Riale wakes up and knows instantly that something is very, very wrong.
He doesn't know why at first; he sits up in bed and looks around warily, trying to pinpoint the feeling. Then he realizes: his heart isn't racing, his mind isn't full of half-remembered images of a howling shattered sky. He can remember a few fragments of his dreams, and they were the kind of peaceful gentle nonsense he gets from a dozy afternoon nap where he never falls all the way asleep. He's well rested, he slept the night through, and he didn't have a single nightmare.
"What the fuck," he says aloud.