Near Dusk

The walk from the Suite to the Main Beach was long enough to invite introspection, but not so long that Andy and Laura could avoid the topic at hand. Katherine’s painting, safely stowed under Andy’s arm, bobbed lightly with each step. Laura’s two bodies walked in perfect parallel, and Andy found himself smiling at how their shadows doubled and intertwined on the garden path.

The air was new-penny fresh, and carried with it the scent of the sea, even as the sun approached the horizon. Every leaf on the hedges wore a bead of water; the world glistened. Andy tried to match that optimism, but the old anxiety, the one that told him he was about to flunk out of the big leagues, clung to the edges of his thoughts.

He cleared his throat. “You ready for the big show?”

Laura grinned with both faces, then sobered. “I keep thinking I’m supposed to be nervous. But mostly I’m just…curious?” She squinted at the ocean, where the Main Beach waited like a stage. “What is it actually like? The challenges. I’ve only heard the after-action reports.”

Andy considered how to summarize four weeks of escalating chaos. “It depends,” he said, “on whether you’re expecting more Survivor or more, uh… Top Chef.”

She cocked her heads. “Is there a lot of cooking?”

He snorted. “Not yet. I’d rate it mostly as Surreal Home Ec, with a side of bad reality TV.”

They turned the last corner of the path, the sea coming into sharp view. He could see the shape of the Gazebo, now more architectural installation than set piece, and the tiny silhouettes of women in motion: some gathered near the water, others orbiting the perimeter in loose pairs or threes.

“Walk me through it?” Laura asked, her voices overlapping. “Just the hits.”

Andy found a spot on the grass just shy of the beach proper, shaded by a stand of palms where the spray and the sun hadn’t yet reached. There was a bench, but Laura’s two bodies ignored it and folded themselves cross-legged onto the dew-wet ground. Andy set the painting beside them—Katherine stood in her little meadow, watching them curiously, her gaze drawn to everything around her that she had not seen for fourteen years—and sat down, knees up, elbows balanced on them. He glanced at Laura’s two selves and realized that, even now that he’d gotten used to her doubled presence, there was something about it that made conversation feel like being let in on a private joke.

He looked up at the clouds, then back down at the women. “First Challenge was body paint,” he said, and saw both Lauras lean in, one resting her chin on her hand, the other twirling grass between her fingers. “They split into pairs, and each team had to watch each other’s memories. Then, each of them had to get body painted by Mildred with a concept they designed around those memories. Full coverage—so that it showed who they really were, or what they wanted to communicate.” At the time, he hadn’t realized the depth of it; now, he knew that any exercise in self-decoration was really an exercise in exposure, and that the real challenge was how much of yourself you were willing to admit in front of people who might someday be your rivals. He remembered the way Norah’s hands trembled, and Liesa’s statuesque walk, and Erin’s complicated feelings as she bared herself for him. “It was kind of beautiful, and, um, very, very naked.”

One of Laura’s faces grinned, the other pouted in mock disappointment. “Oh, man. I missed the naked paint party?” She glanced at her own arms, as if checking for leftover color. “Were there, um, judges?”

“Myself,” Andy admitted, “and the Audience.” He stopped, remembered how he’d tried to look away in the moment and failed, how his heart had been a drumbeat in his chest at the sight of so much vulnerability made visible, at the thought of having to pick one of the eight women for elimination. “I had the opportunity to trick the system, and I did. Everyone tied, so no one was eliminated. It worked,” he concluded. “People stopped acting like strangers after that.”

Laura made a noise of approval and nodded, her mouths set in lines that said she was already running the social calculus. Andy felt, not for the first time, that talking to both of them at once was like talking to a single person with a two-track mind. He had once worried for her, but now, he just found it maddeningly hot.

“Second Challenge,” he said, “was the Ribbon Maze. They started in the gardens, and everyone had to collect colored ribbons—from each other. The catch was, the more ribbons you had, the more… aroused you got. So it was a balance between going after what you wanted and not losing control.”

