Portentous dreams are nothing new. A city that needed saving? Even that's not new. Klara's trained herself in clinging to the fleeting memories of dreams, but this one is frustratingly elusive. There were butterflies, maybe. The earnest need to help, definitely. And one word she didn't understand the usage of: Persona.

Klara stands alone on a curb, riffling through her pockets. They're empty. Of course they are, the Bachelor had everything of hers - the energy falls out of her, and her shoulders droop. Looks like she'll be starting from nothing again.

She can't say she'll miss the Steppe much. Especially not the angry mobs.