Peeling away from the sandy strip of beach has revealed a series of islands, all linked to one another in a self-contained archipelago and, alarmingly, lacking any sort of immediate, detectable threat. Given the historic nature of the Rift's dreams, Rush decides to view that departure from the anticipated norm as deeply suspicious, and Arista is inclined to agree.

The jagged rock looming over the crash and swell of waves appears largely deserted, unlike many of the other scattered stretches of land. Motivated by the possibility of achieving some reasonable fucking isolation, he begins scaling the steeply sloping rock at once.

What he discovers is not the deserted solitude he believed would exist on the island's peak.

Instead there is a man, lying face down, and a bird making a great deal of insufferable noise, apparently on his behalf.

Rush examines the scene with a flatly appraising look.

"Well," says Arista with sedate indifference, eyes closing once in a slow, dismissive blink. "Having trouble, are you?"