Ghosts of the Footbridge, Part 2

The day after the ceremony, before the air had burned off its morning cool, Liesa and Sam took their usual route along the bluff path. It wasn’t a tradition so much as a habit: Sam would ask “trail 2?” and Liesa would meet her at the split in the hedgerow, both dressed for sweat and sun. Today, Liesa wore a tank and running shorts, a ballcap, and hiking shoes, the minimum coverage needed to keep her skin from going electric.

They walked for the first mile in easy silence, a rhythm older than their time on the island. Sam took the lead, arms loose at her sides, chin up and forward like she was always angling for the next punchline. Liesa let herself lag behind, using the distance to breathe and let her eyes go slack. The sea below was flat as a coin, the wind sweet with gardenia and the memory of burnt wood from some distant firepit. When they crested the lookout, Sam plunked down on the sandstone ledge and patted the spot beside her. Liesa hesitated before sitting, then tucked her knees up and let her hands dangle between them.

“So,” Sam said, “how long do you think before Riley tries to **** him?”

Liesa almost laughed. “She is angry, but I do not think she is a murderer.”

“Maybe not,” said Sam, “but she’s got the face for it. You see how she looked at Chloe at breakfast? That’s the kind of hate you don’t shake off with a group therapy session.”

Liesa nodded, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “Is… old, yes. I think she brought it here, even before she saw them.”

Sam frowned, picking at a scab on her knee. “Andy doesn't deserve this. He's trying so damn hard with everyone, especially Riley." Her voice tightened. "It's not fair to put all this on him.”

“Do you think we should help?” Liesa asked.

Sam made a face, considering. “Maybe. But what would we even say? 'Hey, Riley, we know you think Andy's the Antichrist, but have you considered that maybe it's all a huge misunderstanding?'“ She shook her head. “We'd just end up on her shit list, and Andy would still be caught in the crossfire.”

“I think he should do it himself,” Liesa said. “Make her listen. If she hears it from us, it will only seem like more lies.”

Sam shot her a look. “You’re probably right. But what if she won’t talk to him? You saw her last night—she barely made it through dinner before she stormed off. He looked exhausted.”

“She was watching Chloe,” Liesa pointed out. “And also you. But she did not look at Andy even once.”

Sam's fingers curled into a fist against her knee. “I don't care about myself. I care about what this is doing to him. And the others—Chloe, Emi, Dawn, even Claire—they're caught in the crossfire of her vendetta.”

Liesa picked at the edge of her thumbnail, not wanting to admit how much of the drama she blamed on herself. “Maybe it will pass,” she said, the words as light as the breeze. “She cannot hate forever.”

Sam snorted, her eyes still hard with protectiveness. “You’ve clearly never met a Midwestern girl with a grudge. And if she keeps going after Andy like this, she'll have me to deal with.”

They let the conversation drift, the sounds of the island taking up the slack: a crow cackling in the valley, the thud of distant surf, a golf cart rumbling somewhere on a far road. Liesa watched a lone sailboat slide across the horizon, the sail so white it hurt her eyes to look at it directly.

After a while, Sam said, “You never told me what you thought of your new transformation.”

Liesa felt her cheeks warm, and not from the sun. “It is what it is,” she said. “Is not something that makes me do things. I don’t mind.”

“That’s good,” Sam agreed. “You got off easy, this time.”

Liesa let herself smile. “If I could, I would give it to you. It would look better on you anyway.”

Sam laughed, then nudged Liesa’s shoulder with her own. “Careful, or I’ll think you’re flirting.”

Liesa made a face, but it was all in good humor. “If I flirt, you will know. I have no subtlety.”

They sat a while, the silence no longer companionable but necessary, like a room that needed airing out. Liesa felt the weight of what she hadn’t said building in her chest, pressing against her ribs like the urge to sneeze. She tried to shake it off, but the feeling stayed.