Laura considered this. “So it was a metaphor for—”

Andy cut her off. “Not even a metaphor. It was a horny game of tag. If you lost all the ribbons, you had five minutes to grab one or you’d get… kicked out of the challenge.” He left out the part about Moory. Laura didn’t need that image. “Also, everyone was in bikinis. It was equal parts beach episode in a hedge maze, and psychological warfare.”

Laura smiled, a little wistful. “Classic.”

“Third Challenge was a heist,” he went on, “which was basically Ocean’s Eleven, except everyone was in catsuits and the guards shot aphrodisiac darts instead of bullets. The goal was to steal a cuneiform disc from a display case, in a museum dedicated to Harem Hotel, but the path to it was full of riot-gear Mildreds and, uh, distraction traps.”

Laura’s faces lit up. “That sounds amazing. Did you get to wear a suit?”

Andy blinked, then laughed. “No, not really. Also, the pellets dissolved the suits, where they struck.” He flashed back to Riley’s sacrifice, Erin covering Claire with her own body, Dawn and Chloe desperately trying to keep everyone up and running, Claire and Sam shooting at the charging Mildreds while Norah ran past Moory and completed the challenge. “They won, though. They did it.”

Laura smiled, a stereo effect that was less uncanny than it might have been. “What about the fourth?” Her eyes were soft, inviting him to share.

Andy’s lips pressed together. “It was the hardest one, for them and for me. The Garden of Glass. A dream labyrinth. Each woman had to confront the hardest moments in the lives of the others—the traumas, the worst memories. There was no hiding, no dissembling. If you failed, your tunic got shorter. When the tunic was gone, you were out.” He hesitated there, thinking of the way the white fabric had clung to skin in the rain, the way the light in the labyrinth was somehow both beautiful and merciless. “Now I think the point wasn’t to win. It was to learn how to bear each other’s pain.” His voice almost broke, so he **** a smile.

Laura’s bodies froze in place, each head tilting at a slightly different angle, as if neither wanted to miss a single detail. “That must have been hard,” she said, and the two voices landed with a twin gravity that felt heavier than mere empathy.

Andy shrugged, but the gesture was a thin defense—he could feel the way his heart squeezed around the memory, could hear the fragments of shouting and crying that still sometimes played in his head. “It was a group effort,” he managed. “But the real reason for the challenge was to bring you back.”

Laura blinked, slow and deliberate, and for the first time since her return, Andy saw a flicker of something like vulnerability in her eyes. “I remember…some of it. Being in the dream. Feeling the others.” She closed her eyes, both sets at once, and let out a breath that seemed to draw the entire world a few inches closer. “I remember you saving me from the river.”

Andy let the moment linger, the ache of memory left unspoken. He remembered that day with a kind of double vision—both as an observer and as the one drowning, both as the rescuer and the rescued. In the Garden, every wound was open, and every person was a patchwork of scars and soft places. “The fourth challenge was more than a game,” he said, finally. “It was a ritual. Arabella needed all of us, and a shared emotional trial. When all that lined up, she could pull you out of the underworld and give you a body again.” He looked down at his hands. “I guess, in a way, it was always about you.”

Both of Laura’s bodies reached for him at the same time, hands warm on his shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. The wind shifted, and the smell of salt and flowers came over them. Andy watched as Laura’s two bodies, in perfect synchrony, leaned back onto their elbows and looked up at the sky. He wondered what it felt like to be constantly doubled—to experience the world as a stereo version of yourself, to never be truly alone. He had had inklings of it when he split himself into Andy and Andi, but even then, he didn't live whole days, whole weeks like that. And his Gift was far less restrictive than Laura's transformation. He suspected it was both a blessing and a curse.

Laura considered the sky as if it might hold some further challenge, a next phase that had yet to be announced. “So what’s the challenge today?” she asked.

Andy shrugged, but this time the gesture was lighter. “No idea. Arabella likes to keep it mysterious.” He considered the pale drift of clouds, the way the sun threw gold onto the white sand ahead, and felt, for the first time in days, a sense of real anticipation. “But it’s the first one where nobody gets eliminated. Everyone’s in. It’s supposed to be a celebration, maybe.” He realized he was smiling—not the practiced, apologetic smile he had worn for years, but the real one, the one only Laura had ever been able to coax from him in the old days.

