Day 8 — Evening 1/2

Day 8 — Evening 1/2

Lizzy’s control came apart before she made it three steps into the spa. The image of Van and Fiona was still moving in the air above Mara's tub.

Lizzy’s first instinct was to look away. When she didn't, her second was to stop existing. Her power chose something in between.

The pressure inside her slipped open all at once. Her body went pale and translucent, and everything she had been wearing stopped belonging to the same physical rules. Shirt, shorts, underwear, even the little things in her pockets lost their grip on her and dropped in a loose, humiliating heap around her ankles.

Lizzy made a sound too high to qualify as a word.

Pixie spun toward her. “Lizzy—”

The commotion finally reached the tubs. Katherine pushed her eye mask up first. Evelyn followed a heartbeat later, both women turning toward the doorway.

Lizzy lunged for the nearest towel. “No no no no no.” Her hand passed through it.

There was exactly one thing in the room large enough to hide in that did not require her to wear or carry it.

Lizzy jumped into the nearest mud bath. Mara had just enough time to lift her head before Lizzy hit the surface beside her.

Warm gray-brown mud exploded over the rim. It slapped across the stone floor, spattered the side of Evelyn’s tub, and smothered two of the little candles burning in recessed niches beside them. One went out with a tiny hiss. The other simply vanished beneath a heavy slap of gray mud.

Mara yelped as Lizzy slid into place against her. The tub had been generous for one person. For two women trying very hard not to be pressed together while immersed in slick heated mud, it became absurdly small.

Lizzy tried to scoot away, bumping her knee into Mara’s thigh. Mara tried to give her room and only succeeded in sliding an inch farther beneath Lizzy’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Lizzy squeaked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—my clothes—I just—”

“Are you hurt?” Evelyn asked.

“No!” The answer came out so quickly that Katherine’s eyebrows lifted.

Pixie took one careful step toward the tub and stopped when Lizzy sank until only her face and the top of her head remained above the mud.

Mara had recovered enough to push her own eye mask onto her forehead. “Lizzy?”

“I got embarrassed.”

“Yes,” Katherine said. “Explosively so, somehow.”

Lizzy squeezed her eyes shut.

“Sorry,” Katherine added.

Evelyn looked from the pile of clothing near the entrance to Lizzy in Mara’s tub, then to Pixie. “What happened?”

Lizzy’s eyes snapped open. “Nothing.”

Mara turned toward her, reading the panic plain on her face.

Lizzy rushed on. “I mean, I slipped. My power slipped. I came in too fast and then everyone moved and I panicked and that’s all.”

Mara’s expression changed just enough for Lizzy to recognize it. “No,” she said softly. “I know you’re trying to help me.”

Lizzy looked at her. “Mara.”

“No, Lizzy.” She lifted her own head to look beyond the young girl's frantic expression. “I’m not going to let you lie for me.”

The effects of Loose Lips had mostly burned themselves out during the long stretch in the mud. Mara sounded tired and embarrassed, but the honesty was deliberate.

Evelyn’s attention sharpened. Katherine said nothing.

Mara took a breath. “My control has been slipping. Ever since my transformation, the illusions come so much faster and with such detail that my imagination has been hard to reign in.”

Lizzy sank another fraction of an inch.

“Some times when I'm sleeping, my dreams fill the space near the bed. Lizzy has seen them and has shown amazing restraint. She wanted to keep my secret, but I suppose there's no going back now.”

Mara glanced toward the empty air above the tubs. Whatever had been there was gone now, shattered with her concentration when Lizzy hit the mud.

“I don’t know exactly what she saw,” Mara told the older women. “But I know what we were talking about.” Mara’s cheeks warmed. “And I know which direction my thoughts had started wandering.”

Katherine leaned back against the stone edge of her tub. “Ah.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Dream Girl?”

Mara nodded.

“I thought I was awake enough to keep a grip on it.” She rubbed one muddy hand over her face before remembering what was on the hand and stopped halfway. “Apparently being warm, relaxed, half-asleep, and still a little chemically disinhibited was not an ideal combination.”

Pixie quietly offered her a small clean cloth.

“Thank you.” Mara wiped the mud from the bridge of her nose. “I knew the power was harder to contain when I’m sleepy or distracted. I just thought I was doing better.”

Evelyn’s expression softened without losing its seriousness. “We are all adjusting to changes in this place. I won't hold it against you.” She looked down at the mud coated candle, “As long as I can remain unscorched that is.”

