving us in darkness again. I won’t fall victim to the pity party gnawing at me. I’ll win Jeb’s trust back. Till then, I’ll take comfort in the fact that he can confide in Dad.

“On the upside,” Dad continues, “it looks like Jeb has the lion’s share of the powers since he’s human and the iron doesn’t affect him the same. He rations it out to Morpheus through his creations. That’s how Morpheus can perform magic without mutating.”

I purse my lips. “Wait. It was the griffon cane that was magic, not Morpheus? That’s what needed to recharge?”