They started down the bluff, Sam in front as usual, ducking the low branches and skipping over exposed roots. Liesa trailed behind, staring at the back of Sam’s head and thinking about all the things she’d never had the nerve to say.

Halfway down, Sam stopped and turned. “You’re quiet,” she said.

Liesa blinked, caught off guard. “Am I?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Usually you’re humming or talking about art, or telling me which plants are safe to touch. Today it’s like you’re somewhere else.”

Liesa looked away, the guilt sour in her throat. “Is nothing.”

Sam didn’t buy it. “Is it the transformation? Or is it Riley?”

Liesa hesitated. “Is Riley,” she lied. “I do not like how she looks at everyone. Like she wants to break us.”

Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I get it. But she’s not going to break anyone. Not as long as we stick together.”

They walked on, but Liesa felt the lie burning a hole in her side. With every step, the shame grew heavier, like rocks in her pockets. When they reached the creek, she stopped, unable to go any further.

“Sam,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam turned, brow furrowed.

“I lied,” Liesa said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Is not Riley. Is me.”

Sam was silent, letting the words hang.

“I did something, in the labyrinth,” Liesa said, hands twisting in the hem of her shirt. “I am the one who stole the ribbon. From Dawn.”

The confession dropped between them like a stone. Sam’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she processed it.

“I thought it would be easy,” Liesa said, her voice breaking. “She was ****, and I needed to win. I was hot and I was not thinking right. But I did not know Claire had a plan. I did not know it would—” She stopped, unable to finish.

Sam let out a long, slow breath. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I was ashamed,” Liesa said. “And then, after, it was too late. If I told, it would ruin everything. So I pretended it never happened.”

Sam was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “You should have told us.”

Liesa nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “I know. I am sorry.”

Sam looked at her, really looked, and Liesa braced for anger. What she saw instead was worse—a flicker of hurt quickly masked by disappointment.

"You should have told me," Sam said, voice flat. "And you need to tell Dawn. And Norah."

Liesa's gaze dropped to her feet. The creek burbled between the stones. "Maybe it is better to let it be forgotten."

"Jesus, Liesa." Sam kicked a pebble into the water. "That's exactly what got you into this mess. Hiding shit."

"I know, but—"

"No." Sam stepped closer, ducking her head to **** eye contact. "No buts. You can't just confess to me and think that fixes it. Dawn deserves to know who screwed her over."

Liesa's shoulders hunched inward. "What if she hates me?"

"What if she does?" Sam's blue hair caught the sun as she straightened. "That's the risk you take when you own your shit."

Liesa nodded, but her eyes darted sideways, searching for escape.

Sam grabbed her wrist. "Don't do that. Don't just agree to make me stop talking."

"I am not—"

"You are. I know that look." Sam's grip softened into a caress along Liesa's forearm. "Listen, babe. You can do this. Dawn might be upset at first, but she'll respect your honesty."

Liesa's eyes remained downcast. Sam leaned in, brushing her lips against Liesa's temple, then trailing down to the corner of her mouth.

"I'll be right there beside you the whole time," Sam whispered, her breath warm against Liesa's skin. "That's what a girlfriend does."

Sam's fingers intertwined with Liesa's, thumb stroking small circles against her palm. "Trust me?"

Liesa looked up, her expression caught between desire for the comfort Sam offered and the dread of what awaited them at the resort.

They headed up the trail, hand in hand, Sam's shoulder occasionally bumping Liesa's, the confession hanging between them like a promise only one of them believed could be kept.

The Commissary was, by architectural intent, a place nobody lingered. It squatted in the corner of the main lobby, low ceilings and cold indirect light, a glass-and-chrome terminal that suggested nothing so much as an old ATM.

Erin stood as straight as she could manage beside the access terminal. She’d meant to project confidence, but it was hard not to feel like an overripe peach on a platter—especially when the terminal’s mirrored surface threw her own reflection back at her, magnified and dissected by algorithm. Her huge breasts led the charge, their movement now unmitigated by clothing; the screen adjusted, drawing a pixel border around her chest as if to acknowledge, We see you.

