Marina pulled her sleeve down again at the cafe counter. The mark was still there, a curling line of blue and purple scales pressed into her forearm like a stamp. She had touched something in the dreamscape last night. A small creature, warm, watching her near the rocks. Now it was wearing her skin. She had forty drawings in her bag and a goal she had carried since she was twelve: prove the place was real. She had never planned for the place to prove itself back. The barista glanced at her arm. Marina froze, then slid a napkin over the shimmer. She paid in coins and left without her coffee. Outside, she stopped under a streetlight and lifted the sleeve again. The scales had not faded. If anything, they had spread a knuckle's width. She took out her phone and photographed the mark, then her arm beside a ruler from her bag. The map was no longer just drawings. The map was on her now, and she had to decide who, if anyone, she could show.