Mara gave her a grateful look.

Lizzy peeked out from her mud and whispered a tiny, “I'm sorry.”

Katherine rested both forearms on the rim of her tub. “If my subconscious began producing high-fidelity tactical reenactments every time I relaxed, I would spend the rest of my life sleeping in a locked bunker.”

“That’s not comforting,” Mara said.

Katherine’s mouth twitched. “It was intended as solidarity.”

Lizzy finally lifted her chin above the mud. “You really don’t want to know what it showed?”

“No.” Mara shut her eyes. “I assume it was bad.”

Lizzy made a strangled noise. “It was…vivid.”

Mara immediately raised both hands. “No. Never mind. I withdraw the question.”

Pixie turned away, but her shoulders moved suspiciously like someone holding back laughter.

Evelyn pointed at her. “You are not helping.”

Lizzy laughed first, mostly because the alternative seemed to be dying in a mud bath. Mara followed, embarrassed and exhausted. Even Evelyn’s mouth bent at one corner.

Katherine looked around the room at the extinguished candles, the muddy floor, Lizzy’s abandoned clothes, and the two women wedged together in one tub.

“I think this treatment may have reached diminishing returns.”

Pixie surveyed the damage. “That’s fair.”

Lizzy could not safely wrap herself in a towel until she had her phasing under control, and climbing out while naked in front of four women sounded like exactly the sort of thing that would make her lose control again.

Mara solved it by climbing out first. That required several awkward seconds of untangling knees, elbows, and slippery limbs before she finally stood, dripping mud, and stepped behind the nearest privacy screen.

“I’m going to shower,” she announced. “And I’m going to try to pretend I did not put private musings on HD display.”

Evelyn rose from her own tub. “Sensible.”

Katherine followed. “I’ll take the far shower.”

Both women gathered towels and moved away without looking toward Lizzy’s tub.

Pixie retrieved Lizzy’s clothing from the floor and set it neatly behind another screen. “Try now,” she said.

Lizzy concentrated and the pressure inside her narrowed again. Her hands became completely opaque. Then her arms. Then the rest of her. She reached cautiously for a towel.

This time her fingers closed around it. “Oh, thank God.”

Pixie smiled. “Good sign.”

Lizzy wrapped it around herself so tightly that it nearly qualified as armor.

By the time the four women had showered, scrubbed the last of the mineral mud from their hair and skin, and dressed again, the spa looked less like a peaceful retreat and more like the aftermath of a very polite landslide.

Mara waited near the exit in fresh clothes, hair still damp at the ends. Lizzy approached her quietly. “You didn’t have to tell them.”

“Not telling someone something private is one thing. Letting you lie to them because I was embarrassed would have been another.” Mara glanced toward Evelyn and Katherine, who had left them enough distance for privacy, then touched Lizzy’s shoulder once. “Thank you for trying to protect me anyway.”

Lizzy’s face warmed again, but this time in a pleased little blush instead of the crimson of shame from before.

“That’s progress,” Mara said.

They joined the others and headed toward dinner.

***

Van found Fiona waiting in the lounge beside the information terminal.

The difference took him a second to place. One bare shoulder, the solid weight of her boots, and—more than either—clothes that looked chosen rather than assigned. It was something hard to place, but she looked more like herself than before.

Fiona caught him looking, “Hello?”

Van stopped a few feet away. “Hi.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I allowed to compliment your outfit?”

Fiona stared at him long enough to make him wait. “I’m not going to detonate because you say something nice.”

Van gave her a long look, and her expression tightened. “Fine. I understand why you asked.”

“You look very nice.”

The absurdity landed half a second late. Fiona laughed—not loudly, but genuinely enough that Van started laughing too. “I can't believe we held an entire negotiation and the thing you wanted to say was that,” she said.

Van looked chagrined, “What did you expect me to say?”

“Well, since no one has ever asked permission to compliment me, I guess I expected something you'd need permission for, something offensive.”

Van's tone dropped a bit, “You’ve screamed at me for less.”

“That’s unfair,” She said.

Van raised his eyebrows, and Fiona thought about it. “That is selectively unfair.”

Van stiffened his face to stop himself from grinning. “I’ll take it.”

She looked down at the sweater, tugged once at the hem, then let it fall back into place. “Cassie thought I would be less likely to sabotage the night if I was more comfortable somehow.”

Van considered her words, “And are you? More comfortable, I mean?”

