Day 7 — Day 2/3

The run had gone badly after Fiona stopped following him. He remembered most of what she taught him, but remembering required attention, and attention kept wandering back to the trail behind him.

He hadn’t meant to shout at Fiona. But he meant what he said. She had no right to accuse Lizzy of being weak. The shouting hadn’t made either of them feel better. Neither did seeing her brace when he stepped toward her.

He stopped immediately; despite his anger, he had no desire to make her feel more afraid. His anger sat in a low, buzzing knot in his stomach. It was robbed of its target when he stepped back from Fiona and was just making him sick now.

The corridor beyond the artificial valley stayed pleasantly cool while sweat dried against his skin. Van rubbed his face and headed toward the dining room. Coffee had carried him through breakfast. More coffee might carry him through the rest of the day. If the kitchen had energy drinks, he could probably convince his body that sleep was an optional hobby.

The dining room was empty. Plates had been cleared, the long table polished, and the buffet had withdrawn into the wall. Van crossed toward the service doors.

Pixie emerged carrying a shallow basket of oranges against one hip. Her green dress had short sleeves and a fitted waist beneath a white apron. Pale hair was braided over one shoulder, and the pointed tip of one ear moved when she noticed him.

“Oh,” she said. “You look dreadful.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“It was, thank you.” She set the basket on the nearest counter and looked him over with cheerful thoroughness. “Now it is early afternoon, and you have become my problem.”

Van leaned one hand on the counter. “Do you have any coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Energy drinks?”

“Several. Mortal, magical, alchemical, infernal, and one that is technically a soup.”

He lifted his head. “Can I have the soup one?”

“No.”

“The mortal one?”

“No.”

“Coffee?”

Pixie considered him. “Also no.”

Van let his forehead lower until it nearly touched the counter. “I’m exhausted.”

“I know.” Her fingers pressed lightly against the inside of his wrist before he could pull his hand away. She counted beneath her breath, watching his face rather than the seconds. “You’re also angry, dehydrated, sore, and running on enough nervous energy to make stimulants a poor idea.”

“I drank some water.”

Pixie released his wrist. “Coffee would only help cover the cracks. You need actual rest.”

Van straightened. The movement made the muscles along his back complain. “I had trouble sleeping.”

Pixie gave him a knowing look. “I know.” She patted his arm. “We’ll get you some rest. Come on.”

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

“That’s why I’m coming with you.”

Van looked toward the empty dining room, then back at her. “That sounded different in your head, didn’t it?”

“It sounded exactly the way I wanted it to.” She retrieved a bottle of water from behind the counter and pressed it into his hand. “Drink while we walk.”

* * *

The Master Suite had put the living room back in order. Van stopped inside the entrance. The restored furniture made last night look tidier than he felt.

Pixie walked around him, set a small tray on the coffee table, and pointed at the couch. Van sat. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a dark blue pot, two cups, a small dish of honey, and a plate holding sliced fruit and warm bread.

Van accepted the tea she poured for him. Steam carried lavender, citrus peel, and something earthy he couldn’t identify.

He took a cautious sip. “Could you slip one of these to Fiona?”

Pixie’s eyebrows rose. “Slip something into her drink? My word, young man.”

She gave him one more second of mock disapproval, then her smile returned. “It wouldn’t work. I suspect Miss Kavanagh wouldn’t even drop a decibel.”

Van drank again. The tea was sweet, but it didn’t make him feel any better until he swallowed it. Warmth spread through his chest and shoulders, easing some of the tightness without making his thoughts slow.

“Is this going to knock me out?” He eyed the cup warily.

“No.” Pixie poured her own cup and tucked her feet beneath herself in the armchair. “The thing you need does not come from tea. This only helps your body release some of that tension while you find that thing.”

Van looked into the cup. “And what thing do I need?”

“Something else to think about.”

He laughed once. “That’s your medical advice?”

“It is my wellness advice. Mirel would use more unpleasant vocabulary and take blood from you.”

Van drank again and took a piece of the steaming bread. The bread helped more than he expected. He ate half a piece before realizing how hungry the run had made him.

Pixie waited until he had finished it. “Now, tell me. What happened with Fiona?”