Laura’s eyes brightened, twin flashes of blue that caught the morning sun. “Is it true that Arabella does a poll before every round? Something about… Best Girl?”

Andy laughed, and the sound came out looser than he expected. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. They ask the audience to pick their favorite, and then give out bonus points based on the results. It’s not scientific, but it gets everyone riled up. Drama, the whole thing.”

Laura looked faintly scandalized, which was a rare look for her, even when she had just one face to manage. “Do I have fans?”

He snorted. “I’m sure you have a lot of fans. We'll find out soon. And probably most of them are, like, fifty-year-old programmers who want to marry you or adopt you.”

She made a face—a perfect synchronization of distaste and amusement—and then, as if she couldn’t help herself, arched an eyebrow and grinned. “I mean, I’d prefer if they wanted to take me to dinner first, but I’ll take what I can get.” She glanced sideways at him. “Did you ever win?”

He coughed, caught off guard by the question. “I’m not eligible. But if there’s a Best Boy poll, I plan to sweep the finals, considering I’m the only man here.”

She giggled, a sound so familiar and beloved that even the doubled nature of it didn’t feel out of place. “I believe in you.”

They walked together, side by side now, the conversation drifting across topics as easily as the wind changed direction. Andy told her about the Sanctuary contest—how the audience would rate the little homes and safe spaces the girls had built, how each one was different but reflected its maker in a way that was instantly recognizable. He described Claire’s Archive, Dawn’s Chapel, Norah’s Hearth, Sam’s Pavilion, and all the other places the women had created. There was something endearing, he realized, about the way the women had tried to recreate havens for themselves, even as the rules of the game conspired to keep them off-balance.

Laura’s faces fell, just slightly, as he described the scoring. “I never made one,” she said, the words almost lost in the hush of the surf. “I didn’t even think to.”

Andy stopped, turning to face her—both of her. “You don’t need a Sanctuary,” he said, and for once his words came out exactly as he meant them. “You are the Sanctuary. For me, for yourself, for everyone who’s ever loved you.” He reached out, brushing a stray hair behind her ear as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Laura’s bodies blushed in perfect tandem, a slow flush that started at the throat and spread upwards. She didn’t look away, though, and when she smiled this time, it was softer, shyer. “Okay. I’ll settle for being someone’s Sanctuary,” she said, “even if it’s just yours.”

He swallowed, the emotion heavier than he’d expected, and found himself blinking hard to keep from showing it. “It’s enough,” he said. “More than enough.”

They rounded the last hedge and stepped onto the warm sand, the Main Beach opening out before them like a blank page. The others were already gathering at the Gazebo, laughter and shouts floating up over the surf. Andy felt the old anxiety flicker and fade, replaced by something more resilient.

The sun was out, the breeze was kind, and for once the Main Beach didn’t feel like a set for disaster. Andy (carrying Katherine) and Laura strolled up the sand, noting the easy sprawl of the harem: most of the women clustered around the Gazebo in packs of three or four, a few lingering at the shore, one or two just sitting quietly, faces tipped up to the sky as if daring it to rain on their parade.

Claire found Andy first, sidling up with her notebook at the ready, a look of barely concealed mischief on her face. While he arranged Katherine’s painting so she could watch the proceedings, Claire wrote something, tore off the sheet, and handed it to him with a flourish:

SIXTH ROUND SPEEDRUN, it read at the top, in all caps. Below that: Optimize Victory Point gains. Current Rulebook does NOT have latest list, but Chloe’s memory and “instinct for firsts” is reliable. I’ve been cross-referencing the top VP scores each round with date activity reports. Interviews with each girl after their date with you → cross-reference bedroom activities w. points increase. Some girls are—reticent—but I think I have a good algorithmic path.

She’d drawn a little cat face in the margin, which Andy took as evidence she was proud of herself. “Wait, do you interview everyone after their date nights?” Andy asked, belatedly realizing what Claire was implying.

The catgirl sighed, then gave him a long-suffering look that seemed to say, have you been living under a rock? Then she shrugged and wrote, Only since last round. I should have been more prepared. But the cross-referencing is solid.