“I guess,” she shrugged, refusing to commit to an answer.

Van waited for another beat, to allow her time to decide before he realized that was all the answer he would get. He turned toward the information terminal instead, “Did you ever decide what you wanted to do tonight?”

Fiona’s humor faded, though not into hostility.

He kept his voice even. “You said you’d think about it.”

“I did.”

“And?”

She studied the list of facilities on the wall display rather than him. “I want to go somewhere I won’t be asked to behave.”

Van blinked.

Fiona glanced over. “What?”

“I was expecting something harder to find.”

“Then you haven’t spent enough time with me.”

“That is probably true.”

He began scrolling through dining options.

******************

There were too many of them. Formal restaurants, little cafés, themed dining rooms, private terraces, a steakhouse, something that appeared to serve food suspended in spheres of light, and several listings with names Van could only assume were crude jokes.

Then one listing stood out because it had a one star rating. Van frowned and opened it. The photograph showed a rustic wooden sign and what appeared to be a cartoon old woman feeding bread to birds.

“That has to be a gimmick.”

Fiona leaned closer. “Why?”

“Everything in this place is polished enough to make breathing expensive. I don’t think they accidentally built a one-star restaurant.”

He tapped the listing.

“Mother Ducker’s,” Fiona read.

Van looked at the screen again as though confirming it. “I’m trying to decide if I respect the name.”

Fiona studied the little cartoon sign. “I don’t.”

“Perfect.” He selected it.

As they left the lounge, Van’s phone chimed. He checked it while they walked.

CLAIRE: Cassie says you owe us a date-night picture.

Van locked the screen. Fiona glanced at the phone in his hand. “What was that?”

“Claire.”

“What does Claire want?”

“Apparently nothing. Cassie wants a picture of us.”

Fiona barked out a laugh. “Of course she does.”

They walked a few more steps before Fiona shifted the fall of her new top again. “She spent half the afternoon trying to dress me like some kind of discount nightclub disaster.”

Van looked over.

“Fishnets. Fake eyelashes. Go-go boots. There was a miniskirt involved at one point and a vest that barely—” She stopped. Van kept looking straight ahead while Fiona’s ears reddened. Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Finally Van said, “I wouldn’t take it too hard. It’s this place, it put the Van-droid in a speedo twice now.”

Fiona glanced at him.

He shrugged. “I’m just saying the Hotel is committed to embarrassing all of us.”

She fought it for perhaps two seconds before nodding. “In principle, I concede the point.”

“That may be the nicest thing you say to me all night.”

“Don’t get greedy.”

The route took them through a section of the Hotel Van had not visited before. The polished walls gradually gave way to dark timber, stone, and warm amber light. Somewhere ahead came the overlapping noise of conversation, dishes, and laughter.

The restaurant was crowded enough that every table seemed occupied. Diners leaned over half-finished plates, gestured through private conversations, and made the small impatient movements of people waiting for food.

Over the entrance hung a painted sign.

MOTHER DUCKER’S

An elderly Appalachian-looking woman in an apron smiled from the middle of it while scattering bread toward a cluster of cheerful cartoon waterfowl.

Fiona stopped walking so suddenly Van nearly ran into her.

She turned very slowly. “Did you pick this because my family is from the Carolinas?”

“What?”

The surprise was immediate enough that she studied him for a second longer and then looked back at the sign.

“Fine. Maybe you didn’t.”

The hostess approached before Van could defend himself. She was a broad-shouldered woman with gray hair piled into a loose bun, an apron that read ASK ME ABOUT OUR TERRIBLE SERVICE, and an expression of aggressive disappointment.

She looked Van over first. Then Fiona. Then back to Van.

“Your date need a bib to cover those huge tits, or is she planning to drag ’em through the gravy?”

Van stopped breathing.

Fiona’s eyes widened, “Excuse the fuck out of me? Who lit the fuse on your tampon?”

Something brown blurred out of the dining room. Fiona ducked on instinct. A dinner roll sailed over her head and struck the wall behind them.

For one strange second nobody moved.

Then Fiona looked between the roll and the hostess. The hostess pointed at a chalkboard beside the door.

HOUSE RULES

WE THROW BREAD AT DUCKS

IF YOU HAVE A FOWL MOUTH, YOU’RE A DUCK

KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN

DON’T THROW FOOD - IT’S RUDE

COMPLAINTS MAY BE IGNORED IN THE ORDER RECEIVED.

