What's next?

Day 5 - Afternoon 2/2

The corridor outside Nixie’s shop was wide and polished and offensively calm, with pale gold trim along the walls and soft blue-white lights tucked politely into the ceiling like the Hotel had never once done anything cruel in its entire impossible life.

Lizzy pressed both hands over her face and tried to breathe through her fingers. Her shirt was solid again, that should have helped.

Van had seen her. Van had seen the statue. Van had seen her losing control because she had looked at a little crystal version of herself kneeling behind him in a bath and had immediately forgotten how clothes worked.

She bent forward until her forehead nearly touched the wall.

“Please let the floor open,” she whispered. “Please let this be one of the floors that just opens and swallows me.”

The floor was a traitor and did nothing to help. The Hotel, in Lizzy’s opinion, showed a very selective interest in helpful miracles.

Footsteps approached from behind her. Heavy, fast, direct.

Lizzy stiffened.

“Don’t run,” Fiona said. “I’ll catch you, and then we’ll both look stupid.”

Lizzy lowered her hands just enough to look sideways.

Fiona stopped a few paces away, arms folded, red hair still a little wild from the argument in the shop. Her expression had the hard, focused set she wore before breaking things. Lizzy had seen it in training. She had seen it when Fiona looked at Cassie. She had seen it when anyone with authority said something Fiona didn’t like.

Now Fiona was aiming it at her.

Lizzy immediately looked down. “I’m sorry.”

Fiona’s eyebrow twitched. “For what?”

“For making everyone deal with that.”

“That?” Fiona asked.

Lizzy’s face heated so fast she thought her hair might catch fire. “The statue.”

“Which part of the statue are you apologizing for? Being made into it, finding it, dropping it, or having a normal reaction to a magical shop selling humiliating little crystal traps?”

Lizzy opened her mouth, but nothing useful came out.

Fiona stepped closer and pointed back toward the shop. “That thing was on a shelf with a price and a plaque. Nixie put it there. The Hotel made it. The audience probably enjoyed imagining someone buying it. None of that makes you the mastermind behind the scheme.”

“I know,” Lizzy said, because she did know that in the same useless way she knew that a person could technically survive falling from a great height if the circumstances were perfect. “I know. I just…”

Her voice gave out.

Fiona watched her for a moment. Some of the sharpness left her face, though none of the intensity did. “You’re ashamed.”

Lizzy nodded. “You should be angry.”

Lizzy tried to laugh. It came out thin and miserable. “I don’t think anger would help.”

“It helps me.”

“Yes,” Lizzy said before she could stop herself. “I noticed.”

Fiona’s mouth twitched.

Lizzy swallowed. “Sorry.”

“No. That one was fair.”

Lizzy rubbed her palms down the front of her shirt, checking again that it was solid. It was. The fabric wrinkled under her fingers exactly the way fabric was supposed to. “I’m not good at anger.”

“You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to have it.”

“I don’t know what I would do with it.”

“Start with not turning it into embarrassment every time someone hurts you.”

Lizzy looked up.

Fiona’s voice had changed. It was still blunt, but the edge had moved. It was no longer pointed at Lizzy. It was pointed past her, into some private distance Lizzy couldn’t see.

“You fold everything inward,” Fiona said. “Someone shoves you, and you apologize for standing where they wanted to shove. Someone scares you, and you apologize for making them watch you be scared. Someone turns you into a shelf decoration, and you apologize for noticing.”

Lizzy wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t think of a denial that would work. “I’m trying,” is what she settled for.

Lizzy hugged herself. “There’s something I need to do.”

Fiona waited.

Lizzy looked back toward the shop. “I need to talk to Mara.”

“About the statue?”

“No.” Lizzy shut her eyes. “Something else.”

Fiona studied her, and Lizzy braced for the questions.

What thing? Why Mara? How bad is it? Is this another Hotel trick? Does Van know?

Fiona asked none of them. Instead she asked, “Do I need to know?”

Lizzy opened her eyes.

Fiona’s shoulders were squared, but her hands had loosened. “I’m not being polite. I’m asking tactically. Do I need the secret to help?”

