Henry returns to his old campus, where the familiarity only sharpens his dread of disappointing others. Dean Melrose greets him warmly and, to Henry’s shock, offers him a tenure position in the theology school, treating Henry as an obvious, desirable choice despite Henry’s stalled academic past.

When Melrose asks what Henry wants for himself, Henry can only admit he doesn’t know—the same uncertainty that derailed his PhD. Henry considers how learning once made him happy, before “choosing” solidified into permanent life decisions, and briefly wonders if teaching could let him keep learning without committing to a single path.

Henry tries to refuse by listing disqualifiers: he lacks a doctorate, and he doesn’t believe in God. Melrose dismisses each objection, even admitting he doesn’t believe either, framing dissent as academic virtue. Henry realizes the deeper problem is not theology but the unreality of every interaction: people will see what they want, not who Henry is.

Leaving campus, Henry continues turning the offer over until he reaches the bookstore. As his anxiety builds, he opens Meredith’s leftover whisky and starts drinking from a coffee cup while customers browse, waiting for someone to judge or stop him; instead, everyone smiles approvingly.

An off-duty cop enters, and Henry deliberately drinks in plain view, expecting consequences. The cop only toasts him, eyes going “frosty,” confirming that the deal’s enchantment makes Henry untouchable and unreal. The chapter closes with a litany of forced compliments and “love” that aren’t for Henry at all—proof that being adored means being unseen.