He rubbed his thumb along the cup handle. “I was angry. We argued and I shouted at her.”

Pixie stopped smiling.

“I guess I was being aggressive or intimidating. Although I don’t think she gets intimidated. She reacted like someone rang a bell. She was ready to fight, but I retreated.”

He tilted his head back. “I tried to apologize,” he said defensively. “But I don’t think she was listening.”

Van leaned back. The couch accepted his weight easily as he settled in. “She said I tricked Lizzy. Or the System did, and that made it the same thing. I told her not to rob Lizzy of her choices. It was like Fiona was rewriting what Lizzy did to make it ugly. She said every rule here gives me power over them whether I use it or not.”

Pixie broke a piece of bread in half. “Whether you acknowledge it or not, you are the Master.”

He stared at the tea. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Today? Sleep.”

“I meant about Fiona.”

“So did I.”

Van gave her a tired look. Pixie ate her bread without apology.

He ran one hand through damp hair. “I’m at the end of my rope here. Do you have any advice that will help me with Fiona?”

Pixie’s eyes brightened. “What kind of advice?”

He waited.

“Making friends with her will be difficult,” Pixie said. A dark laugh escaped with her next breath. “Seduction might be easier at this point.”

“What?” Van spluttered the question and ended up coughing into his tea.

“Miss Kavanagh respects competence, directness, and people who don’t fold when she challenges them.”

“I’m not trying to seduce her,” he insisted.

“I know.” Pixie laughed into her cup. “Your face was priceless, though.”

“Why did you ask?”

“Because you looked miserable and it was funny.”

Van put his cup down. “I came to the wrong elf.”

“No. You came to the only one who would feed you before making fun of you.” She settled back. “Don’t take all of Fiona’s anger personally.”

“How am I supposed to do that when she is aiming it at me?”

“I didn’t say none of it belongs to you. You two don’t get along. It’s not even, but at this point it is mutual.” Pixie lifted one finger before he could answer. “But you aren’t where most of that anger began.”

Van wanted to interrupt and declare his innocence, but a look from Pixie stopped him. Instead, he drank his tea and listened.

“She is angry at the show. Angry at Verena. Angry at the title over your head. Perhaps angry at someone else in a position of authority who taught her to be afraid or angry.” Pixie’s voice remained light, but the amusement had left it. “You are standing where several roads meet. She sees every road when she looks at you.”

“That doesn’t help me know what to do.”

“No. It may help you stop answering her anger with defensiveness. Imagine she isn’t shouting at you but at a fictional character she thinks you represent.”

Van looked toward the windows. Fiona had accused him of benefiting from the role even while hating it. He had answered because the accusation felt like a trap: if he did something decent, it was him strategizing; if he did nothing, it was just him being patient while the System worked.

Pixie poured more tea into his cup.

“What was her life like?” he asked.

“I don’t know enough to tell you.”

“You just implied—”

“I inferred. There is a difference.” She nudged the honey toward him. “People do not usually fear the same thing with that much detail unless something taught them.”

Van added honey and watched it dissolve. Thinking about Fiona’s past made another gap visible.

“What about you?”

Pixie’s smile returned. “I am very well, thank you.”

“No. Before here. You, Nixie, Trixie, and Lyra. Were you contestants on the show?”

Her pointed ears angled slightly outward. “Master Van, I am far too old for you.”

He blinked. “That isn’t remotely what I asked.”

“I know, but you make the funniest face when teased.”

He laughed despite himself. The sound loosened something in his chest.

Pixie smiled over the rim of her cup. “Nixie was born first and has behaved as though seniority is a moral achievement ever since. Trixie came next. Lyra remembers everyone’s birthdays. I remember what everyone likes to eat, which is more useful.”

“How long have you worked for Verena?”

“A few years,” she said offhandedly. “No more than 30.”

Van took another drink. The room had grown warmer; his limbs felt heavier, and the knot of frustration was loosening in his chest.

“What was your world like?”

Pixie considered the ceiling. “Imagine a very boring version of your Earth where no one ever learned to harness electricity.”