“Are you planning to patent this?” he asked.

She gave him a look that said: Only if you want me to, then flicked her eyes down the page, as if challenging him to spot a flaw.

“Can I see the list?” he asked.

She nodded, flipping to another page, and passed it to him. The top entries were exactly what he expected (Kiss, Boob Touch, Handjob, etc.), but as he scrolled, the list got…niche. Milked, Threesome, Bondage, Cumshot, Four-Way Combo, Hotdogging, Stereo Pleasing, Motorboating, Pole Dancing, Deflowering (struck through), and then, near the bottom, a line with four stars: Harem-Wide Orgy (8 VP / person - May only be earned once, must involve at least 7 Contestants & Master, Master must penetrate at least half the Contestants).

He blinked. “Claire,” he said. “Is this—”

She was already scribbling a new note. When she handed it to him, her cheeks were pink:

They multiply if the activity is unique, never previously done. Chloe says “the Audience likes novelty.”

“Jesus,” Andy muttered, mostly to himself, “you made this into a speedrun for real.”

A voice floated up from behind them—Emi, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Um,” she said, “can I ask something, before Arabella gets here?”

Andy nodded, gesturing her over.

Emi shuffled up, eyes on her feet. “I was thinking, if we’re really going for high scores this round, maybe I should finish the Gotta Grope Them All thing?” She was so embarrassed that her six hands fluttered at different altitudes, like nervous birds looking for a branch.

Dawn’s bunny ears perked up. “Wait, you mean you have to grope everybody? That’s still going?”

Emi nodded, mortified. “It’s points if I, um, grope everyone,” she admitted. “And I, um, never did the whole set. Is that… okay?”

There was a ripple of laughter. Erin, who stood off to the side with arms crossed and an expression of someone actively resisting the urge to mess with the situation, said, “Get it over with, Sparkles. The suspense is killing me.”

Emi gave Andy a pleading look. He smiled, deliberately gentle. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said. “But if you’re comfortable, I don’t think anyone’s going to mind.” He looked at the group, who nodded in lazy consensus.

“Yeah,” said Sam, who was leaning on the rail. “We’re all friends here. Consider it, like, a handshake with extra steps.”

Emi took a breath. “I’ll go fast,” she said. Then, like someone checking items off a grocery list, she started down the line.

Erin stepped up first, hands on hips, her mint-green skin a little darker than usual in the sun. “Be gentle,” she said. “Or don’t.” Emi’s four top arms performed a quick, gentle squeeze of each breast, then both lower sets reached around to do the same to Erin’s ass. Erin didn’t even flinch, but her nipples went instantly hard, and Andy saw the telltale flush down her neck. “Efficient,” Erin said, giving Emi a nod of respect. “Covering all bases.” Emi blushed violently.

Dawn was next, already giggling. “Oh, this is so weird,” she said, and stuck out her chest, making her breasts bounce. Emi did the requisite grope, hands barely visible in the shelf of cleavage, then moved to the cottontail. Dawn squeaked, not in pain but in surprise, and Emi giggled back, the tension broken.

Norah held out her arms, as if presenting herself for frisking at airport security. “Just don’t make it weird,” she said, then, “—ow, not so hard—“ as Emi’s fingers found the exact spot on her side that made her giggle uncontrollably. Norah tried to glare, but the effect was ruined by her blushing and the fact she’d just tripped on a deck plank, tearing her skirt almost to the thigh. “You owe me dry cleaning,” she said, but she wasn’t angry.

Marissa’s approach was clinical. “Go ahead,” she said, folding her arms beneath her cleavage. Emi did the six-handed breast and butt squeeze, and Marissa nodded as if evaluating a product at a trade show. “Remarkably dexterous. Do you stretch?”

Emi shook her head, mortified, and hustled to the next. Sam just grinned, flexing for the camera. “You can’t possibly embarrass me, Emi,” she said. “I’ve seen everything.” She winked, and Emi blushed so hard she almost missed Sam’s own hand coming up to squeeze Emi’s butt in return.

