The station they arrived at looked familiar to Noah. The same Gothic design, the same stained-glass skylights — as if some lazy architect had copied the station he’d seen in the Sphere with a single press of a button.

  Only this one had four rows of tracks, and passengers were disembarking onto four separate platforms at the same time. Despite some trams arriving half-empty or completely vacant, the place was bustling with people of all kinds. Some looked lively and curious, others confused and clearly out of place. Every one of them was glancing around, unsure where to go next.

  Almost immediately, Noah noticed the signs pointing out directions for newcomers. They were even color-coded so that one could follow them without reading the text. He realized that all the signs were in his mother language — or at least that’s how he saw them.

  “Attention, first-time arrivals to Regia!” a voice echoed from the station speakers — once again in Noah’s native language, without a trace of an accent. “All essential information and assistance are available at the Information and Tourism Center. Please follow the blue arrows to reach it.”

  The announcement was repeated once more, followed by a warm welcome to Regia and wishes for a pleasant day.

  The crowd began moving in the direction of the blue signs. Feeling a bit uncertain, Noah decided to hang back and watch.

  On a continent way smaller than Lithuania, there had to be some kind of system that allowed three billion souls — or corpses, or whatever they were called here—to coexist.

  Maybe in Regia, everyone lived in a compact form, shrunken into those blue glowing orbs, neatly arranged on their shelves?

  So far, though, Noah saw only normal people taking up normal space. And since the Voice in the tram had mentioned that the entire volume of the continent was being used, perhaps it wasn’t as small as he had imagined.

  Still, he chose to keep to the sidelines and see what would happen. So far, he hadn’t seen a single sign that said Welcome to Paradise.

  * * *

  The Information and Tourism Center stood conveniently beside the station.

  In front of it spread a broad square, bordered on the other sides by residential buildings and open-air cafés.

  At its center, atop a black stone pedestal, rose a tall statue of four medieval warriors gazing wearily toward the four corners of the world.

  Noah noticed that not a single building looked remotely modern. Gothic, Romanesque, and Classical styles dominated the streets and building exteriors. He began to suspect that even the skyscrapers he’d glimpsed earlier had been built in one of those same styles.

  At the café tables beneath the umbrellas, people watched the newcomers with open curiosity. Some even waved in greeting.

  “How strange,” murmured Adrian, who had been walking beside him.

  “What is?”

  “The cafés,” the punk said, jerking his chin toward them.

  Noah looked again — and his eyes widened as it hit him.

  The dead didn’t need food. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt hungry. So what were cafés doing here? Just for show?

  But no — there was a waitress, apron and all, weaving between tables and serving customers. Like in a real café.

  “Maybe this is some kind of setup,” Adrian muttered, lowering his voice. “Like that crap they pull in North Korea.”

  “You’ve been there?” Noah asked.

  “Nah. But I knew a couple of folks who went. Said you can’t take a single step without some guide breathing down your neck. They watch your every move. And look — see those locals under the umbrellas? Or the ones by the exit? They’re all staring at us. Not one of em’s moving. Like they’re waiting for something.”

  Or maybe they’re just bored locals, Noah thought.

  “Want to find out?” he asked Adrian.

  “Hm… If they hauled us here to cage us, whatever. No point waiting to find out. "

  They both stepped away from the rest of the crowd, heading toward the nearest café. Instantly, they drew attention, though none of the onlookers moved or tried to stop them or tell them to go back to the Tourism Center.

  Finding an empty table, Noah pulled out a chair and sat down, quickly glancing at the nearest patrons.

  None of them was eating or drinking. He saw only books and strange, small vessels on the tables — something like incense burners.

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  Adrian sat down beside him, shooting bold, challenging glances around the café.

  Then a third person joined them — the twelve-year-old girl who had been traveling with the doll-like office woman. For some reason, she chose to follow Noah and Adrian’s lead this time. She looked at both of them in silence, shrugged lightly, and said nothing.

  “Is it just me, or does everyone look completely relaxed?” Noah asked, scanning the café.