“No telephones. No televisions. No refrigerators. Plenty of windmills. Waterwheels. Printing presses. Black powder. Ships with sails. Excellent cheese.”

“And magic?”

“Of course,” she answered with a genuine smile.

“So not boring.”

“Magic becomes ordinary when everyone argues about licensing.” She leaned in to lower her voice. “It was more fun before it became a profession.”

Van smiled. “What did cities look like?”

“Stone, timber, tiled roofs, narrow streets, and bridges crowded with shops. Cathedrals rang bells over canals every morning.”

She continued while he ate the fruit. Markets opened before dawn, bakers marked loaves with family sigils, and household spirits received blame for sour milk and missing buttons. Elves lived openly among humans, though people still invented elaborate rules about who belonged where.

Van asked whether they had heroes.

Pixie said they had soldiers, duelists, saints, witches, monster hunters, and professional adventurers who would have been offended by being placed in one category.

He asked whether Verena recruited them there.

Pixie described a harvest festival instead.

He asked again whether they had been contestants.

She told him Nixie once won a knife-throwing contest by cheating with a magnet charm.

Van knew he was losing pieces of the conversation. Pixie’s voice moved around the room without requiring anything from him. He could listen without focusing. Every time his thoughts tried to return to the suite entrance and everything he had imagined beyond it, she added another detail: copper charms hung above windows, river barges lit by floating witch-lights, an emperor who outlawed trousers for three weeks and caused a constitutional crisis.

He lay back even more into the couch cushions without realizing it.

Pixie kept talking.

Working for Verena was rewarding, she said, and difficult. The sisters saw people at the beginning of changes they rarely understood. Sometimes they helped. Sometimes helping meant giving someone exactly what she requested. Sometimes it meant refusing.

Van wanted to ask what Verena had done for them. The question formed and remained behind his teeth.

Pixie’s voice continued through a story about a bakery built over a sleeping dragon.

The dragon complained about the ovens.

Van missed why.

The cup rested on the table. One hand had fallen against his stomach. His breathing deepened while Pixie explained the legal dispute between the baker and the dragon’s descendants.

By the time she reached the verdict, Van was asleep.

Pixie finished the story anyway.

Then she rose, drew a blanket over him, and took the tea tray back to the kitchen.

* * *

Mara sat on a locker-room bench with a towel around her shoulders. “I forgot how tiring waves are when they don’t stop.”

“I could sleep standing up,” Claire said. Her red hair had dried only enough to begin lifting in damp curls around her shoulders.

Cassie peeled the altered black swimsuit away from one hip and glared at it. “I’m going to nap for three days.”

“You’d miss dinner,” Evelyn reminded her.

“I’ll wake up for food.”

Naomi stood at her locker and felt none of the exhaustion the others felt.

Her legs were ready for another hour in the pool. Even the dull tiredness she normally accepted as the background cost of moving through a day had disappeared.

She had spent years thinking of her power as an absence created in someone else. It weakened. It emptied. It took.

The reserve inside her did not feel like theft. It felt like waking after the best sleep of her life. The pleasure of it frightened her more than disabling the droid had.

Alpha had ended the assessment after confirming the Van-droid could be repaired. She had also forbidden Naomi from touching anyone without Power Valve fully closed until Mirel examined her.

Cassie had apparently interpreted that instruction as an opening position.

“Five seconds,” she said, pulling a shirt over her head. “Maybe three. We count out loud.”

“No,” Evelyn answered.

“We don’t know whether the machine energy behaves the same way as ours.” Cassie pointed at Naomi. “She feels great.”

Naomi stepped into her dark skirt and drew it over her hips. “That’s not evidence the process is safe.”

“You should stop volunteering for ER visits,” Evelyn said.

Naomi pulled the racerback top over her head. It left her arms, shoulders, and midriff uncovered again. The exposure should have occupied more of her attention. Instead she kept flexing her fingers, feeling strength answer without delay.

Cassie continued. “Maybe you’ll glow. Maybe the energy strengthens your power. Maybe you’ll vent the plasma you drain from your eyes.”

“We don’t have any reason to think that her drain can transfer power,” Evelyn said.

“I know that. I’m asking if holding extra energy makes her do cool shit.”

