Cassian—the real, present Cassian—appeared in the field. He was an old man now, even though he was only thirty-four. The rain washed over his face, and for the first time in twelve years, he wept. Not the silent, mannequin tears. Real, ugly, gasping sobs.
“Cassian!” she called. Her voice echoed without hope. ange venus
“Yes,” Elara said, her own dream-form dissolving at the edges as the Ange Venus began to withdraw her. “That’s how you know it’s real.” Cassian—the real, present Cassian—appeared in the field