I arrive at a final pair of doors and step inside, suddenly blanketed in darkness. Wherever we are, light seems to be a commodity that's scarce at best, but in here, the only way I'm able to see much of anything is when I turn on night vision, resting my eyes on row after row of seats, as though Jason's brought me here to set the stage. He's never been the theatrical type, in my memory. Even when everything came clear and in the open, one moment too long and a decision too forced, leaving us at odds for the rest of days, he never needed an audience. Except with me.

Sending out a signal through the cowl, Alfred doesn't answer. Out of reach, surely too far below ground. Perhaps my first priority should be to return to the surface, to speak of all that I've seen, and to make sure that those who still spend the days waiting for my return should be made aware of the fact that I am not gone, no matter how much time has slipped. Yet I find myself standing in front of the impossible admission, sheer disbelief over the fact that with each passing second, it becomes clear that what Jason fears right now is not some intangible threat that he tries to lead me to, but instead myself. In a way that I don't remember.

"Where are we?" I ask, though I don't stop moving, I don't trust anyone involved not to strike out at first chance. "What is this place?"