Naomi fastened her skirt. “I am not draining you in a locker room to see whether I glow.”

Cassie considered the wording. “Later, then.”

“Under medical supervision,” Evelyn said.

Naomi’s reluctance arrived before the agreement. Mirel would ask questions. She would measure the reserve, test its duration, perhaps ask Naomi to exert herself until the borrowed strength began to fade.

Part of Naomi wanted the energy gone before anyone could study it. Another part wanted to know how much remained.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll find Doctor Dane.”

Cassie grinned. “Excellent.”

Across the room, Lizzy had turned her back to the others while changing. She was standing too close to the open locker, using the door as a screen. Claire opened her locker, decided Lizzy was being suspicious, and glanced over at exactly the wrong moment.

Pale lavender silk draped Lizzy’s thin hips. Lizzy started and dragged her pants into place with a jerk. Claire’s brows rose at the flash of bright silk.

Claire waited until Naomi, Cassie, and Evelyn were near the exit. Katherine was dressing at the far end of the room with her usual lack of concern. Mara had gone to return towels.

Claire caught Lizzy lightly by the elbow and drew her behind the open locker door.

“Were those yours?”

Lizzy’s face reddened. “Quiet.” She checked the room before answering. “They came from the guest drawer.”

Claire stared.

“I needed something,” Lizzy whispered. “My panties fell through a boardwalk, my bra fell through a pier, and the Suite didn’t give me replacements. The options were borrowed underwear or none.”

Claire pressed her lips together.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.” Claire’s smile escaped anyway. “They looked great on you anyway. You just have the worst luck.”

Lizzy folded her discarded swimsuit twice and placed it in the locker. “I wasn’t ready to wear something like that where anyone could see.”

Claire bumped her shoulder gently. “You know, you’re allowed to like how you look.”

Lizzy’s fingers remained on the latch. “Do you think Katherine will wear something from the drawer for Van?”

Claire followed the question Lizzy really wanted to ask. “You mean, do I think she’ll be more confident with him than you were?”

Lizzy nodded.

Claire glanced toward Katherine. She had finished dressing and adjusting her hair length in the mirror.

“Katherine would wear pinwheels on her breasts and a fake mustache if she thought it would get her out of here.”

Lizzy stared at her. “That’s a terrible image.”

“I’m making a point.” Claire lowered her voice. “But no. I don’t think she’s going to strip for points.”

Lizzy looked toward Katherine again. “She said she wasn’t interested before, but then at breakfast…”

The shy glance into her coffee. The suggestion that she and Van could be inexperienced together. Lizzy had believed it until Cassie’s eyebrows rose.

Claire understood. “Katherine is a complex woman. I wouldn’t try to figure her out just now.”

Katherine approached before Lizzy could continue. “Claire, I would like to see some of your research in the archive.”

Claire’s concern vanished into interest. “I can show you how I’m sorting the records.”

Lizzy stepped forward to stand next to Claire. “I’ll come too.”

Behind them, Cassie leaned through the locker-room door. “Are you coming, Naomi?”

Naomi joined her and Evelyn in the hall.

* * *

The archive smelled like old paper and oiled leather. Claire had discovered three catalog systems, two index rooms, and an entire wall that reorganized itself whenever she tried to map it. She explained all of them while Katherine listened without interrupting.

They reached the table Claire had claimed during her previous visit. Notes covered several sheets of paper in neat clusters. Colored tabs marked six books. A chalkboard nearby held columns labeled ORIGIN CONDITIONS, SYSTEM CONSTANTS, HOST DISCRETION, and OUTCOME.

Katherine read the headings. “You have been busy.”

“I’ve been trying to compare seasons without assuming every world works like ours.” Claire opened the nearest volume. “This one had no Empowered, but it had hereditary magic. This one treated transformations as sacred marriage rites. This one came from a world where people could already change sex through ordinary medicine and magic, so several options produced completely different reactions than they would here.”

“How similar do the worlds become?”

“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

“Do they have Earth things?” Katherine asked. “Diners. Malt shops. High schools.”

Claire smiled. “Some do. Some have things close enough to serve the same social purpose.”

“Like your date night?”