Fiona read the board twice, one eyebrow twitching. Van waited for the explosion. Instead, she shook her head slowly.

“This is the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Lost your mirror, have you?” The hostess folded her arms. “Anyway, table for two?”

Fiona looked at Van. “You are either very brave or very foolish.”

Van considered that. “Can I be both?”

“Probably.”

The hostess jerked her thumb toward the dining room. “Come on, lovebirds. We got a nice table where nobody’ll have to look directly at you.”

Fiona followed her. Van let out a deep breath and went after them.

***

Claire had been halfway through telling Cassie that no, she did not care how convincing the feather boa argument had become when Mara, Evelyn, Katherine, and Lizzy joined the table. She stopped.

“You’re glowing.”

Evelyn looked down at herself. “Should I notify Dr. Dane?”

“Ha-ha,” Claire deadpanned. “No, I mean your skin.” Claire gestured between Evelyn, Mara, and Katherine. “All three of you. What did you do?”

“Paid an unreasonable amount of BP to sit in warm mud,” Evelyn said.

Cassie stared at her. “Katherine seems determined to treat this place as a resort instead of a prison.” She looked down at her hands, “Can I learn this power?”

“Yes,” Katherine took a seat. “But it will take you about thirty years or so.”

Claire laughed. “Was it relaxing?”

Evelyn and Katherine looked at Mara, who looked at Lizzy. Lizzy became intensely interested in her plate.

Evelyn returned her attention to Claire. “Broadly speaking.”

“That sounds suspicious,” Cassie said.

“It was a spa,” Evelyn replied. “Something happened. Nobody was injured. I am not giving you the incident report.”

Cassie leaned back. “Now I definitely want the incident report.”

“You definitely are not getting it.”

Mara reached for water before anyone could ask another question. Claire let the subject go and instead started describing the afternoon at Haven Fabrics.

Cassie contributed so aggressively that the story became less about Fiona finding an outfit and more about Cassie’s heroic struggle against everyone else’s lack of vision.

“I still maintain the go-go boots had potential.”

“They did not,” Claire said. “Plus, you suggested fishnets, so your vision is already suspect.”

“You lack imagination.” Cassie crossed her arms and looked away. Besides the fishnets were for balance.”

“There was nothing to balance.”

Naomi looked genuinely disappointed. “I wish I’d gone with you.”

Cassie pointed at her. “Thank you.”

Lizzy looked up. “What would you have picked?”

“I didn’t say I agreed with you.” Naomi’s mouth curved. “I’d have suggested a muzzle.”

Claire nearly choked on her drink. Cassie slapped the tabletop. Even Evelyn gave up on trying to look disapproving.

Lizzy stared at Naomi. “That is horrible.”

“She screams loud enough to break things and says everything she thinks.” Naomi spread both hands. “It’s practical.”

Mara laughed harder than the joke deserved. Lizzy looked up, and Mara choked the laugh off too late.

Claire glanced between them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mara said too quickly.

Lizzy went bright red again.

Cassie’s eyes narrowed with sudden predatory interest.

Evelyn cut across the opening before she could use it. “We were discussing Fiona’s date.”

Cassie accepted the redirection with visible reluctance.

Claire smiled. “I hope they’re having a good time.”

“I hope they are both still alive,” Cassie said.

Mara made the mistake of laughing again.

“Realistically,” Claire continued, “Fiona was trying.”

“So was Van,” Naomi said.

Cassie tore a piece of bread in half. “That’s what worries me. Two people trying very hard not to kill each other can become surprisingly creative.”

“They are not going to kill each other,” Mara said.

Lizzy made a tiny strangled sound and Mara closed her eyes again.

Evelyn set down her fork. “We are changing subjects now.”

“No argument here,” Mara said.

Katherine took a slow sip of water and looked toward Evelyn. “So,” she said. “Are you nervous?”

Evelyn’s gaze moved to her. “About?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Claire looked over immediately.

Katherine continued, “You are the only person here who has not completed her bond assignment.”

“I am aware.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” Evelyn cut a piece of food with unnecessary precision. “It is not a date.”

Cassie made a skeptical noise.

“It is an assignment,” Evelyn said. “Calling it a date does not make it one.”

Katherine nodded thoughtfully. “And you are not nervous.”

“Of course not,” Evelyn’s face was as immovable as a marble bust.