She ignored the screen. “It’s not going to get less weird, is it,” she muttered, more a statement than a question.

Claire, pen already in hand, scribbled: For you or for everyone else?

Erin considered, then snorted. “Honestly? For me. The rest of you adjusted so fast it’s like you grew up on nude beaches.”

Claire shook her head, lips twitching. She wrote: I am not adjusted. I just do not stare.

“You’d be amazed how few people can manage that,” said Erin, voice low. “Andy’s one of them, but he gets this look, like he’s taking inventory for a building inspector.” She blushed slightly. “Although… it isn’t all bad.”

She waited for the retort, but Claire only nodded. Her presence was as solid as a hand on Erin’s back.

Erin touched the screen. The terminal came alive, displaying a login animation that briefly superimposed her full-length portrait on a beach at sunrise. Then:

CONTESTANT: ERIN DELGADO / 4300 Bonus Points
OPTIONS

1. Main Commissary Menu
2. Transformation Upgrades

She selected Transformation Upgrades, then skimmed the screen. Three upgrades were available, each with a glossy promo blurb and a non-refundable BP price. “No way,” she said, and whistled. “I thought there’d only be one. I figured it would be, like, you can wear a leaf skirt on Sundays if you beg hard enough.”

Claire moved to her side, reading over her shoulder.

Natural Coverings (Au Natural Upgrade): Erin's body can sprout and shape living vines, moss, or leaf arrangements to immodestly cover her body. Any plants sprouted this way wither after three hours. May be used once per 24-hour cycle.

Erin felt her cheeks go hot. “Jesus, even the trees here have an expiration date.” She imagined herself in a makeshift bikini of kudzu and hosta, then shivered. “Is it better, or worse, than just being naked?” she wondered aloud.

Claire’s next note: Could be fun, but high maintenance. Do we mist you?

Erin chuckled, despite herself, and scanned the next one.

Hidden Desires (Au Natural Upgrade): Erin can now wear up to one layer of clothing, but while she is wearing even one item of clothing, her arousal will build at an exponential rate, and will not return to baseline until she has been fully nude for at least 24 hours.

There was a graph—literally a rising red curve marked “hours dressed” on the X axis, “arousal” on the Y.

Erin almost laughed. “So, if I ever put on a shirt again, I’ll be so horny I can’t function until I tear it off?”

Claire, already scribbling, showed her the notebook: Would that be a problem?

Erin thought about it. “Honestly, probably. You saw what happened at the pool when Andy stared at me for more than three seconds. I’d never survive a real job, or even grocery shopping, if I had to strip in the parking lot every half-hour to avoid a meltdown. Let alone the fact that because of my first transformation, if I'm aroused enough and Andy looks at me, I just come on the spot.” She imagined herself at a school assembly, fully clothed for a change, only to lose her shit in front of the entire student body and strip to skin in a haze of lust. “That’s a hard no,” she said.

They moved to the third.

Clean Living (Au Natural Upgrade): Erin's body will remain immaculately clean, fresh, and pleasingly scented. Hair and skin will never become greasy or odorous. Dirt, grime and other non-sexual materials will not adhere to her skin or hair; sexual fluids are exempted, but will not affect Erin's scent. Proportions may be subtly improved for aesthetic and sexual appeal, and appearance will remain youthful for longer. May result in higher overall arousal for others.

Erin let out a slow breath. “That is… actually not bad.” She glanced down at herself, then at Claire. “Does it come with an air freshener plug-in, or is it just, like, Eau de Erin?”

Claire smirked, then wrote: You already smell better than anyone I know.

Erin rolled her eyes. “That’s because I shower twice per day.”

Claire reached out with the notebook: You seemed tense, at first. Now you move like it doesn’t matter. Was that the plan, or did you just… get used to it?

The question hung between them. Erin, feeling the gaze of the terminal and the room and herself, took a moment to answer.