Claire’s hair lifted from one shoulder.

Katherine looked down at the open book. “I am asking whether the facility drew the idea from a recurring cultural pattern.”

“It might have.”

“What did Van do when the setting became uncomfortable?”

Claire hesitated, then returned to her notes. “He tried to make it normal. We ordered food. We talked.”

“Did he choose the diner?”

Claire looked at her. “Yes and no. I told him I wanted something normal like a malt shop.”

Katherine turned a page. “If we are studying constants, the Master’s response to pressure is relevant.”

“He was very shy.” Claire’s voice became quieter. “I guess we both were. Neither of us wanted to be there, but he was sweet.”

Katherine nodded and continued reading.

The questions came at intervals after that. Were there other versions of Claire in the archive? Maybe. She had encountered seasons with people that seemed the same, but she couldn’t be sure.

Did other Masters treat their harems as trophies? Often enough that Claire had begun to filter them out.

Had any records featured a man like Van—same background, same age, same physical description?

Claire had searched. “Not yet.”

“Perhaps our Van is unique?”

Claire shook her head. “More likely, the archive is not showing us everything.”

Katherine’s fingers paused on the page. “That is likely.”

Lizzy wandered the shelves while they talked. She drew out books when the titles sounded interesting, skimmed the first pages, and returned most of them.

Claire explained that corresponding people did not always live corresponding lives. One Evelyn had been a military officer. Another ran a school. One Fiona had never become a heroine because her powers emerged in a world without formal hero programs.

Lizzy stopped.

A thick book had pulled free beneath her hand. Dark red leather covered the boards, stamped with a silver circle enclosing nine unfamiliar symbols. The title shifted when she tilted it.

SEASON 1288

THE INFERNAL COURT

She opened it and found the first page held a group portrait.

Lizzy recognized Evelyn first. The woman had Evelyn’s face and white hair, but pointed fox ears rose from her head and several pale tails spread behind her chair. Claire stood beside her with enormous red-and-gold feathered wings folded along her back. Mara had curved cow horns, a broader figure, and a bell at her throat.

Lizzy carried the book toward the table. “I found us.” She held the book out like a hot coal. “Well, a version of us,” she corrected.

Claire stopped mid-sentence. Katherine came around the table. Lizzy set the book between them.

Naomi’s counterpart had cat ears and a long dark tail curled around one leg. Cassie possessed horns, scales, and a slender reptilian tail. Fiona wore black fur along triangular ears and pronounced canines. Katherine’s image was translucent and blue, her body flowing into the chair instead of sitting upon it.

Lizzy’s counterpart stood near the center in black and crimson, small wings framing her shoulders and a thin tail curling beside one bare thigh.

Claire looked from the picture to Lizzy. “No!” She gasped in surprise at the demon-Lizzy’s confident stance and immodest clothing. “You’re a succubus.”

Lizzy lowered her voice. “I can see that.”

Katherine touched the edge of her own image. The alternate woman’s face was recognizable but unstable, one cheek softer than the other, fingers melting together where they rested on the chair.

“A slime,” Claire said.

“So it appears.”

At the center sat a man none of them recognized. He had dark hair, a narrow face, and formal clothing beneath a long black coat. Small horns curved from his brow. Shadow gathered behind him in the vague suggestion of wings.

A name appeared beneath the portrait.

SEBASTIAN

MASTER OF THE INFERNAL COURT

Lizzy looked closer. “I wonder who he is. He doesn’t look like Van.”

“No,” Katherine said. “He doesn’t.”

A brief intake summary described Sebastian as a withdrawn academic who had spent more time among books than people.

The following pages summarized the contestants before the season. The details were sparse. Names matched. Careers and powers varied in small ways. Large sections describing their world had been reduced to broad language about a declining population, magical warfare, and an enemy called the Architect.

Claire turned pages faster.

“The starting transformations did all this?”

Lizzy found the first ceremony. Eight cards had been selected around a single theme. Each woman had been converted into a different form of mythical being. Sebastian’s change had come later, binding the group’s presentation together by turning him into a demonic lord.

“That’s way stronger than anything they offered us,” Lizzy said.

“Farther for now,” Katherine corrected. “We do not know how far ours will reach.”

