Day 7 — Day 3/3

The living room had dimmed while he slept. Afternoon light came through the windows at a lower angle, stretching the furniture shadows across the carpet. The tea tray was gone. So was Pixie.

His body felt heavy until he sat up. Then the heaviness separated into ordinary soreness, a dry mouth, and the pleasant confusion of having slept more deeply than expected. The headache behind his eyes had retreated. The buzzing knot in his stomach had loosened enough that Fiona’s accusations no longer weighed down every thought.

A clock glowed on the wall beside the kitchen.

4:47 PM.

Van threw the blanket aside.

Katherine’s bond assignment would begin soon, and he still had no idea what she wanted to do. He had slept in the clothes he wore on the trail, which had dried against him in a way that made the quick shower less than optional.

He crossed the suite, caught the stale smell of sweat from his shirt, and changed direction toward the bathroom.

Ten minutes later he was pulling a clean shirt over damp hair while trying to remember whether Katherine had given him any clue about the evening. The onsen question at breakfast had not been a request. Her conversation about inexperience might have been sincere, a performance, or both. He still didn’t know whether she expected him to plan the evening or simply survive whatever she had planned herself.

There were better foundations for a date. He buttoned the shirt wrong, corrected it, and stepped out of the bedroom fastening one cuff.

Verena stood near the suite windows. She had positioned herself with the facility towers behind her, black clothes and pale skin framed by the false skyline. Her hands rested loosely behind her back. She might have been waiting for him for thirty seconds or three hours.

Van stopped in the doorway. “Verena. Are you handing out heart attacks for kicks, or do you need something?”

“No. It is, however, what occurred.” Verena’s gaze moved over his damp hair and half-fastened cuff. “You appear improved.”

“Pixie helped me calm down. She was able to get me to sleep.”

“Pixie isn't paid nearly enough for her skills.” Verena nodded in admission. “I will pass on your gratitude.”

Van had lost track of the story Pixie told while he was resting, but parts of it stuck with him. “I'm still having trouble with these alternate worlds. I feel like the last week has been a constant fever dream.”

“Everything she told you was completely true.” Verena smiled in a detached clinical way. “She did not tell you the things that were truly unbelievable.”

“You were listening in.” Van's response was half question, half accusation.

“My role as administrator of this facility demands constant oversight.”

The answer covered everything and explained nothing. Van crossed to the kitchen, filled a glass at the sink, and drank half of it before turning around.

“What do you want?”

“To check in.” Her tone made it sound like she was discussing a routine domestic task. “The first cycle is nearing completion. Several elements of your season will change once it closes.” Verena glanced toward the bedroom. “You also have a bond assignment tonight. I judged a private conversation more efficient than adding another announcement to dinner.”

Van set the glass down. “Katherine will appreciate you making it sound like an appointment with a tax auditor.”

“Miss Wren appreciates accurate framing.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “What changes?”

“Some are already scheduled. The first challenge begins at the start of day nine. Milestone rewards will be provisioned at breakfast. The next transformation ceremony begins after the challenge and will include a procedural expansion.”

Van leaned one hand against the counter. “That sounds bad.”

“It’s new. Bad is a matter of perspective.”

“With you, those overlap a lot.”

Verena allowed the remark to pass. “Your harem has also begun investigating the deeper history of the System.”

Van straightened. “Is that a problem?”

“No.”

He waited for the condition.

Verena turned from the window. “Research is encouraged. Contestants who understand the institution tend to make more interesting choices within it. The archive would not contain accessible material if its discovery threatened the season.”

“So the useful secrets aren’t there.”

“The easiest information to obtain is rarely the most valuable.”

“Is any of it false?”

“Not in the crude sense you mean. Records may omit context, reflect the understanding of their original observers, or become available only when they serve a developmental purpose. A closed door is more efficient than a fabricated history.”

Van remembered the archive shifting around Claire when she tried to map it. “You’re curating what they find.”

“The System curates everything you experience here.”

She said it without pride or apology. The clock advanced another minute.

Van took a second drink. “You said you came about the transformation ceremony.”

“Yes.” Verena folded her hands in front of her. “Beginning with the next vote, the audience will also receive transformation options for you.”

The water stopped halfway down his throat. He lowered the glass.