“Because you don’t become nervous on dates anymore,” Katherine leaned away, slouching in exaggerated ease. “You must be an expert at dating then.”

Katherine’s tone remained perfectly innocent. “How do you arm yourself for one?” She placed a very subtle emphasis on the word arm. Only Mara caught the reference to Evelyn’s slip about Van’s arms and how she doesn’t think about them.

Evelyn looked at her for a long moment. The corner of Katherine’s mouth moved, but Evelyn refused the bait. “I usually have a drink and do my makeup.”

Cassie frowned. “That is disappointingly normal.”

“It has served me adequately.” Evelyn reached for her water, then paused. “Served,” she corrected, turning the glass between her fingers. “That is how I used to do it.”

Claire’s expression softened. “Used to?”

“It has been a very long time.”

Cassie stared at her. “Seriously?”

Evelyn gave her a flat look. “You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised. That’s a damn shame.” Cassie’s voice was even and lacked the usual sarcasm. “You are way too hot to waste on solitude.”

“Cassie,” Claire exclaimed.

Lizzy sat up. “That is not how you say that.”

Cassie looked between them. “Was the compliment unclear?”

“The compliment was not the problem,” Claire said.

“You made it sound like she’s doing something wrong by being single,” Lizzy added.

Cassie pointed her fork at Evelyn. “Tell them what I meant.”

For once, Evelyn did not rescue the conversation by becoming more formal. She looked down at her hands, and when she spoke again her voice was quieter. “Her formulation is appalling.”

Cassie opened her mouth, but Evelyn lifted one finger. “She is also not entirely wrong.”

“Circumstances have not been especially kind to me in that arena.” Claire knew enough not to ask which circumstances; Mara did too, and most of the joke left Cassie’s expression.

Evelyn drew a slow breath. “And after enough time, it becomes easy to let circumstance become habit. Work is an easy excuse, responsibility is always calling, there is always someone who needs something done.” Her thumb moved once along the edge of the glass. “Solitude is efficient.”

Katherine’s eyes stayed on her. “That wasn’t an endorsement.”

Evelyn met her gaze. “No. It wasn’t.”

Lizzy had been quiet through the last part. Now she spoke so softly that Evelyn almost missed it. “You’re so wonderful, though.”

Evelyn looked toward her. Lizzy’s face reddened immediately, but she kept going.

“I just mean…” She swallowed. “If it isn’t what you actually want, it seems like a shame to steal yourself from the world like that.”

For several seconds Evelyn had no answer. Then she looked down at her plate and let out a small breath that might have been a laugh. “That is a remarkably flattering indictment.”

Lizzy smiled nervously. “Sorry.”

Evelyn picked up her fork again. “Don’t be.”

Katherine, for once, left the subject alone.

*******************

Van had never known a person could fry an entire steak.

He stared at the plate when the waiter dropped it in front of Fiona. The steak was breaded, fried golden-brown, smothered in pale gravy, and accompanied by mashed potatoes that appeared to have been shaped with an ice-cream scoop.

Fiona looked delighted.

Van looked concerned. “That is a whole steak.”

Fiona looked at him with genuine pity. “Your lack of culture is shocking.”

Van laughed. “I didn’t know culture included fried foods.”

“It can’t all be roast duck and foie gras.”

Every diner within sight dropped their heads suddenly as a waiter cried, “Duck?!”

Van barely had time to wonder what was happening before three dinner rolls struck him in rapid succession. One bounced off his shoulder. One hit his chest. The third landed directly in his lap.

Fiona caught two herself, one off the upper arm and another against the side of her head.

They sat frozen as the entire dining room rose again as though nothing had happened.

Their waiter pointed at them with the spout of a coffee pot. “New folks never listen.”

Fiona slowly lifted the roll from her lap.

The waiter continued, “You know what we throw at waterfowl here at Mother’s.”

Fiona picked up one of the rolls that had hit her. She drew her arm back.

The waiter recoiled dramatically. “Hey! Don’t throw food at people. This place ain’t your mama’s trailer.”

Van went still. He had seen Fiona react to insults. He had seen her react to humiliation. He had seen her react to much less than somebody dragging her mother into a joke.

For one terrible second he considered moving out of arm’s reach.

Fiona looked at the waiter, then at the roll in her hand. “No,” she said. “It isn’t.”

The waiter grinned as though he had won.

Fiona continued, “This place has too many rats to be a decent trailer like Mama’s.”

The waiter’s grin broke.