Claire studied a page showing her winged counterpart learning to fly. “Why this cast?”

“The same reason we are here, presumably.”

“No.” Claire touched the names. “Why the same people with a different Master?”

Katherine glanced at Sebastian’s portrait. “That is the useful question.”

Lizzy turned to another illustration and immediately regretted it. Her alternate self wore less fabric than underwear models. She shut the book halfway.

Claire laughed. “You’re the one who found it.”

“I was looking for something interesting,” she said defensively.

Claire let out a breath. “You succeeded.”

Katherine drew the volume toward herself. “I am going to borrow this.”

Katherine closed the book. “A season with alternate versions of us may reveal what the System expects from the group, even if Sebastian is irrelevant.”

Claire gave her a wary look.

Katherine tucked the book under one arm. “Thank you for the tour.”

* * *

Fiona returned to the Hotel long after Van did. She was still too angry and didn’t want to cross his path.

When he had defended Lizzy, he was frightening. Fiona wasn’t frightened, but he proved that they all fall back on their only tactic: be big, loud, and aggressive. That will make the women fall in line.

By the time Fiona reached the training complex, she could no longer decide which part made her angriest.

The doors opened. Mara emerged carrying a towel basket against one hip.

“Mara.”

The blonde stopped. “You’re back.”

“Come with me.”

Mara shifted the basket. “Where?”

“I need help.”

The answer changed her posture. “What happened?”

“I’m very angry, and I can’t decide what I’m angry at.”

Mara waited.

Fiona walked past her. “That wasn’t an invitation to stare. Come on.”

Mara set the basket beside the door and followed. “We can find somewhere private.”

“I don’t need therapy.”

Mara matched her pace. “Then what kind of help do you want?”

“Something this place refuses to give me.” She glared ahead with a dark expression. “Protection.”

Mara took several steps before answering. “From whom?”

Fiona looked back at her. Contempt was plain on her face.

“Van,” Mara said.

“Finally.”

“What happened on the trail?”

“We argued and he turned into a brute. Shouting and looming. He stopped because I got ready to defend myself.”

Mara’s attention sharpened. “Did he apologize?”

“For scaring me. He made sure I knew he was still angry.” Fiona watched Mara closely, then let out a grunt of disgust.

“You all keep doing it. He seems frightened, so he must be harmless. He seems awkward, so he can’t be planning anything. He seems guilty, therefore the authority being funneled into his hands doesn’t count.”

Mara folded her arms. “I never said he was harmless.” She placed a warm hand on Fiona’s arm, pulling her to a stop. “I was about to say he hasn’t used the authority the Hotel gives him.”

“Yet.”

“Yes. Yet.” Mara held Fiona’s gaze. “What protection are you looking for?”

“Magic clothes. A transformation. Something that keeps him out of my head or keeps me from becoming too stupid to know when I’m being handled.”

Mara’s mouth tightened. “Fiona.”

“There are three nights left before the challenge. Katherine is tonight. That makes me tomorrow or the night after. I’m not walking into that suite with nothing.”

Mara exhaled. “I disagree with the premise.”

“Then leave.”

“I didn’t say I was leaving.” She moved beside Fiona again. “I am coming so you don’t turn one angry decision into a life-changing mistake.”

* * *

Lyra emerged from behind a curtain carrying a folded blue dress. Her narrow face was framed by pale hair worn loose down her back. Her dress was cream and gray, without the brighter colors favored by Pixie.

“Fiona. Mara.” She placed the folded garment on the counter. “How may I help?”

“I need something that protects against mental manipulation.”

Lyra’s hands remained on the dress. “What kind?”

“Hypnosis. Emotional influence. Compulsion. Whatever the System can do to make someone cooperate without realizing it.”

“I don’t sell anything that can block the System.”

“What about Van?”

Lyra looked at her carefully. “Master Van does not have a mental-influence ability.”

“Something is twisting us into accepting this place.”

Lyra sighed. “We have privacy garments, ordinary protective equipment, focus charms, and items designed to reduce anxiety or improve sleep. None would truthfully guarantee what you are asking.”

“I don’t need sleep.”

