He's fully awake now; he has been since Combeferre first began to self-consciously laugh off his account of a dream of daemons and planning in 1830. He folds his arms, his brow furrowing in intent thought.

(Last week, that fierce stare into abstract nothingness would have been twinned by a golden raptorial one. He's not thinking of that, because he never saw it from the outside.)

"Did the others share it too, I wonder? Or others besides us? That is to say -- was it only a shared vision, or did it truly happen here?"