Van laughed so suddenly he almost choked.

Fiona tossed the roll back onto her plate, pleased with herself.

The waiter pointed at her. “I don’t like you.”

“Because I smell like soap and that makes you nervous?”

Van was still laughing as he walked away. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to break his arm.”

Her fork stopped. “What?” The amusement disappeared from her face. Fiona stared at him. “Why would I break his arm?”

Van gestured helplessly. “I don’t know. The insult. Your mother. The trailer thing.”

“That’s stupid.” Fiona’s voice sharpened. “I don’t get angry about stupid things like your-mama jokes, Van. I get angry about sex-slave tourism.”

Van’s first instinct was to defend himself. He sat back instead. “Okay.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Those are not the same thing. I’m sorry.”

“No, they’re not.” Some of the force went out of Fiona’s shoulders. She cut another piece of steak but didn’t eat it yet.

Fiona took a slow breath through her nose. “It’s not entirely your fault. I haven’t handled this place very intelligently.”

Van stayed quiet.

Her eyes narrowed. “You are allowed to react.”

“I’m trying not to ruin it.”

The corner of her mouth almost moved. She looked back at her plate. “I still don’t trust you. You’re still the man this whole place is built around; I’m not going to pretend that means nothing. But there’s no point adding more friction to something that’s already dangerous.” She set down her fork and looked at him again. “If I make myself impossible to work with because I’m angry, that doesn’t only affect me. I can’t afford to sabotage myself just to prove I’m not cooperating.”

Van nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“I hate when you say that.”

“Would you prefer I disagree?”

“Yes.”

He waited.

“No,” Fiona admitted. “Not really.”

For a few seconds the restaurant noise filled the space between them. Then Fiona asked, “Do you really not remember those years?”

Van’s face went blank in the way it sometimes did when a question arrived from somewhere he had not expected.

“The missing ones,” she clarified. “You always talk around them.”

He looked down at his hands. “It’s not no memory. There are just holes.” He rubbed his thumb over one knuckle. “A lot of holes.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Try.”

Van gave her a tired look. Fiona almost apologized for the demand, then decided not to insult him by pretending the question hadn’t been deliberate. He looked toward the crowded room rather than at her.

“I remember places. Streets. Shelters sometimes. People who were around for a while. Things I did because I had to. But when I was a homeless refugee, especially early on, it’s spotty. There are days I can place and months that feel like somebody cut pieces out.” His mouth tightened. “Sometimes I know something happened because of what came after it, not because I remember the thing itself.”

Fiona rested her hands beside her plate and let the answer sit. “I want you to know something. I don’t want to make your bad life worse.”

He blinked.

She grimaced. “That came out terribly.”

“No, I understood.”

“I mean I don’t want to make this place harder for you just because I’m angry about what it is.”

Van’s expression went carefully neutral.

Fiona leaned forward a little. “But I cannot afford to treat you the way they want me to treat you.”

“I agree.”

Fiona searched his face for the catch.

Van reached for his drink. “I’d prefer if you eventually trusted me. But I mean it. I don’t want you jumping on board the harem train. I just don’t want every new thing the Hotel does landing on me like I planned it.”

Fiona stared at him. “I would actually prefer if nobody ever says that phrase to me again.” Despite herself, she laughed once. When it faded, she said, “That’s fair though.”

Van nodded. Fiona studied him for another long moment, then reached across the table and held out her hand.

Van looked at it. “It is an agreement, then.”

“Okay.”

He took her hand. Fiona’s grip was firm, and Van matched it without trying to prove anything. They shook once.

That was the exact moment their waiter arrived. He looked down at their joined hands, then at Fiona, then at Van. His face twisted with disgust. “Oh, this is pathetic.”

Before either of them could react, he slapped a folded paper hat onto Van’s head.

Van recoiled. “What—”

A second hat landed on Fiona.

Across the front of each, written in thick uneven crayon, were the words:

WORST DATE EVER

The waiter planted both palms on the table. “You two trying to fall in love or negotiate a labor contract?”

Van released Fiona’s hand. “It’s not exactly voluntary—”

“Oh, shut up,” the waiter said. “If you need this much paperwork to flirt, you deserve each other.”

Van’s words came out in a jumble, “It’s not—”

Fiona bulldozed straight over him, pointing at the waiter. “Just because you had to find a job at least five hundred yards from a school doesn’t mean you should take it out on us.”

Van made a choking sound. The waiter’s eyes narrowed.