“No,” Lizzy said. Then, because Fiona seemed to value useful answers over tidy ones, she added, “I don’t think so.”

“Fine. Then I don’t need it.” Fiona glanced back toward Nixie’s door. “What you need is five minutes alone with Mara and no audience.”

Lizzy’s stomach twisted. “I can’t go back in there.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I really can’t.”

“You walked through a **** maze this morning with Van-shaped **** dolls hunting you.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I wasn’t embarrassed.”

Fiona stared at her.

Lizzy winced. “That sounded ridiculous.”

The admission settled between them, awkward and solid.

Lizzy looked at the floor again. “I’m not like you. Or Naomi. Or Cassie. I can’t just make myself bigger when something happens.”

Fiona snorted. “Personalities don’t have size. They have volume,” Fiona said. “Some people get loud because they’ve decided everyone needs to hear them. Some people get quiet because they’ve decided nobody should. That doesn’t mean there’s less of you.”

Lizzy didn’t know what to do with that. It wasn’t gentle enough to feel like a comfort. It wasn’t easy enough to dismiss as advice. It sat in her chest at an odd angle, uncomfortable and strangely useful.

Fiona jerked her chin toward the shop. “Here’s the plan. We go back. If Van’s still there, I drag him away.”

“You drag him?”

“Yes.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be dragged?”

“He’s polite and guilty. He’ll come.”

Lizzy almost smiled.

Fiona noticed and looked satisfied in a grim sort of way. “Then you talk to Mara. You don’t need to be angry if that’s not the tool you can use. Be brave. Be loud. Be direct. Pick one.”

Lizzy took a slow breath. “All right,” she said.

Fiona nodded once. “Good.”

Then she turned and marched back toward Nixie’s Atelier like she intended to rescue a hostage or start a war.

Van was very carefully not looking at the shelf.

Nixie had taken the crystal figure from him with both hands, inspected it for cracks, and returned it to its exact place between two other little statues whose plaques Van did not want to read. Then she had given him a smile bright enough to light a room. “Excellent catch, Master Van.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

Nixie’s smile widened. “As you wish.”

Mara had rescued him by touching his elbow and saying, “Let’s step outside.”

Van had never been more grateful to walk through a door. They were now standing in the corridor just beyond the shop, far enough away that the rows of crystal bodies were no longer visible, close enough that Van still felt like the tiny crystal eyes were watching him through the wall.

Mara stood with her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She was composed, but not calm. Her gaze kept drifting toward the direction Lizzy and Fiona had gone.

“She’ll be all right,” Van said.

Mara looked at him.

“I mean,” he corrected, “I hope she’ll be all right. That was supposed to be less stupid than it sounded.”

“It was kind,” Mara said. “Only a little stupid.” Mara’s mouth curved faintly, but the worry remained.

Van rubbed the back of his neck. “I came looking for you because Evelyn made a good point.”

“Evelyn?”

“She said I should stop trying to guess what you’d enjoy and ask you.”

“That does sound like Evelyn.”

Mara’s smile became real for a second, then softened into curiosity. “So you came to ask what I want to do tonight.”

“Yes.” Van exhaled. “The date. The bond assignment. Whatever the Hotel wants to call it.”

Mara’s gaze sharpened slightly.

Van caught it too late. “What?” he asked.

“You do that.”

“I do what?”

“You step on the word before anyone else can.”

Van frowned.

Mara leaned one shoulder against the wall. Her posture was casual, but her tone was careful. “You called it a date, then immediately corrected it into an assignment.”

“It is an assignment.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s ****.”

“Yes.”

“And calling it a date like it’s normal feels…” Van searched for the least bad word. “Dishonest.”

Mara nodded. “I understand that.”

He waited, but she didn’t let him escape into the silence.

“But when you say it that way,” Mara continued, “it doesn’t only sound like you are saying we are going on a date because the system is forcing us.”

Van’s hand stilled against the back of his neck.

“It sounds,” Mara said, “like you are saying none of us would ever go on a date with you unless we were ****.”

