[h3][color=92278f][b]Katherine[/b][/color][/h3]
Of course it's not a dream. Of course it's not. When you're dreaming, you accept whatever nonsense the unconscious cooks up, you don't think to yourself, ‘oh, what a dream this is’. Delusion is reassuring, though. She studies the man's face with a resentment she knows is unfair. Still, it rankles her—the ease of his statement, the ease with which he opens the door. She barely caught a glimpse of the first person to go through. This isn't a dream, so how do they charge into the unknown with such confidence? What the hell is going on? 

Standing, Katherine tugs at the hem of her sweatshirt. At least she still has something from home. Her mind veers to the alternative—if she woke up wearing different clothes, what could have happened during the vulnerability of sleep—and she wrenches it back on course. Focus. There’s only two other people left in the room. The man hasn’t said a word since she awoke. At least [i]he[/i] seems appropriately confused. His heavy brow settles like sediment over his eyes. She steps up beside the woman who fell, trying not to startle her. Looking between the two, Katherine says, [color=92278f]“Okay. Um. We may not know what’s happening, but we’ve got to stay calm.”[/color] She hooks her thumbs in her pockets. [color=92278f]“I’m Kathy. Hey.” [/color]