Claire, when her turn came, simply lifted her shirt, revealing her lacy bra. Emi did a careful, respectful two-hand grope, then, after a nod of permission from Claire, ran her other hands down Claire’s sides and hips. Claire was unreadable, but jotted something in her notebook after.

Liesa was shy, face red as poppy petals, but did not flinch away. “I think this is what artists call performance,” she said, then inhaled when Emi’s hands (all six) worked down her back and hips. “I have never been groped so thoroughly in my life,” she said, her accent deepening with each word.

Chloe was already covering her face. “I’ve had mammograms that were less intense than this,” she said, but when Emi did the grope, Chloe made a surprised little noise. “Whoa,” she said, and started giggling. “You’re really good at this. Did you have to train?”

Emi shook her head, abashed. “It’s just the Hexasutra transformation,” she said.

Riley, whose hair was currently behaving, arched her back and presented her chest like a cartoon wolf. “You only get one shot at this, Emi,” she said. Emi did the required grope, but Riley’s hair instantly wrapped all six of her wrists, pinning them in place for a second before letting go. “Sorry,” Riley said, deadpan. “It gets excited.”

Emily was the easiest, completely naked except for her hair, which for once did not shift to cover her up. Emi did the grope, then Emily did a little curtsy. “Thank you,” she said, like she was being knighted. Then, sotto voce to Emi, “It’s okay. I get it.”

Myra’s fox tail twitched as Emi approached, but she didn’t move. “You can go ahead,” she said, and Emi’s hands landed, soft as feathers. Myra startled, but then relaxed, tail fanning out. “I can see the arousal around you,” Myra said, voice a little dreamy. “It’s—almost beautiful, actually.”

At last, red like a tomato, Emi reached Laura. Emi looked from one Laura to the other, unsure which to start with.

“Do you want to… alternate?” Emi asked, voice small.

Laura grinned. “It’s up to you. I think it counts if you do both.”

Emi’s hands went gently but efficiently to work. Laura’s bodies giggled in perfect stereo, then both gave Emi a one-armed hug at the end.

When Emi finished, she looked at her hands, as if expecting something to happen. She flexed them, puzzled. “I feel like I should have leveled up, or something.”

Sam piped up from the towel. “Did you do Andy yet?”

Emi’s eyes went wide. “No! I—should I?”

Andy considered it. “I think it said all the harem, and I suppose I’m part of it, too, in a way,” he said, “I can take one for the team.”

He stood up, made a show of stretching his back, and braced himself. Emi wrapped all six arms around him in the world’s least platonic hug, her top arms squeezing his shoulders and his ass, the middle two at his waist, the lowest set around his thighs. She squeezed and released, then stepped back, unsure if she’d accomplished anything.

Gotta Grope Them All - Quest Complete! +4 VP
Gotta Grope Them All → Gotta (Show Your Boobs To) Them All

A shiver went through her. Emi gasped, the blush going all the way to her ears. “It just changed,” she said, almost to herself. “I’m supposed to…um…show my boobs to everyone.” Her voice quivered with embarrassment.

Riley, never one to let an opportunity pass, started a slow clap. “Show us the goods, Sparkles.”

Chloe covered her face again. “Oh my God, is this really happening?”

Sam grinned. “It’s for science,” she said. “Or maybe just math.”

Emi hesitated, then, seeing the group’s encouragement, took a deep breath and pulled her shirt up. She wore nothing underneath. Her six hands all went to cover her chest, then, realizing the futility, dropped to her sides.

There was an appreciative cheer. Even Norah, who pretended to look bored, was impressed. “That’s commitment,” she said.

Andy tried to look away politely, but Emi caught his gaze and blushed even deeper.

Gotta (Show Your Boobs To) Them All - Quest Complete! +4 VP
Gotta (Show Your Boobs To) Them All → Gotta (Play With Your Boobs Before) Them All

“Um,” Emi said. “I think it just upgraded again. Now I have to play with my boobs in front of everyone.” She looked as if she might die, or possibly dissolve into a puddle of atoms, but she managed a sheepish smile. “Maybe later,” she said.