“I told you that most Masters undergo some degree of transformation alongside their harems.”

He set the glass down harder than intended. “What are the choices?”

“They are still being finalized.”

“I don't suppose I will be allowed to refuse?”

“No. Your process will mirror the process the contestants underwent during intake.”

His first ceremony returned in pieces: eight rows of cards, each woman forced to identify what she wanted done to herself while he stood nearby and provided opinions that the audience could treat as part of the entertainment.

Van laughed once, without finding anything funny. “And I suppose I can earn points to buy whatever strangers almost did to me.”

“Bonus Points,” Verena admitted. “Never Victory Points. You are not competing for your position.”

The difference had always existed. Hearing it placed beside his own coming transformation made the floor under it easier to see. The women needed points to survive. He would receive spending money.

Van rubbed the back of his neck. The shower had helped. Verena had undone most of it in six minutes.

“Was that everything?”

“No.”

Her attention shifted to him with the small precision that usually came before the part of a conversation she considered important.

Van thought of the trail. “Fiona.”

“Miss Kavanagh is one matter of concern.”

“What happens if she tries to hurt someone?”

“That depends upon whom she harms, the extent of the injury, the circumstances, and whether the act advances or obstructs the season.”

“That isn’t helpful.”

“It is the governing standard.”

Verena studied him long enough that Van wished she would answer badly instead of carefully.

“You should be concerned,” she said. “Contestants who fail to acclimate to any degree are uniformly unsuccessful.”

“Unsuccessful how?”

“The cycle is one full sequence of bond assignments. At its conclusion, contestants who have earned no Victory Points during that cycle may be eliminated from competition.”

Van had seen Fiona’s score at breakfast. Zero.

His mouth went dry again. “Elimination means what exactly? You said they get transformed, but worse?”

“An eliminated contestant ceases to compete while remaining permanently bound to the harem. Her final form is selected to preserve her usefulness and audience appeal without requiring the autonomy expected of an active contestant.”

Van did not understand the whole sentence at first. The parts arrived separately: remains, permanently, usefulness, without autonomy.

“You turn her into a thing.”

“An accessory person is still a person.”

Van walked away from her because the alternative was stepping closer. The living room offered too much space and nowhere to put the anger. He gripped the back of the couch where he had slept.

“What kind of accessory?”

“The exact result varies by contestant and season.” She turned to follow his motion. “Some become attendants. Some become living equipment, pets, furniture, garments, ornaments, or specialized companions. The selected outcome emphasizes the traits that attracted audience interest while removing the resistance that prevented successful integration.”

The couch fabric compressed beneath his fingers. “And if she isn’t eliminated?”

“Her placement during the challenge may instead assign a permanent punishment transformation.”

“What’s the difference?”

“An active contestant retains the capacity to compete, earn points, and influence her path. A permanent correction may be severe, but it does not necessarily remove her agency in full.”

Van released the couch before he tore the upholstery. “Which one will happen to Fiona?”

“I cannot predict the final grade before the challenge even begins. Zero Victory Points makes her eligible for elimination. Her conduct during the challenge could instead produce a permanent punishment transformation.”

“What can she do?”

“By demonstrating successful development within your harem. Pleasing you is the most direct expression of that development.”

Van turned toward her. “What do you expect me to do? Order Fiona to like me?”

“I expect you to take custody of your authority.” The phrase struck something brittle deep inside of Van.

Verena continued before he could reject it. “The power associated with your position can move mountains, Master Van. You have used that power primarily to object, apologize, and ask other people what they prefer. These are not worthless habits. They are also insufficient.”

“She hates me.”

“Then stop trying to prove your innocence. Decide what you will do with the authority she already believes you possess.”

Van remembered Fiona bracing on the trail. He remembered stopping because the movement in her body showed she had been expecting him to try and hurt her. It wasn't an act; she expected the next step. Maybe she had spent years expecting it.

“What does taking custody look like?”

“Her bond assignment is approaching. It may be the most important first date of this cycle.” Verena’s tone remained administrative. “You must prepare a plan that does not permit Miss Kavanagh to convert fear into sabotage. Establish boundaries. Refuse provocations. Give her a path toward some form of peace with her future here.”