Van looked away. The corridor had a decorative seam where gold trim met pale stone. The line was perfectly straight. He focused on that because it was easier than looking at her.

“That isn’t what I mean,” he said, breathing in to sigh.

The Hotel smelled faintly of warm stone and some floral polish that probably had a name. Nothing smelled like smoke. Nothing smelled like antiseptic. Nothing smelled like blood under old carpet.

His body was still prepared for all three. “I don’t think about it that directly,” he said.

Mara waited.

He glanced at her, then away again. “There were a lot of years where planning for anything romantic felt… theoretical.”

“Because of the Alters.”

He nodded once.

Mara didn’t fill the space with sympathy.

“I didn’t expect to get married,” Van said. “I didn’t expect to build something with anyone. I didn’t expect to be around long enough for the question to become practical. And after a while, I think I stopped treating myself like someone who would be chosen.”

Mara’s expression softened.

Van **** himself not to apologize for making the conversation heavy. That would only prove her point.

“So when the Hotel says date,” he said, “I hear trap. Obligation. Scoreboard. Audience expectation. I don’t hear something someone might want.”

“You should hear the trap,” Mara said. “That part is real.”

“I know.”

“But it is not the only real part.”

Van looked at her.

Mara’s eyes were steady. “This place is hard on us. It is also hard on you. I don’t think acknowledging that steals anything from what has been done to the contestants.”

Van swallowed. He wanted to reject it on reflex. He wanted to say he was fine, or that his discomfort did not matter, or that the Master title made any complaint from him obscene.

“I’m not good at this,” he said.

“No.” She smiled. “You are not.”

“That was very fast.”

“You have other virtues.”

“Do I get a list?” He gave a short laugh despite himself.

Mara’s smile lingered. Then she looked down the corridor, toward the wider intersection that led to the residential wing and the facilities beyond. “I know what I want to do.”

Van straightened. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I want to cook a big meal.”

Van stared at her.

Mara’s brows lifted. “That wasn’t meant to be alarming.”

“I just—” He stopped, recalculated, and tried again. “I don't want your date to be labor on my behalf.”

“It would be labor on my behalf.”

“You’d be the one cooking.”

“Yes,” Mara said. “Because I like cooking.”

Van shut his mouth.

Mara stepped away from the wall. Something in her warmed as she spoke, not in the dreamy way her illusions sometimes made warmth visible, but in the practical way a person lit up while remembering the shape of a familiar tool in their hand.

“I have eaten whatever the Hotel provides since we arrived,” she said. “Some of it is very good. Some of it is suspiciously good. None of it is mine. I haven’t chosen ingredients. I haven’t chopped vegetables. I haven’t ruined a sauce and saved it with panic and butter. I haven’t made too much food because I wanted people to have seconds.”

Van watched her.

“I miss that,” Mara said simply. “So yes. I want to cook a large meal for you. Not because the system ordered me into an apron. Because I would enjoy doing it. I assume the suite has a kitchen?”

He nodded dumbly, processing what she had said. The distinction struck him before he could soften it. A crystal statue on a black shelf. A plaque promising pleasure for service. Lizzy’s horrified face.

Mara, standing in the corridor, choosing the work with both eyes open.

Van nodded slowly. “Ok.”

Mara’s expression brightened with practical interest. “It’s probably a small kitchen, but I can work with whatever is available.”

For the first time since Lizzy had run from the shop, Mara looked almost settled. Then Fiona appeared at the far end of the corridor with Lizzy half a step behind her.

Van’s stomach dropped.

Lizzy looked pale, but she was walking under her own power. Her shirt was intact. Her hands were clenched in front of her, knuckles white.

Mara pushed away from the wall at once.

Fiona pointed at Van. “You. Walk.”

Van looked at Mara.

Mara looked at Lizzy.

Lizzy looked like she might vanish through the floor.

Van sighed. “I’m being dragged, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Fiona said.

“Any particular direction?”

“Away.”

“Clear enough.”