Fiona smiled sweetly beneath the WORST DATE EVER hat.

The waiter picked up both of their glasses. “I’ll get you some refills.”

“How kind,” Fiona said.

“Maybe there’s enough dishwater left to fill both.” He walked away before either of them could answer.

Van watched him go, then looked across the table at Fiona. The paper hat sat crooked over her red hair. She looked back at him. Then both of them started laughing.

***

“Did he send it?” Cassie asked.

Claire didn’t have to look at her phone to know the answer. “No.”

Cassie waited approximately twelve seconds. “Did he send it now?”

Dinner had mostly wound down. Plates were being cleared in small stages, and the group had begun drifting into the loose end-of-meal posture that meant nobody was quite ready to leave but nobody had anything important left to eat.

Cassie leaned farther over Claire’s shoulder. “Send another message.”

“I already sent one.”

“Send a more persuasive one.”

Claire turned her phone away. “You are not commandeering my phone because you don’t have one.”

Cassie looked offended. “That sounds like oppression.”

Naomi said, “Leave her alone.”

Cassie pointed at Claire. “She has access to critical intelligence and refuses to share it.”

Katherine looked up from the table. “I am begging you not to use that phrase.”

“Fine. Critical gossip.”

“That is better.”

Cassie clasped both hands under her chin and looked at Claire with exaggerated innocence. “Please.”

Claire held out for three more seconds. Then she sighed and opened Van’s contact.

CASSIE SAYS THIS IS THE LAST REQUEST FOR A DATE PHOTO.

Cassie leaned closer. “That is a lie.”

“I know.”

Claire sent the message anyway. A photograph appeared almost immediately. Van sat against a dark wooden booth back, wearing a white paper hat folded into a crooked little crown.

Across the front, in thick crayon, it read WORST DATE EVER. His expression contained equal parts embarrassment, exhaustion, and reluctant amusement.

Claire stared, then laughed.

Cassie snatched the phone close enough to inspect it without actually taking it from Claire’s hand. “Oh, that is incredible.”

“What?” Lizzy asked.

Claire turned the screen, and the photograph moved around the table.

Naomi smiled. “He still has all his blood.”

“Best possible outcome,” Cassie said.

Mara studied the picture and laughed, more normally this time. “No visible burns either.”

Lizzy leaned in. “He looks like somebody just lost a custody hearing.”

That earned another round of laughter.

Evelyn accepted the phone when Claire passed it to her and studied the hat. “Given the available evidence, I am prepared to classify the evening as non-catastrophic.”

Cassie pointed at her. “See? Best possible outcome.”

Evelyn handed the phone back. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

The group finally began to break apart. There was still roughly an hour before curfew, enough time to walk, read, shower, check the Archive, or simply sit somewhere that didn’t contain the weight of the day.

Naomi gathered her things first. Katherine stood with her.

Mara asked Lizzy whether she was heading back to the room.

“Not yet.” Lizzy turned toward Claire. “The malt shop from your date.”

Claire paused. “What about it?”

“Is it still here?”

Cassie’s head came up. “This sounds like a great idea”

Claire laughed. “I can’t be sure.”

Lizzy and Claire pulled out their phones.

Cassie immediately positioned herself between them like an official observer. “Search dessert.”

“I know how the map works,” Claire said.

Cassie jabbed a finger towards the screen. “Search malt.”

Claire groaned in exasperation, “Cassie.”

Lizzy found it first. “There.”

The Facility Map highlighted a small lounge several corridors away.

Claire checked her own screen and nodded. “It’s open.”

Cassie clapped once. “Excellent. We are leaving before anyone suggests counting calories.”

Mara put a hand over her heart. “I feel personally attacked.”

“You should.”

Lizzy laughed and hooked her phone into her pocket. “Come on.”

Claire fell into step beside her. Cassie joined them on the other side, already demanding to know whether the milkshakes were actually good or merely date-night propaganda.

“They were good,” Claire said.

Cassie grinned, “See? That’s how they get you. Feed you a bunch of sugar so you associate the rush with dating Van.”

Lizzy pointed down the corridor. “Dessert first. Conspiracy later.”

For once, Cassie accepted the order. The three of them headed toward the malt shop with an hour left before bed and no intention of spending it responsibly.

BONUS PICS

FIONA - SOUTHERN ROOTS

PAST EVELYN - ARMING HERSELF FOR DATE NIGHT