“Peace.” Van tasted the word and disliked it. “You mean surrender.”

“I mean acclimation sufficient to preserve her as an active person.”

“She won’t listen to me.”

“Her peers may reach parts of her that you cannot. They cannot change what the title Master means when she looks at you. Only you can do that. Authority does not guarantee obedience. It creates responsibility for the consequences of how you use it.”

Van looked toward the clock.

5:09 PM.

Katherine’s date waited. Fiona’s waited beyond Katherine's. The first challenge waited beyond all of them, ready to convert a week of fear into a score.

“Can you give me actual advice?” he asked.

“Yes. Do not ask Miss Kavanagh to trust you. She currently experiences trust as an invitation to lower defenses she believes have kept her alive. Decide which requirements you can honor without surrendering the responsibilities of your position.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Find another way.”

“That’s your advice?”

“It is your harem.”

Van stared at her.

Verena inclined her head. “Katherine Wren is expecting your attention this evening. Do not neglect one contestant while trying to rescue another. That would create a different kind of failure.”

She crossed toward the suite entrance. The door slid open for her.

“Then what am I supposed to do before her date?”

Verena glanced back. “Learn enough about the woman to stop treating her anger as the whole of her.”

She left. The door closed, and the air in the suite recovered a lighter quality that Van didn't realize had been missing. It was like the world was just a bit dimmer in Verena's presence.

Van picked up the water glass, found his hand shaking, and set it down again.

Claire had spent days in the archive studying previous seasons. If anyone had found a loophole, a precedent, or even a better definition of elimination, it would be her.

He was halfway to the door before remembering Katherine.

There was still time before dinner.

He hoped.

* * *

Claire's chalkboard was divided into serious columns. Notes covered the table. But the books in front of her no longer had anything to do with system constants, Host discretion, or the Architect.

Lizzy sat beside her with one foot tucked beneath her chair, reading aloud from a season conducted aboard a deep-space salvage ship.

“Contestant Four filed a formal complaint because the observation deck only had one gravity setting.”

Claire leaned over the page. “Why did she need more than one?”

“She wanted to float during dates.”

“That’s fair.”

“The Host canceled it after the audience kept voting for skirts.”

Claire covered her mouth, but the laugh came through her fingers.

The illustration showed eight women clinging to railings while dresses, hair, plates, and one furious orange cat drifted through a dining compartment. Their Master had strapped himself to the ceiling and appeared to be reconsidering every decision that led him there.

Lizzy turned the page. “The cat was promoted to morale officer.”

“No.”

“It received a private cabin and formal voting rights over meal selection.”

Claire laughed harder and pushed loose red strands away from her face.

“This is serious research,” she said.

“Very serious.” Lizzy closed the volume and reached for another. “Try the digital one.”

They had found that season behind a shelf labeled NONSTANDARD EMBODIMENT. Every contestant had been translated into an artificial world made of bright geometric landscapes that rebuilt themselves around audience votes. One week took place in a city made of musical instruments. Another unfolded across islands floating inside an endless sunset. The cast could change clothing by opening menus, but the System charged them BP to restore deleted pockets.

Claire found the chapter Lizzy wanted. “Here. Their Master accidentally changed everyone’s voices into animal sounds.”

Lizzy leaned against her shoulder to read. “He spent hundreds of points trying to fix it.”

“He fixed everyone except himself.”

The next illustration showed a tall armored figure addressing a formal council while speech bubbles filled with the word quack in several different fonts.

Lizzy made a small choking sound and pressed her forehead into Claire’s shoulder. Claire gave up and laughed with her.

Lizzy wiped beneath one eye. “Do you think Katherine found anything yet?”

“She’s had the book on our alternate season for less than an hour.” Claire set the digital record aside. “She’ll probably bring notes to dinner.”

Lizzy reached for another book, then paused with her fingers on the spine. “Do you think she’s nervous?”

“Katherine?”

“She said she hadn’t been on a proper date in a long time.”

Claire considered the question. “I think she doesn't know what will happen,” Claire said. “That’s probably as close as she ever gets.”

The archive doors opened hard enough to strike the wall stops.

Mara entered first, one hand locked around Fiona’s forearm. Fiona came with her under protest, red hair loosened from the tie she had worn during the run. Both women carried the charged, overbright energy of an argument that had not lost momentum.