Mara’s eyes flicked to Fiona, then to Lizzy. Understanding moved across her face in one quiet piece.

“Van,” Mara said, “we can finish later.”

“Right.” He looked at Lizzy and kept his eyes on her face. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Lizzy made a tiny sound that might have been words if we were generous.

Fiona stepped in front of Van’s line of sight. “Away.”

Van lifted both hands. “Walking.”

Fiona turned on her heel and Van followed after.

Behind him, he heard Mara say softly, “Lizzy?”

Van let her set the pace. They passed the corridor leading back toward Lyra’s clothing store, then the wider gallery where a fountain poured silver water upward before letting it fall back down in slow spirals. The Hotel loved impossible water features. Van had started to suspect it considered physics a suggestion.

Fiona didn’t look at any of it. She kept her arms folded as she walked, shoulders tight, chin high. The posture looked like confidence if someone did not know what to watch.

Van knew what bracing looked like. He also knew better than to point that out. For about twenty steps.

Then Fiona said, “Don’t get ideas.”

Van looked at her. “Ideas?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

She stopped so abruptly he took two more steps before catching himself.

They were alone in a side gallery lined with tall windows overlooking a garden that had not existed from the outside. White flowers grew up black trellises. Their petals turned slightly as Van moved, tracking him with silent botanical judgment.

Fiona faced him. “You’re alone with me,” she said. “You’re the Master. I’m one of your contestants. I dragged you away from witnesses. Don’t get any ideas.”

Van stared at her. Then he said, very carefully, “Fiona, I would rather chew glass.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I mean that in the sense of, no, I am not going to make a move on you,” he said. “Not as commentary on you. You’re obviously attractive. That’s not relevant. I’m stopping now.”

“You should,” she agreed.

She watched him for another second, then turned and resumed walking.

Van followed again, more slowly. The silence lasted until they reached the next bend.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“No.”

“That’s fair.”

He stopped talking.

Fiona made it five more steps, “What?”

Van considered the options, a smarter man would let the silence win. He had never claimed to be a smarter man.

“Why do you hate me?”

Fiona stopped again. This time Van stopped with her.

“I understand hating the system,” he said before she could answer. “I understand hating the title. I understand hating anything that puts me in a position where my choices affect your body or future. I hate that too.”

Fiona’s face had gone still in a way that made her anger more obvious, not less.

Van kept his hands where she could see them. “But the others, even when they’re angry or scared, mostly treat me like a person trapped in this with them. You treat me like I’m waiting for the right moment to become the villain.”

“You want a medal for not being worse than you seem?”

“No, " he said, frustration clear. “I want to know whether I did something specific,” Van said. “Something I can stop doing.”

That slowed her down but only a little. Fiona looked past him, toward the garden windows.

For a moment, the reflection in the glass caught her face over his shoulder. She looked older there. Harder. Not because the glass distorted her, but because it removed the movement she used to keep people from reading too much.

“You stand there with power,” she said. “You pretend the power embarrasses you. Maybe it does. Maybe you even mean half the things you say. But the power still works.”

Van didn’t answer.

“I know how men act when they get enough power to make choices for the women they’re supposed to protect.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It stayed low and rough. Something in Van’s chest tightened.

He was younger for half a second. Not all the way back. Not under the bed. Not in the blood-soaked rooms. Somewhere after that. A group room with cheap chairs. A girl with her sleeves pulled over her hands. A counselor asking careful questions. A story told in fragments because the whole thing was too large to hold at once.

Fiona’s words had the same shape.

Van knew he should be careful. He knew it, but his mouth was already moving. “Who hurt you?”

Fiona turned on him and the windows vibrated as the air around her strained in time with her breathing.

Van went very still.

Fiona’s face had flushed, but her eyes were bright and cold. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” She stepped closer. “You don’t get to dig around in me because you found a sad little explanation that makes me easier to handle.”

“That isn’t what I—”

“I said no.” The word carried a thread of power.

It hit Van behind the teeth. Not pain. Pressure. An almost command shaped so precisely that his jaw shut before he realized it.

