Miles’ dream began the same each night.  Falling into the depths, a stomach-churning drop into an abyss with neither beginning nor end.  The surrounding darkness was near total, the thin line to which he fell a black beyond black—an absence of not only light, but reality itself.  No wind rushed upward to greet him, yet he knew he fell.  Nothing to see, but his eyes were open.  No sounds, no odors.  It was as if his senses—though still functioning—received no input.  There was no sensation to tell him he approached the line in any appreciable way, no manner in which to judge his speed, but he knew with conviction he would pass through that Stygian darkness soon enough.

Something’s changed.

He should have awakened by now; he always...

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