Claire pushed the books away. “What happened?”

“Mara thinks I've lost it,” Fiona said. “So she took me prisoner.”

“You were about to spend every point you own letting the System install an emotional tap into your brain,” Mara answered.

Lizzy straightened. “A what?”

“Master’s Temperature,” Fiona said. “It would let me know what Van is feeling within thirty feet.”

Claire’s laugh from a minute earlier vanished. “You were going to buy that?”

“Yes, she was.” Mara released Fiona at last and stepped between her and the doors. “Now explain to Lizzy why you decided violating Van’s emotional privacy was necessary.”

Fiona’s attention snapped to Lizzy.

Claire began to stand, but Mara put one hand on the table beside her. “Give her a chance.”

Lizzy’s shoulders had already drawn inward. Her fingers folded together in her lap, lavender-polished nails pressing against each other.

Fiona took one step toward Lizzy. “I’m trying to find out what this place is doing to you through him.”

Lizzy blinked. “Through Van?”

“Through the Master.” Fiona almost spit the last word. “You spent one night with him and earned eight points. Eight. You were frightened of being alone in the suite before dinner, and by morning you were defending him.”

Fiona’s voice filled the archive without using any power. “The System has spent a week pushing all of us toward him. It changed your body, made your clothes fail when you were vulnerable, arranged an entire night around the two of you, and then paid you when you got close enough. You don’t know what part of that was you.”

“I know what happened,” Lizzy corrected quietly. “I was there.”

“You know what the System wanted you to know. It's arranging everything so you only do what it wants you to.”

Lizzy tried again. “We ate together, then we went to a carnival. It's not exactly waterboarding.”

“That's just it,” Fiona crowed. “It gave you games you could win, food you liked, and a familiar setting to make you feel like you were comfortable when you shouldn't be.” Fiona moved closer. “That isn’t freedom. It’s a funnel.”

Lizzy’s back touched the chair. Her outline flickered at one shoulder, then steadied.

Fiona continued. “You need someone watching what happens before this gets worse,” she said. “Someone who won't treat his good intentions as proof that the power around him is safe. I can keep track of the rules. I can be nearby during the dates. If you start accepting things because you think you owe him—”

“You're my chaperone now?” Lizzy's shoulders rose as her back stiffened. “Who put you in charge of me?”

The question was quiet enough that Fiona stopped only because she had not expected it.

Lizzy unfolded from the chair. She stood slowly, one hand braced against the table until her knees stopped trembling.

“I didn’t ask you to supervise me,” she said. “I didn’t ask you to decide whether I understand what's happening to me or how I should feel about the people around me.”

Fiona’s brow furrowed. “That isn’t what I’m doing.”

“It is. You keep saying you’re protecting me, but every part of your plan starts with me being too weak to make my own choices safely.”

Fiona let out an exhausted grunt. “Lizzy, I'm not talking about you. I said the System manipulated the situation. Don't you see the difference?”

Lizzy’s voice shook and continued anyway. “I know it did. I know the carnival was built for us. I know my transformation made things happen that embarrassed me. I know the points were meant to make everything feel important. I'm not stupid. I don't trust Verena, and if I could go home this instant, I would.”

Fiona folded her arms. “You’re eighteen years old and trapped in a magic hotel that rewards you for pleasing the man with authority over all of us.”

“And you’re twenty-one.” Lizzy took one step away from the table. “You’re stronger than me. You’ve been a hero longer. You know more about fighting, and you’re better at making people listen. But you couldn’t stop the System from bringing you here either. Neither could I. We are both prisoners, Fiona. That makes us equal where this matters.”

Fiona’s arms loosened, then crossed again. “Fine. We are equal prisoners. Equal prisoners still need to watch out for each other.”

“Yes. Watch out for me. Tell me when you think something is dangerous. Help me when I ask for it. But you don’t get to make my decisions for me.”

Fiona’s face flushed. “Van holds power over you whether you admit it or not. We can’t call anyone. We can’t leave. There is no court, no supervisor, no one coming through that door if he decides he wants more than you want to give.”