Mara shifted beside her.

Fiona ignored it. “What about something that hurts him if he touches me?”

“No.”

“Something that alerts me if my emotions change?”

“No.”

“Something that prevents attraction?”

Lyra folded the dress once more, though it did not need folding. “What are you afraid will happen?”

“I already told you.”

“You described categories of influence. I am asking what you believe Master Van will do.”

“That isn’t your business.”

“It becomes my business when you ask me to sell you protection from him.”

Fiona leaned toward the counter. “Can you help or not?”

“Not with the request as you have defined it.”

“Then I’ll try the transformation shop.”

Mara spoke before Lyra could. “Fiona, slow down.”

“No. Slowing down is the problem.”

Lyra’s voice stayed gentle. “A transformation will reach farther into you than clothing does.”

“At least it might do something.”

She left before either woman could answer.

Mara gave Lyra an apologetic glance and followed.

* * *

Nixie’s Transformation Atelier greeted Fiona with a new slogan.

YOUR BEST SELF IS WAITING.

“Of course it is,” Fiona muttered.

Nixie appeared between two crystal shelves wearing green and silver. “Fiona! Mara. What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I want a transformation that stops Van from earning points with me.”

Nixie’s delight faded into professional consideration. “That request runs contrary to the function of every transformation I sell.”

“Every single one?” Fiona’s tone was incredulous.

“The transformation program improves powers, relationships, adaptation, survivability, or compatibility with the season. Preventing relationship progress with the Master would invalidate the investment.”

“I’m offering to pay you.” Her voice was tight. “Sell me something that can help.”

“I can’t sell you an effect whose purpose is to defeat the conditions under which it exists.”

The answer struck harder than Fiona expected. She had come prepared to bargain with her own body. That should have counted for something here. She was willing to let the System carve another rule into her if she could use the rule against it.

The shop would not even let her throw herself onto the sword unless the sword pointed in the approved direction.

Mara touched her elbow. Fiona pulled away.

Nixie watched her for several seconds. “There may be options that satisfy the spirit of your request.”

Fiona distrusted the way she said that. “What options?”

Nixie raised one hand. Four crystal cards slid from separate shelves and arranged themselves in the air.

The first displayed a narrow silver belt worked with green stones.

LOCKED TREASURE

A permanent enchanted guard prevents sexual contact and cannot be removed except by the Master. He may release it only after the wearer sincerely begs because she truly desires him.

Fiona read the whole thing twice.

Nixie smiled. “You do not strike me as someone who begs easily.”

“It prevents sexual contact?”

“Correct. It leaves the wearer free to enjoy touching, oral stimulation, external play, teasing, denial, and every other form of intimacy that does not cross the guarded boundary.”

“So it’s a sex toy,” Fiona said the words like she had a mouth full of garbage.

“It is an extremely reliable sex toy.”

Fiona looked at the silver belt. For one moment she imagined the certainty of it: no matter what happened in the suite, some things remained impossible unless she chose to plead for them.

Then the rest of the description settled around that narrow certainty.

“No.”

The second card rotated forward.

A shifting symbol divided into two feminine silhouettes, one turned toward a man and the other away.

CHANGE OF HEART

The wearer’s sexual orientation is permanently adjusted to exclude attraction toward the Master’s sex. Existing emotional attachments remain, but erotic desire redirects toward newly compatible partners.

Fiona’s disgust arrived before Nixie finished reading.

“Get that away from me.”

“It would make seduction by Master Van unlikely.”

“You think rewriting who I’m attracted to is protection?”

“I think it satisfies part of the stated request.”

“That’s sick.”

Mara watched Fiona rather than the card.

Nixie moved it aside without argument.

The third card displayed two identical women standing back to back.

DOUBLE STANDARD

25,000 BP

Creates a second complete and independent version of the purchaser, sharing one contestant identity, point total, and transformation record. Both remain within ten feet, attend bond assignments together, and begin with identical memories, powers, and personality before developing independently.

Fiona stared at the price first. “Twenty-five thousand.”

“It is a substantial transformation.”

“Do they keep thinking the same thoughts?”

“No. They begin identically and develop independently.”

