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Allison wakes up to a familiar figure seated in the chair beside her hospital bed. She thinks she might be dreaming because it’s been four long years. And if she is being honest with herself, it wouldn’t be the first time Lydia Martin has preoccupied her dreams. “You’re in my city, you know that? It’s inconvenient of you to almost die here,” says Lydia, who is currently focused on a compact mirror and the careful reapplication of blood-red lipstick.