Lizzy’s eyes moved briefly to the archive entrance, then returned to Fiona. “Any one of you could hurt me.”

Fiona looked stricken. “That’s not the same.” She took a half step back. “Lizzy, you know we'd never hurt you.”

“How do I know for sure? Every one of you could hurt or kill me without much effort. Should I walk around keeping my back to the wall and never trusting any of you either?”

“I trust them because of what they do,” Lizzy continued. “Not because they don’t have power. Van isn’t more dangerous than you are. I barely know him. I like him, and I don’t know what that will mean next week or next year or after we get out. But what happened on our date happened because I know things are changing beyond our control and I wanted my memories of my first kiss to come from a choice I made.”

Fiona shook her head. “Your choice was made inside of a trap.”

“Your choices are also made from the inside of a trap. Did you ever think that this drama is why you were chosen for the show? Did Verena know you would feel this way and bring you here so you could start arguments for the audience?”

Fiona’s mouth opened.

Lizzy spoke before Fiona could answer. “You want to help me. I love you for that, but even you aren't certain about Van's intentions. You could have hurt him. You didn’t. Why does your choice count when mine doesn’t?”

Mara lowered herself into the chair beside Claire.

“You don't understand the way it is when men have power over you.” Fiona’s voice roughened. “The world doesn’t work the way you want it to. You let them have one piece because they promise they only need one. Then another. Then you start measuring how angry they are before you speak. You tell yourself you can handle it because admitting you can’t means admitting you should have left before the first bruise.”

No one interrupted as Fiona’s words came faster. “They keep hurting you, Lizzy. You make excuses and you tell the girls you should be protecting that they don't understand. You tell them it's not his fault. You keep letting him back in until somebody finally screams them through a kitchen window.”

She gave a shuddering breath as she fought back the tears. “You don't have to feel that, Lizzy. I don't want you to feel like it's your fault that someone who is supposed to love you hurts you instead.” Her voice was like a ragged banner snapping and unraveling as she talked. “I won't fail this time, not again.”

Fiona stopped talking. Her hands had closed into fists at her sides. She wanted to turn away, to leave and escape this feeling somehow. She vibrated with the effort to control herself.

Lizzy crossed the space between them.

Fiona lifted one hand. “Don’t.” Her control was fragile. The fear and anger of the last few days were piled into a trembling pile, waiting to fall apart and bury her.

Lizzy wrapped her arms around the angry and frightened woman in front of her. The contact turned Fiona rigid. Lizzy’s cheek pressed against her shoulder. She was small enough that Fiona could have removed her without effort.

“I’m not her,” Lizzy said.

Fiona stared over her head. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You don’t have to stop every bad thing before it reaches us.”

“You don’t understand what I’m telling you.”

“I understand,” Lizzy said quietly. “Somebody hurt you. I don't need the details right now. You can tell me when you're ready.”

Fiona’s breath left in a short, angry sound. “That isn’t the point.”

Claire stood. She approached slowly enough that Fiona could see her coming, then placed one arm around Lizzy and the other around Fiona’s back.

Fiona tried to turn without dislodging either of them. “Claire, don't. This isn't...”

“I heard you.”

“You’re both missing—”

Mara joined from the other side.

Fiona made an incredulous sound as Mara’s arms closed around the group. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Mara said. “I'm afraid too, but none of us have to be alone.”

Fiona rubbed one reddened eye against her own shoulder. “This doesn’t fix anything.” Her voice broke on her own words. “I'm not surrendering to this place.”

“No.” Mara rested her forehead briefly against Fiona’s temple. “It means you don't have to do everything alone.”

Fiona’s arms remained pinned awkwardly between bodies. Lizzy held on despite Fiona's squirming.

Fiona tried to continue her warning. The words lost their edges between one breath and the next.

“I still don’t trust him,” she said.

Lizzy nodded against her shoulder. “Okay.”

One of Fiona’s fists opened. Her hand settled against Lizzy’s back with the uncertainty of someone touching a fragile object. The other remained trapped near Claire’s waist until Mara shifted and gave it room.

Gold light unfolded above them. The same notification appeared before each of the four women.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION

Claire Mercer

Reward: +1 VP

Hugged Another Contestant

Eliza Quinn

Reward: +1 VP

Hugged Another Contestant

Mara Ellison

Reward: +1 VP

Hugged Another Contestant

Fiona Kavanagh

Reward: +1 VP

Hugged Another Contestant

The four women read the notification without separating.