The group dissolved into laughter, the kind that left you gasping. Even Myra, who usually avoided chaos, was smiling, her tail flicking in approval.

Andy shook his head in awe. “You are a legend,” he told Emi, and she smiled, radiant and relieved.

As the laughter faded, the group gradually fell into a relaxed, anticipatory hush, as if everyone was waiting for the next surprise. Andy caught Claire’s eye, and she gave him a small, satisfied nod. The experiment had worked.

He looked up at the gazebo, where the ceremonial stools were lined up and ready. The Master’s Throne, always a little too large and a little too white, waited at the head of the arrangement.

Somewhere in the back, Katherine’s painting watched over them all, smiling and waving contentedly.

Andy took a breath, feeling the nervous energy shift from comedy to something more electric. For the first time, he wondered if maybe they could pull off the victory lap.

With the laughter finally ebbing, Andy took a step up onto the Gazebo platform, turning to face the harem as a single unit. The painted wood creaked beneath his sneakers. He felt a sudden, absurd urge to call for “team huddle,” like a middle school volleyball coach, but he resisted.

Instead, he said, “While we’re waiting for Arabella—if anyone wants a trial upgrade on their transformations, just say the word.” He gave a quick scan of the group. “I know some of you already asked this week, but the offer stands. It’s safe. Lasts twenty-four hours. If you want to test-run something, just let me know.”

He paused, letting the group digest it. “Same goes for Coauthor. If you have a change in mind but want to talk it through in private, we can do that too.”

Chloe shook her head, arms crossed under her chest. “I’m good,” she said, “unless someone invents a way to make boobs shrink on command. Or at least, not leak so much.”

He watched as the invitation rippled through the harem. Some perked up, others pretended to be disinterested, but each of them considered it. These days, nobody wanted to miss an optimization opportunity.

Claire tilted her head, cat ears flicking, and wrote a rapid note. She handed it to Andy. I’ve been wondering about upgrading Puuuurfectly Quiet, it read, but I worry Arabella would make it full animal, and I’d rather not be covered in fur or lose my opposable thumbs. There was a diagram of a “midpoint” transformation: cat tail, claws, maybe whiskers, but still recognizably Claire. She had circled the “no muzzle” option three times and added a little “!!!” in the margin. Andy laughed, hugging her tightly. Claire made a face, tucking the page under her notebook as if to hide the embarrassment.

Dawn raised her hand as if in school. “Would it be possible to upgrade The Way to a Man’s Heart?” she asked. “I mean, I love making food for everyone, but I was wondering if maybe it can do more?” She blushed. “Not in a mind control way! Just like… warmth. Comfort food, but literal.” Her bunny ears twitched in earnest hope.

Andy nodded, scribbling it onto his mental checklist. “I can do that. Emotional cuisine, not emotional manipulation. Got it.”

Emi considered her options, then said, “Could I try an upgrade to Velvet Hours?” She hesitated, glancing at Marissa and Riley, her cheeks flushing pink. “When we’re together and I activate it, everything slows down, but I was wondering if the upgrade would make it last longer?” She bit her lip. “Maybe even let me control exactly how much time stretches between us?” Her six hands moved unconsciously—two fidgeting with her hair, two clasped together in her lap, and two tracing small circles on her thighs as she remembered their last encounter.

“Do you want to try to upgrade now, or after the challenge?” Andy asked.

“After the challenge,” Emi said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “If that’s okay.”

Emily, who sat with her knees drawn up and hair artfully hiding her chest, shook her head. “None of my previous season’s transformations are compatible with upgrades,” she said, voice light but carrying. “I checked with Arabella. Apparently, you can only upgrade them when you’re bound to the Master of that season, and… well.” She shrugged, a motion that made the entire harem’s attention briefly detour to the soft gleam of her bare shoulders and thighs. “Besides, if you did, I might turn into a public-use bimbo, and I like myself the way I am. Usually.”

Riley was next. She twirled a lock of her own hair, then grinned at Andy. “If I asked you to upgrade the boobs again, would it make them warm to the touch instead of cool?” She glanced down at her chest, which had been newly impressive since her arrival. “It constantly feels like a draft there. Or would it just make them, like, twice as big?”