Fiona saw it happen. For one instant, something like horror moved beneath her anger. Then she buried it.

“Keep your questions to yourself,” she said. “Keep your sympathy to yourself. Keep your hands to yourself. And if this place wouldn’t punish me by turning me into a frog or a doorknob or a collectible plate, I would scream you into pieces small enough for Nixie to sell as gravel.”

Van nodded once. He did not trust his voice yet.

Fiona turned away. She made it three steps, then stopped without looking back.

“And don’t follow me.”

Van stayed where he was.

Fiona walked down the gallery alone, boots striking the polished floor hard enough that the rhythm carried long after she turned the corner.

Van waited until his jaw felt like his again. Then he exhaled.

“Good work,” he muttered to himself. “Very normal conversation, A plus.”

Lizzy had expected Mara to ask what happened in the shop.

She waited until Fiona and Van were gone. Then she guided Lizzy away from Nixie’s door and toward a recessed bench beneath a tall arrangement of glass leaves. The leaves chimed softly when the corridor’s air moved.

Mara sat first, leaving space beside her. Lizzy sat at the far edge of that space. For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Mara looked at her with the gentleness that always made Lizzy feel both safer and more likely to confess every bad thought she had ever had.

“I am not going to ask about the statue unless you want me to,” Mara said.

Lizzy’s face went hot. “Thank you.”

“I am going to ask whether you are physically all right.”

“Yes.”

Lizzy stared at her knees.

Be direct, Fiona had said. Or brave. Or loud. But Lizzy didn’t feel loud. She didn’t even feel medium.

But maybe Fiona was right about volume. Maybe quiet could still carry if she stopped swallowing her words.

“Mara,” Lizzy said.

Lizzy gripped the hem of her shirt. “There’s something wrong with your dreams.”

Mara’s expression changed. The softness withdrew, replaced by a focused stillness Lizzy recognized from training rooms and emergency drills.

“What do you mean?”

Lizzy **** herself to keep going. “At night. Or early in the morning. I don’t know exactly when it starts. Sometimes when you’re asleep, your illusions happen by themselves.”

Mara didn’t move.

Lizzy’s fingers tightened in the fabric. “They’re not solid. They’re kind of translucent. Like reflections, except they’re in the room. And I think they’re dreams. Or fantasies. Or maybe feelings? I don’t know.”

Lizzy kept talking because stopping now would be fatal.

“I saw one the first night after the transformation. I thought maybe it was just a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. But it did. This morning there was one with mirrors. Like a lingerie store. Dream-you was trying things on for someone sitting in a chair. I couldn’t see his face.”

Color drained from Mara’s cheeks.

Lizzy’s stomach dropped. “I’m sorry.”

Mara stood but didn’t walk away. She only turned, one hand lifting toward her mouth before she lowered it again. “How many times?” Mara asked.

“Basically every night. I should have told you sooner,” she gushed. “I know I should have.”

Mara opened her eyes. Hurt sat plainly on her face now, not hidden, not sharpened into accusation. Somehow that was harder to face. “Why didn’t you?”

Lizzy’s throat tightened. There were many answers. None of them seemed large enough.

“When my powers started going wrong,” Lizzy said, “after the transformation, you helped me.”

Mara’s brow furrowed.

“When things phased,” Lizzy said. “When I dropped things. When my clothes…” She stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “You pretended it wasn’t happening unless I needed help. You made it easier. You let me keep some dignity.”

Mara’s expression shifted from hurt toward something more complicated.

“I thought,” Lizzy said, “if I told you right away, it would make it worse. I thought maybe the kindest thing was to act like I hadn’t seen anything. The way you did for me.”

“Oh, Lizzy.”

“I know that was wrong.”

Mara sat again, closer this time, though she did not touch Lizzy. “Are the dreams dangerous?”

“I don’t think so. Not like an attack. But they’re private.” Lizzy looked down. “And they keep happening.”

Mara absorbed that.

Lizzy could see the moment the next question formed.

“Does anyone else know?”

“No,” Lizzy said quickly. “I don’t think so. Just me. I mean, unless the Hotel knows. The Hotel probably knows. But none of the girls. Not Van.”

