The wind was warm on Mal’s face. It seemed much warmer to him than it had been the last time he was here. Then again, if this was a dream world, or whatever it was, he supposed it didn’t have to make sense. Looking around at the burning ruins of Haven, Mal cleared his throat. “What’re we doin’ here? Where’s Gab?”

“Were you not done on Hera?” Book proposed. “Were there other loose ends to tie up? Were you not finished with Gabriel?”

Mal shrugged. “I guess not,” he replied. “So, what’ve you got here for me?”

Without an answer, Book began strolling down the dusty street. Mal followed him, and they stopped at the spot where the Shepherd had died.

The memory Book lay on the ground, bleeding from the sword wound through his torso. Mal glanced around to see if the ghostly mirrors of himself, his crew, and his ship were arriving, but none were in sight.

“The Operative came to my new home, his men murdered my people, and he slew me in the street,” the standing Book began. “All of this death… just to get to River.”

Mal swallowed a lump in his throat. He fought at the watering in his eyes, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t spill out. “I know, Shepherd,” he spoke after coughing the choke from his voice.

“You could have prevented this, Mal,” Book informed. “You could have stopped all of it from happening. All you would have needed to do was give River to the Alliance.”

Mal nodded in silence concurrence.

“That price was not worth the alternative world it would have created,” Book stated with finality. “You would feel much, much worse had you given River up, thus, saving the lives of me, my people, and all of the other people at your various hideouts. You made the right choice, and you should feel no shame, nor regret, about that choice.”

Mal stood, staring at the other Book, the Book that was dying on the sun-baked ground before him. He had nothing to say, so he merely listened.

“What you should feel, instead, is anger. Anger toward the Alliance, but not toward yourself. Vengeance is not an option, Ma