Fiona’s attention fixed on the final line beside her name. One VP.

“Of course,” she whispered. “A reward for giving in.”

Claire’s arm tightened. “Shush, Fiona. We can hate it later.”

Fiona swallowed. Her eyes burned. She kept her face angled over Lizzy’s shoulder.

The archive doors opened while the gold screen still glowed above them. Van stepped inside as the letters were fading, stopping after one confused pace.

Four women stood locked together between the research table and the shelves. Mara’s cheek rested near Fiona’s temple. Lizzy had both arms around Fiona’s middle. Fiona’s face was red, her eyes wet, and one hand remained spread against Lizzy’s back.

The notification folded away before he finished reading it. “I—”

The hug broke unevenly. Fiona released Lizzy first and stepped away before anyone could decide whether to let her. She wiped beneath one eye with the heel of her hand and found Van standing in the doorway.

Her expression hardened on instinct, but her eyes remained wet. She couldn’t hold his gaze.

Mara moved immediately. She crossed the room, took Van by the upper arm, and turned him back toward the corridor.

“Come with me.” Mara guided him through the doors.

Van twisted enough to look behind them. Lizzy had moved beside Fiona without touching her. Claire stood on Fiona’s other side. Fiona faced the table, shoulders high, attention fixed on a book she was not reading.

The doors closed, blocking his vision. Mara kept walking until they reached the lounge at the end of the corridor. She released him near a couch.

Van looked back toward the archive doors. “What happened?”

“Something very important and very private.”

“Was Fiona crying?” he asked with concern.

Mara lowered herself onto the arm of the couch. Her anger had burned down, leaving exhaustion in its place. “You walking in just then made it harder.”

Van glanced toward the archive doors. “Verena came to the suite and warned me that Fiona was at risk for elimination. I came to ask Claire whether she found anything that could help.”

Mara was silent for two breaths.

Then she laughed once, tired and astonished. “The System just gave Fiona a point.”

Van had caught the number before the screen vanished. “For what?”

“For a group hug.” Mara shook her head in mild disbelief. “It's silly, but she was having a hard time and we hugged her.”

His brows furrowed. “Is this because I raised my voice at her? I feel terrible that our argument got out of hand and now she's feeling this bad.”

“Only partly,” Mara said. “Lizzy told Fiona to stop treating her like a child. Fiona responded badly. Then honestly. Then everyone became emotional.”

Van waited for more.

Mara opened her eyes. “Fiona finally let something old and painful out. She'll share when she's ready.”

He almost asked for more. Fiona’s wet eyes returned before the words came out. “Should I talk to her?”

“Later is a real possibility.” Mara slid off the couch arm. “Tonight, let her decide whether she wants to speak to you.”

Van sat on the couch with his head in his hands.

Mara took one of his hands. “It's a lot, I know. You have Katherine's night coming up. Let us handle Fiona for now.”

She rose and turned toward the archive. Van remained on the couch long enough to hear the doors close behind her.

* * *

Earlier that afternoon, while Van still slept, Mirel Dane listened to Cassie’s proposal without interrupting.

Cassie used the phrase “sexy battery” once and suggested temporary plasma breath twice.

When she finished, Mirel looked at Naomi. “Did any of that make any real sense?”

“Naomi drained energy from one of the Van-droids,” Evelyn said from beside the diagnostic glass. “She retained the energy and felt physically restored. We want to find out what the other unknown effects could be.”

“That will do.” Mirel indicated the two padded tables. “Miss Lin, you volunteered?”

Cassie hopped onto the nearer one. “Enthusiastically.”

Naomi described the droid grabbing her, Power Valve opening under stress, and the reserve that had settled inside her afterward. The borrowed energy still hummed in her core, but not as powerfully as before.

“Was there any pain?” Mirel asked. “Any discomfort or nausea?”

“No.”

“Any tremors, sensitivity to light, headache or phantom sensations?”

“No. Only energy. Stamina, maybe.” Naomi flexed her fingers. “It felt good.”