Mara exhaled.

“I had to tell you before tonight,” Lizzy said. “Because of the date.”

Lizzy pushed on, miserable and determined. “I know you want it to go well.”

“I do want it to go well.”

“I know.” Lizzy’s voice got smaller. “That makes sense.”

Mara’s attention sharpened again, but this time the focus was different.

Lizzy didn’t notice quickly enough to stop herself.

“Van is nice,” she said. “And he’s handsome. And he tries so hard to be good about everything. And you’re you, so of course you would know how to make him feel normal, and he would probably…” She stopped because Mara’s face had become very still. “What?”

Mara studied her.

Lizzy’s heart began to pound for a completely different reason. “What?” she repeated.

“Lizzy,” Mara said slowly, “do you think I am hoping tonight becomes romantic?”

Lizzy’s mouth opened. No answer came out. That was, unfortunately, an answer.

Mara leaned back slightly. “Ah.”

“It’s not my business,” Lizzy said at once. “I know it’s not. I wasn’t judging. I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

Lizzy wanted to phase through the bench. The bench, apparently, had no interest in cooperating. “I thought you liked him,” she said.

“I do like him.”

“I mean like him.”

“I know.”

Lizzy risked a glance.

Mara didn’t look offended. If anything, she looked sadder.

“Van is kind,” Mara said. “He is also handsome. And brave, in a very uncomfortable way. I can see why someone might fall in love with him eventually.”

Lizzy nodded too quickly.

“But I don’t know him well enough to love him,” Mara said. “I barely know him well enough to trust him, and most of that trust is provisional.”

Lizzy blinked.

Mara’s mouth curved with dry humor. “I also did not grow up dreaming that I would meet my future husband after being kidnapped into a fantasy-land reality sex show with scoreboards, crystal statues, and mandatory date assignments.”

A startled laugh escaped Lizzy before she could stop it.

Mara smiled, then let it fade into something gentler. “There is no reason one of us could not develop real feelings for him. This place is coercive, but we are still people inside it. Real things can happen under bad conditions.”

Lizzy nodded again, slower this time.

“But I do not have plans for Van,” Mara said. “Not like that.”

Relief hit Lizzy so hard she almost sagged. “Oh,” she said.

Mara watched her.

Lizzy realized, several seconds too late, that her reaction had been visible. Very visible. Possibly audible.

Her face burned. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.”

“I’m not—”

“I know.”

“I don’t think he would ever—” Lizzy stopped.

Mara waited.

Lizzy twisted her fingers together. “I don’t think any man would pick me over the rest of you.”

Mara’s face softened. “You are very certain of that,” Mara said.

Lizzy shrugged.

“Lizzy.”

“I’m not saying it to be dramatic.” She looked at Mara, then away. “Look at everyone here. Evelyn is beautiful and composed and terrifying in a way people write poetry about. Claire is confident even when she’s being ridiculous. Naomi is…” Lizzy searched for a word large enough and failed. “Naomi. Katherine is brilliant. Cassie is fearless. Fiona is Fiona. You’re warm and pretty and everyone feels better when you’re nearby.”

“And you?”

“I phase through my own shirt when I panic.”

Mara didn’t laugh. “You are kind and sweet and smart, Lizzy. You noticed my dreams and tried, clumsily but sincerely, to protect my dignity. You came back after one of the most embarrassing moments I can imagine because you believed I needed to know the truth.”

Mara’s voice remained even. “That’s not nothing.”

Lizzy gave another wet, unwilling laugh.

Mara reached out slowly, giving Lizzy plenty of time to refuse. When Lizzy didn’t move away, Mara took one of her hands.

“I am upset,” Mara said.

Lizzy nodded.

“I am embarrassed.”

Lizzy nodded harder.

“I am frightened by the idea that my private thoughts have been wandering around the room while I sleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Mara squeezed her hand once. “I am also grateful you told me.”

Lizzy looked up.

Mara’s eyes were bright, but steady. “We will need to do something about it.”