“It's weird,” she said, running her palm absently down her bare arm. “I thought I'd be a complete wreck by now, but after last night…” She trailed off, watching goosebumps rise despite the room's warmth. “It's like my brain caught up overnight. Andy thinks it’s my Easing a Troubled Heart transformation. It’s supposed to soothe me when he holds me. Maybe it kept me calm enough that my brain processed the whole thing, or maybe it sped up my acceptance. I don’t know. I still reach for clothes that aren't there, but the panic's mostly gone.” She glanced down at herself, arms unfolding naturally.

“Don't get me wrong—I still can't hide a damn thing. My nipples could guide ships to shore whenever Andy walks in." Her chest flushed pink as if on cue. "And God, when he looks at me…” She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I just can't believe how quickly I went from 'I'm going to die of embarrassment' to 'this is my body now.'“

Claire scribbled, paused, then tore out the page and started again. When she was done, she handed the notebook to Erin, letting her hold it for the first time.

You are less guarded, but you are not less strong. Sometimes the bravest thing is to be the first person to accept something about yourself.

There was a diagram underneath—a cartoon Erin, arms up in a victory pose, surrounded by sparkles and what appeared to be an entire botanical garden erupting from her shoulders.

Erin snorted. “You are the worst,” she said, but her voice was fond.

She scrolled back to the first option, her mind flickering between fantasy and practicality. The Wild Child path—the one that had stuck her in this state—seemed hell-bent on turning her into an outdoorsy sexpot, or maybe a fae queen. She wondered if that was what the Audience wanted, or just Arabella. She shivered again, but this time it was anticipation, not dread.

“Do you think,” she said, “that picking the first one would make me even more of a joke to the others? Like I’m not just the naked girl, but now I’m the garden gnome, too?”

Claire shook her head emphatically, hair bouncing. She wrote: No one here thinks of you as a joke. Least of all Andy.

Erin felt a blush starting. "He said that, too. Last night. I believe it, I really do. But I keep wondering if I should just… go all in. Like, own the Wild Child thing before it turns into something even weirder. Or should I pull a Sam and swap the path before it gets worse?"

Claire's brow furrowed. She wrote quickly, her pen pressing hard against the paper: You should switch. Wild Child seems hellbent on turning you into some feral cavewoman. First it's nudity, then plant-clothes, next you'll be grunting and hunting small animals with a sharpened stick.

Erin snorted, but nodded. "God, you're right. I can see the progression now. Naked, then leaf-bikini, then..." She counted off on her fingers. "Bone jewelry, matted hair, inability to use silverware." She shuddered. "Peeing to mark territory can't be far behind."

Claire nodded emphatically, relief visible in her eyes.

They fell quiet, the hum of the terminal filling the gap as Erin's finger hovered over the screen. The Wild Child path had stripped away her defenses, but maybe that wasn't the only way forward. Maybe there was a middle ground between hiding and becoming completely untamed.

“Do you think,” she said, voice low, “that people like me more now that I can’t hide?”

Claire tapped the pen, then wrote: I think the only one who doesn’t is you. Everyone else always liked you.

That hit harder than it should have. Erin looked away, blinking, then laughed once, sharp and loud. “Fuck it,” she said, and reached for the terminal. “Let’s see what happens.”

She hovered over the NATURAL COVERINGS option, finger trembling. Then, almost absently, she selected the small text at the bottom: CHANGE PATH.

The screen blipped. A warning popped up: ARE YOU SURE?

She clicked yes.

Erin 4300 BP - 2500 BP = 1800 BP

Immediately, the UI flickered. The path changed: Ki.

Erin stared, then laughed again. "What the—?"

Claire leaned in, brow furrowed. Weird, she wrote. Erin blinked, then laughed tightly.

“That’s an understatement. What, am I going to be a Shaolin monk now? But what about the upgrades?”

She went back to the Upgrades screen, but the three options remained unchanged.