  “Yeah, they totally don't give a shit,” Adrian agreed. “So, what now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Noah admitted. “But correct me if I’m wrong — none of us feel hungry or thirsty, right?”

  The girl and the punk both shook their heads.

  “Welcome!” greeted the approaching waitress. She was around thirty, with grayish-blue eyes and a broad, cheerful smile — as if life in this city carried no worries at all. “May I take your order?”

  “We just arrived,” Noah said, pointing toward the crowd still moving by the station. “We don’t have any money or—”

  “Of course you don’t,” she said, still smiling. “Regia doesn’t use money. Here, take a menu.”

  “Seriously?” the punk raised an eyebrow. “So~ everyone here’s broke?”

  The woman gave him a curious look, as if evaluating his manners.

  “But if there’s no money,” Noah said, “then how does this café stay open? Why do you work here?”

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked, suddenly serious.

  “Noah.”

  “Noah, have you ever worked as a waitress at an outdoor café?”

  “N… no, never,” he stammered.

  “Neither had I,” she confessed. “When I was alive, I never worked in a café or in an office on the twentieth floor. Or as a news anchor on live television. There were many things I never got to do — mostly because I didn’t have the time. I had to raise my son, working the first job that came my way. But here? Here, no one runs out of time. That’s why this time, I’m a waitress at an outdoor café.”

  She smiled again and nodded toward the menu in Adrian’s hands.

  “Go on, take a look. Choose something. Oh, and my name’s Alice.”

  She walked off to serve another table.

  “Hey, check this out…” Adrian nudged Noah, flipping the pages. “It’s a list of books… and some kind of perfumes?”

  Noah glanced over.

  “Incense,” he corrected. “And essential oils. Looks like this isn’t the kind of café we expected.”

  The twelve-year-old moved closer to see for herself.

  “All the books are by the same author,” she observed. “That Alice woman — she’s offering her own novels.”

  Noah looked at the girl, slightly surprised. She was very young, yet sharp-minded — maybe even sharper than him or Adrian. No wonder she had passed the Sphere’s test.

  “So this is, what, a literature café?” Adrian looked around. “With incense and hookahs?”

  “And with a view of the newcomers from the station,” came a voice from the next table.

  A woman sat there alone. She looked maybe a year or two younger than Noah, though guessing anyone’s true age here seemed pointless.

  She was a curly-haired blonde, her face decorated with tiny star-shaped glitter. Very pretty, and seemingly friendly, though her smile wasn’t as broad as Alice’s. She wore a simple white summer dress — likely the one she had died in. Maybe she’d been an actress or a model?

  But why had she died so young? Another one who’d slipped and fallen, perhaps?

  “So people gather here just to watch the arrivals?” Noah asked.

  “Most do,” the blonde nodded. “Especially those who died relatively recently. They watch the newcomers, hoping to see someone they know. Of course, the odds are tiny — about the same percentage you heard on the tram. But hope, as they say, is a fool's game, so…”

  She waved her hand dismissively instead of finishing the thought, then quickly glanced toward Alice, who had frozen in place.

  “Sorry.” The blonde smiled apologetically.

  The waitress wiped her hands on her apron and slowly walked off toward the farther tables.

  “Oh, now I’ll have to order something,” sighed the blonde. “That mouth of mine... Anyway, you three should order something too — don’t be shy. You heard her: there’s no money here. She works only because she wants to.”

  “I… I’m Adrian,” said the punk suddenly, straightening up and blushing a little. “This is Noah. And the girl…” he looked at the teenager, “what’s your name?”

  The twelve-year-old glanced at him indifferently, then looked back at the blonde.

  “Beata.”

  “Short for Beatrice?” the woman raised an eyebrow. “From France, perhaps?”

  The girl nodded.

  “I’m Audrie,” the blonde smiled. “Nice to meet a fellow countrywoman.”

  “I’m from Germany,” Adrian waved. “And he’s Lithuanian.”

  Noah stayed silent, watching the punk in mild disbelief. Apparently, even death hadn’t cleared the hormones out of his system.

  “Nice to meet you all,” said Audrie, smiling warmly.

  She really did seem like a lovely woman.