In Neal's mind, they're in the Passage des Panoramas, the ends of their little walkway cordoned off by local police and businesslike American suits.

Neal closes his eyes. "This isn't real," he mumbles. "This is definitely..."

Except it is real, isn't it? He lets go of Malcolm to press the heels of his palms against closed eyes.

"Neal," a familiar, coaxing voice says behind them. He spins, and there's Peter, hands up in the near-universal 'I come in peace' gesture.