Paul and Sophia rarely use anything so crude as words in their seamless flurry of unspoken communication; when he speaks aloud to her, it's a game. So when he knows whispers into Paul's mind, it gives him pause. His hand flattens on the table.

Maybe he does, Paul thinks. Maybe this is Paul's purpose, here, the reason for his dreams, the path he may step on to see them in his waking hours. He has been lost. Is it so wrong to want to be found?

"If you find no one better suited," Paul says, by way of yes, terribly casual and calm, "I'd like to see some of these waves myself."