Erin shook her head, confused. "I thought changing paths would... you know, change things. It's the same options."

She looked at Claire. "What do I do?"

Claire wrote, then erased, then wrote again: What do you want?

Erin read the words, then looked up. The screen pulsed at her, expectant. In the mirrored black of the terminal, she saw herself: naked, flushed, but standing straight. For all its algorithmic voodoo, the system didn’t try to flatter her. It showed the heavy, sway of her breasts, the dusting of freckles on her chest, the way her hipbones bracketed her stomach like punctuation marks. It was so honest it almost made her laugh.

“What do I want?” she said, voice half a whisper.

Claire didn’t answer, but her eyes didn’t leave Erin’s face. She waited—silent, patient, the way Andy had once been when Erin was on the verge of a new idea. Like she knew the answer was close, but it had to be spoken aloud to count.

“I want to not be a punchline,” said Erin, surprising herself with how much it hurt. “I don’t want to be the weird naked chick for the rest of my life. But I also… don’t want to go back. Not all the way. I used to armor up, you know? Layers on layers. I could run a mile in sixty seconds, but I’d never let anyone see me without my emotional armor. Now it’s like the armor’s gone, and I have to be someone. Not just a shape in a mirror.”

She stared at the upgrades, then at Claire, who watched her with the blank, gentle concentration of a cat. “Is it stupid,” said Erin, “that part of me thinks this is kind of hot? That I get wet every time Andy looks at me for too long? Like I’m not just a body, I’m… wanted?”

Claire grinned—tiny, crooked, but real. She wrote, You are hot. But you are not a joke. Not to anyone here.

Erin rolled her eyes, but the words had impact. She could feel the tension in her jaw ease, just a little. “I’m going to do it,” she said, and moved her finger to the Clean Living option. She didn’t click yet. “But not for the reason they want me to.”

She looked at Claire. “Is that weird?”

Claire wrote: Most brave choices are.

Erin nodded. "I can always buy a Reality Adjustment later, can't I?"

Claire scribbled, I can help you if you don't have enough BPs.

Erin smiled. "Thank you, Catgirl." Before she could change her mind, she pressed the screen.

A pop-up flashed: “You have selected: CLEAN LIVING. This transformation cannot be reversed. Proceed?”

Erin hit Yes.

Erin 1800 BP - 1000 BP = 800 BP

The change was so subtle she thought, at first, that it hadn’t worked. She stood, expecting a shimmer, a tingle, maybe the scent of spring rain. Instead, she felt only herself—her skin, warm and dry, the faint ache of her left foot from a day of standing. She ran her hand along her ribs and felt the same gentle slope, the same barely-there resistance as always.

Then she noticed the new absence: the rawness under her arms, the prickle of sweat at the small of her back—gone. Her hair, which had always frizzed at the crown, was now smooth and weightless. Her breasts were a bit perkier. She bent, took off a shoe, examining her toes, then wiggled them in the morning air. No smell, no trace of yesterday’s hike, nothing but a faint, clean ozone.

She checked her breath—nothing. Not even a hint of morning mouth. She reached up, combed her hair, then ran her hands down her hips and thighs. Everything was clean, fresh, as if she’d spent an hour in a spa and emerged brand new. But there was more. Her skin felt smoother, her legs were perfectly shaved, her breasts rode a little higher perhaps, her stomach was a little flatter. Tiny changes, but meaningful ones.

She looked up at Claire, who was nodding—not in amusement, but in satisfaction. You did it, Claire scribbled. You are still you.

Erin let out a bark of laughter. “I am, aren’t I?”

She spun, arms out, unashamed for the first time in a decade. The terminal threw her new self back at her: a little sexier, a little more perfect, but still real, and clean, and open.

“Thank you,” Erin said. She meant it. To Claire, to the screen, to whatever god or devil was scripting her life from a bunker somewhere.

Claire closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest.

“Want to get coffee?” Erin asked.