“That is a good place to start,” Mirel said. “It is also a reason to test carefully.”

She recorded baseline pulse, reflexes, grip strength, balance, and plasma output for both women. The equipment confirmed that Naomi still held a reserve but offered no reliable answer about how long it would remain or what happened when it faded.

“We will test the effect of draining Ms. Lin in short bursts first,” Mirel said. “Tell me everything you feel as soon as you feel it.”

Cassie gave a small salute.

Mirel ignored it. “Ms. Hale, are you prepared?”

Naomi hesitated only a moment. “Let me take off some clothes first, so I can have more control.”

Cassie’s attention went to the ceiling.

Evelyn met her eyes. “This is your decision.”

Naomi changed behind the screen, folding her dark skirt and racerback top on the chair. Power Valve loosened as more skin met the cool air.

Cassie had gone unusually quiet as Naomi padded barefoot over to the examination table.

The tables were close enough for their inside arms to rest across the same padded support. Once Naomi was positioned, Cassie looked over at her once. Then she looked away, determinedly locking her gaze on the far wall.

Mirel kept her instructions concise: Naomi placed two fingers against the inside of Cassie’s wrist. She kept her will clenched around Power Valve until the doctor gave the signal.

The first touch lasted one second.

The pull began immediately. Cassie’s energy felt warmer and less uniform than the droid’s, threaded through with heartbeat and breath. The tone sounded. Naomi released.

“One-point-zero-six seconds,” Mirel said. “No meaningful delay.”

Cassie flexed her hand. “I feel normal.”

Naomi felt a small fluttering brightness settle beneath her sternum, but it faded in an instant.

Cassie produced a controlled plasma spark against the shielded target. It matched her baseline.

The second contact lasted three seconds. Cassie described mild lightness and a sudden sense of missed sleep. Her plasma still formed, but the output had fallen slightly with her general fatigue. Naomi experienced that fluttering brightness as a stronger pulse, but it faded before she could describe it in detail.

The five-second test made the distinction clearer. Cassie’s pulse rose and her grip weakened. Her plasma formed as soon as she called to it; she simply had less energy available to produce it. Naomi felt stronger without gaining anything that resembled Cassie’s power.

“Cassie's ability is intact,” Evelyn said, reading the display. “Only the available output is declining.”

Mirel nodded. “I don't see any sign of the drain impacting the target's own Empowerment.”

They repeated the short intervals after recovery periods until Naomi stopped cleanly at every assigned tone. Mirel kept the contact point and valve setting constant so time remained the only changing variable.

The final planned interval was seven seconds.

Cassie lay flat with her hand open. Her earlier confidence had become concentration. Naomi placed two fingers against her wrist and waited for Mirel’s signal.

“Begin.”

Power Valve opened.

Energy flowed into Naomi. Her body welcomed it with the same dangerous relief it had felt at the pool.

Three seconds.

Four.

Cassie’s fingers tightened, then weakened.

Naomi closed the valve and released her before the tone.

The recorder chimed a moment later.

Mirel looked from the display to Naomi. “Why did you stop?”

“Her grip changed.”

Cassie tried to sit up. Her elbows failed, and Evelyn caught her before she slipped sideways.

“I was fine,” Cassie said, without conviction. “Until I wasn't. I guess repeatedly donating to Ms. Power Vampire over here catches up to a girl.”

Mirel ended the assessment and handed Cassie a recovery drink. “You’re stable. You are also finished.”

Cassie tasted it and grimaced. “This is terrible.”

“Drink it anyway.”

She drank.

Mirel reviewed the final readings. “Preliminary finding: Naomi transfers usable physical and Empowered-output energy. The drain temporarily reduces what the donor can safely exert. It does not remove the underlying ability or copy Miss Lin’s plasma.”

“Boo,” cried Cassie. “I wanted to see her with glowy hair or something.”

Naomi looked down at her hands.

Mirel told Naomi to dress and instructed Evelyn to keep Cassie from pretending she could walk normally before she actually could.

Naomi stepped behind the screen. The reserve inside was like a second heartbeat. She could feel it slowing and becoming more distant with each pulse of stolen energy. She looked back at Cassie as she pulled herself off of the table, still chugging the recovery drink. Naomi couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she held on longer.