“So the other one could decide she trusts him.”

“Certainly.”

“She could decide she wants him.”

“Certainly.”

“She could decide I’m the problem.”

Nixie’s smile widened. “Almost certainly, eventually. Disagreement is one of the more popular features with fans.”

Fiona waved the card away. “Then she isn’t backup. She is another person I have to watch.”

“Also another person watching you.”

“I said no.”

The final card moved into place.

A small silver eye floated above the image of a man and woman standing thirty feet apart. Threads of color connected their chests and throats.

MASTER’S TEMPERATURE

2,000 BP

Within thirty feet of the Master, the wearer senses his general mood, emotional intensity, and immediate desires. The link does not reveal thoughts, memories, plans, or objective truth; intimate contact sharpens the response.

Fiona read the first two sentences and ignored the rest.

“What does general mood mean?”

“Fear, anger, attraction, sadness, protective urgency, amusement, arousal, and similar emotional states. Complex motives may arrive as combinations.”

“Could I tell whether he was trying to manipulate me?”

“You could tell what he felt while speaking. You will have to interpret the rest.”

Fiona stepped closer to the card. Van on the trail: angry, exhausted, watching her stance. Van at breakfast: half dead on his feet after spending the night with Lizzy. Van in the strength room, refusing to demand a punishment.

If she could feel what was underneath, she could stop guessing. She could prove the others wrong. Or prove herself right after a locked door closed behind them.

It would cost every Bonus Point she had.

Mara caught her wrist before her hand reached the card. “No.”

Fiona turned. “Let go of me.”

“I have allowed this self-destructive nonsense to go on long enough.”

Nixie’s eyebrows rose with interest.

Fiona pulled once. Mara held on. She was not stronger than Fiona; she was committed enough that breaking the grip would require making the argument physical.

“I asked you to come help, not to babysit me.”

“I came because I hoped you would hear yourself before we reached this point.”

“I am trying to protect myself.”

“You are considering letting the System put a direct tap into your brain and violating someone’s privacy because Evelyn’s evidence was not good enough for you.”

“Evelyn can be wrong.”

“She has been inside his mind twice.” Mara’s voice rose, losing the soothing cadence she used with frightened civilians and exhausted teammates. “She has registered him with her empathy again and again. Oracle—the strongest telepath on our planet—has told you he is not plotting against us. You rejected that. Now you want Nixie to alter your brain so you can receive less information through a transformation designed to improve sex.”

Fiona yanked her arm free. “Evelyn is adapting. All of you are.”

Mara’s face was set in stone. “Do not use that to avoid the question.” She held up a stiffened finger. “You have created a standard no answer can satisfy unless it confirms what you already believe.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Mara’s face hardened. “She sounds like a smart lady.”

Fiona’s anger surged so fast Winner’s Eye began mapping the distance between them before she consciously moved.

Mara stepped into it.

“You do not get to dress this up as moral clarity,” she said. “You are angry and frightened. You refuse to trust Van, so Evelyn reads him. You refuse to trust Evelyn, so we offer to stay near you. You refuse to trust us, so you come to the System. The only source you are willing to believe is the one that created the situation in the first place.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it.”

Fiona opened her mouth.

Her mother meeting her father in the hallway. Her mother lowering her voice. Her mother promising to do better while blood dripped from her bruised face.

Every attempt to manage the problem instead of ending it had purchased one more night.

“I don’t need to explain why I won’t be the woman who smiles and makes the best of it.”

“No one asked you to smile.”

“You want me to wait.”

“I want you to stop trying to hurt yourself because you cannot control every possible future.”

Fiona laughed without humor. “Katherine already gave me this speech.”

Mara grabbed her arm again.

“What are you doing?” Fiona demanded.

Mara growled, “Taking you out of this store.”

Mara began marching toward the exit. Fiona resisted for two steps, enough to prove she could, then followed rather than drag them both through a shelf of crystal transformations.

Nixie called after them. “The offer remains available until the ceremony!”

Mara didn’t turn.

Fiona did. “Where are you taking me?”

Mara tightened her grip and kept walking. “To fix the problem. Katherine wasn’t willing to go as far as I am.”

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BONUS PICS