Claire nodded.

They left the Commissary together, and Erin felt—though she would never admit it—a little more herself. Or maybe, for once, a little less alone.

By two, the pool was warm enough to tempt a selkie. Andi arrived in a black one-piece that had been tight yesterday, but felt loose on her today—a trick of the mind, or maybe a gift from the new ease in her limbs. The sun was sharp, the water blue as a Gatorade ad, and the edge of the pool held three women so distinct it looked like a lineup for a dream.

Chloe was first, perched on a towel, knees pressed together, bare feet hooked under the aluminum rail. The gargantuan breasts that now defined her silhouette overflowed the supportive orange bikini; every gesture she made looked like it belonged in a video loop for “shy but hopeful.” Her hair was up, messy and damp, and she wore sunglasses so big they occluded half her face. She pretended not to watch Andi approach, but the way her toes wiggled betrayed her.

Next to Chloe was Dawn, the only one actively in the water. She bobbed up and down, using the new strength of her rabbit transformation to launch herself out of the shallows in three-foot surges, then cannonball back down with a squeal. Her swimsuit was neon pink with little cartoon carrots on it, and her black ears flopped backwards every time she resurfaced. She looked like the world’s happiest genetic experiment.

Emi sat on the tile near the diving board, hugging her knees. All six arms were engaged in some act of fidgeting: the top pair absently running through her damp hair, the next two picking at the edge of her towel, and the bottom set weaving and unweaving a rubber band around her fingers. She wore a long-sleeved rashguard and high-waisted shorts, but her feet were bare, toes splayed in the sun. Of all of them, Emi seemed most at home with her body—a small mercy, or maybe just the result of living with difference for so long.

Andi settled onto the lounger next to Chloe, letting her own legs splay out, and exhaled. “Mind if I join?”

Chloe smiled, just a slip of lip behind the sunglasses. “You’re always welcome,” she said. Her voice was softer now, like it had learned to whisper as well as sing.

Dawn surfaced in the deep end and waved. “Come in! The water’s perfect!”

“Give me a minute,” said Andi, then glanced at Chloe. “You all look incredible, by the way. I feel underdressed.”

Chloe blushed so hard it looked painful. “You’re… you look great, too,” she stammered. “Like, really great.” She immediately looked away.

Andi laughed. “We all survived another day, right?”

“Barely,” said Chloe, but she laughed, and it made her chest bounce in a way that seemed to embarrass her all over again.

Emi slid closer on her towel, all six arms hugging her knees. “You’re in girl mode again,” she said, not unkindly. “Is that a thing now, or—?”

Andi shook her head. “Just until I burn off the quota. Sam’s date night will only eat twelve hours, and I need to cover the rest, or Arabella’ll get creative.” She grimaced.

Dawn paddled to the edge of the pool, eyes fixed on Andi. "Can I talk to you for a sec?" She gestured toward the far side of the deck with a flick of her wet ears.

Andi followed, leaving Chloe and Emi behind. When they were out of earshot, Dawn leaned against the railing, water beading on her shoulders.

"So what's with the girl mode today?" Dawn asked, voice low. "Really."

Andi's fingers traced the edge of her swimsuit. "Burning the quota wasn’t a lie,” she said, hesitating. “But also, Chloe told me yesterday she feels less shy when I'm like this. Said my male form makes her shy because…" She looked away. "Because she finds it handsome."

Dawn's ears perked up. "Oh." A smile crept across her face. "That's actually kind of adorable."

"I just wanted to make it easier for her," Andi said. “I didn’t treat her well last week, and it took a lot out of her to drag me to the Memory Cabana and show me what a dick I had been. And Riley’s arrival has been hard on her, too.”

Dawn nodded, then with a burst of bunny energy, pulled herself fully onto the tile, water streaming off her. She shook her head, ears flicking droplets everywhere. "Look, it’s adorable. And it’s sweet that you want to help her. But maybe she needs to get comfortable with both versions of you," she challenged. "We could help, you know. Supervise the transition."

