There's a thrilling, terrifying freedom to fleeing monsters in a mortal body all his own. Before Revan, John had been only a hand and a foot: every mad dash had been a chaos of attempted coordination, trying to pivot in sync, shouting orders. Now he can seize on scraps of instinct and just run.

He bolts down the hallway and throws himself headlong into the place where gravity shifts. It's a clumsy, stumbled landing onto the wall that behaves like solid floor, but he manages to keep his feet. The localized physics of this place make no less sense than those in the Dreamlands. He doesn't miss more than a step before he's scrambling around the next corner.

There. A patient room: a room with an ensuite. John flings open the door and hopes for a working shower.