Andi looked down at her swimsuit. “Can’t do it. I’d Hulk out of this in five seconds. And these are my only clothes here.”

Dawn laughed so hard she nearly slipped back into the pool. “You could rock the shredded look. Might even start a trend.”

Emi, who had drawn closer, giggled, her arms now orchestrating a slow round of applause. “I would pay money to see that,” she said.

Andi smiled, the tension in her chest loosening another notch. “Maybe tomorrow, then. We’ll see how brave I’m feeling.”

They fell into companionable silence, the kind that only works when people know each other well. Dawn sprawled on her stomach, legs in the sun, while Emi joined her on the next towel over, four hands outstretched to soak up the warmth, the other two fussing with her hair. Chloe eventually tucked her feet under Andi’s thigh, as if by accident, but didn’t move them when Andi didn’t object.

For a while, they talked about nothing: favorite ice cream flavors, who would win in a water balloon fight (consensus: Dawn), whether Emi’s six arms gave her a swimming advantage (they did not: she would get hopelessly tangled), and whether Chloe’s new L-cups made her more buoyant (“No, just a better floatation device for whoever needs rescuing,” said Chloe, then blushed again).

After half an hour, Dawn rolled onto her back and shielded her eyes. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

Andi winced. “Suite night with Riley,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

Dawn’s ears flattened in sympathy. “Is she really as angry as she looks?”

“Worse,” said Andi. “She wished I had drowned years ago.”

Chloe reached over, squeezed Andi’s wrist. “She’s hurting. It’s not about you, really.”

Emi nodded, serious. “Sometimes it’s easier to be angry than to let yourself break.” She looked away, six hands going still.

Dawn grinned, though it was ****. “You want us to help? We could run interference. Bunny distraction, six-arm hug, whatever.”

Andi smiled. “That means a lot, but I think I need to handle it myself.” She tried for humor: “Unless you want to watch her break my nose.”

Chloe gasped, then laughed when she realized it was a joke. “You’re brave,” she said, softly. “Braver than me.”

Andi leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows. “I don’t feel brave. I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” She looked at Chloe, then at Dawn and Emi. “That includes you three.”

Dawn nudged her, playfully. “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

Andi stared up at the clouds. “Maybe just tell the truth. Let her say what she needs to say, and not flinch.”

Chloe chewed her lip. “Would it help if you went as Andy? Would she take it more seriously?”

Andi shook her head. “I think she’d see it as a power move. Maybe better to be Andi—she can’t accuse me of hiding if I’m already exposed.”

Dawn considered, then nodded. “That makes sense. Go as Andi then, but don’t let her get away with ****.”

Emi added, “And if she tries, just call for backup. We’ll be there.” Six arms made for a pretty good rescue squad.

Andi let the warmth of the afternoon wash over her, mingling with the warmth of the three women. “Thanks,” she said, quieter. “Really.”

They let the silence settle again, the only sounds the distant splash of water, the hum of insects, and the lazy yelps of a seagull somewhere above.

At some point, Dawn dozed off, snuggling into Andi, her bunny ears flattened against Andi’s chest. Emi resumed her string games, lost in some intricate knot of thought. Chloe stretched out next to Andi, close enough that their shoulders touched. It was comfort without pressure, intimacy without expectation.

“I hope it goes okay,” Chloe said, not quite a whisper.

“Me too,” Andi replied.

When the sun dipped low, Andi stood, stretching her arms to the sky. “Time to go suit up,” she said. “Maybe I’ll try the Hulk thing after all.”

Dawn, half-awake, muttered, “Go break a leg.”

Emi just gave a thumbs up—three, in fact, all at once.

Chloe squeezed Andi’s hand, then let go, her smile a little more certain.

As Andi walked back toward the main building, she felt the eyes of her women on her. Not judging, not even watching for a stumble. Just… there, like an invisible net to catch her if she fell.