“Fifty-fifty odds,” Andy said, deadpan.

Riley shuddered. “I’ll pass. I don’t want to topple over every time I tie my shoes.”

Myra, sitting quietly at the edge, shook her head when the conversation turned to her. “You already gave me an upgrade this round,” she said. She looked down at her lap, voice growing softer. “It makes me want to cry, sometimes, how beautiful everyone is.” She paused, as if surprised by her own admission. “But it’s enough. I don’t need more.”

Andy felt the flush of pride on her behalf. He nodded at Myra, then looked at the rest of the circle.

Sam’s turn. She cracked her knuckles, blue curls bouncing. “You already ran the test on Beerista, so I’m set,” she said.

Andy grinned. “Noted.”

Liesa, sitting between Chloe and Marissa, looked up shyly. “I was thinking,” she said, her voice musical, “if you could upgrade the Cunning Linguist, maybe I could speak English without any accent at all?” She blushed, then added, “I don’t want to lose the accent entirely, but it would be nice to talk like a native. Or maybe… any language at all? For art, and for travel.” She bit her lip, eyes darting away from the group. “But if it would make my tongue do crazy things, like… literally, I want that even more. Please?”

Andy promised, and Liesa nodded, relieved.

Marissa considered her answer, then said, “I appreciate the offer. But my current transformations are all about exposure. I think more upgrades would just lead to… well, something even more embarrassing. Although perhaps upgrading ASMR might allow me to... turn it off.” She smiled, and her voice, as always, was a near-whisper that somehow made everyone in the group pay closer attention. “Plus, I have other things to consider.” She left it at that, but Andy could see the glint in her eye—a quiet pride in her own self-control.

Norah, who was halfway through retying her scarf, spoke up last. “If you could make Hand-Me-Downs better, what would it even do?” She made a face. “Would I start swapping transformations with everyone at random? Or just become a super-crafter?” The question was rhetorical, but Andy made a note to think about it. Norah seemed to appreciate the possibility, even if she pretended not to care.

Erin, who was technically present, waved him off. “You already did the thing with my botany TF. I may buy that permanently. If it doesn't make me sprout roots.”

“Would you even mind?” Andy asked, smiling.

Erin’s nipples tightened at the attention, but she just shrugged, as if daring him to keep looking. “I don’t want to be mulch by the next round,” she said, and the crowd cracked up.

Laura, standing in perfect parallel, smiled. “We already know what another upgrade to Have a Spare would do. It’s… interesting, but I think we should try it after the challenge.” She gave Andy a look that was warm and slightly conspiratorial, then added, “I don’t need a new trick until then.”

Katherine’s painting, off to the side, waved her arms and mimed “no, thank you,” then blew Andy a kiss for good measure.

Andy held up his hands. “Okay, that’s the upgrades. We’ll trigger them all after the Challenge then, so you have twenty-four hours to break them in. If you change your mind, holler. If you want to use Coauthor for a personal change, let me know. We can talk later if you want privacy.”

There was a moment where everyone just looked at each other, the potential for mischief and improvement rolling through the group like a cloud of excited static.

Dawn giggled, then clapped her hands. “This is going to be the best round yet,” she said. “I can feel it.”

And as if on cue, a breeze rose off the water, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of something new.

The harem took their time assembling at the Gazebo, each woman finding her place on the semicircle of stools facing the ocean. Dawn and Emi walked arm in arm; Claire perched on her seat and opened her notebook like a ceremonial tome; Chloe sat demurely on a stool, a hand resting on her belly. Riley flopped into her seat, boots propped up on the lower rail, while Sam and Liesa took theirs with theatrical grace. Marissa and Myra chose the two stools nearest the shade, neither rushing nor hanging back.

Erin sauntered up last, unabashedly nude except for a mercifully new pair of sneakers. She sat with a slouch and an air of defiant pride, as if to say: This is who I am, and if you have a problem with it, the line forms to the left. Andy caught her eye and winked, and she let out a breath, like she’d been holding it in all morning.

Laura, in perfect synchronization, placed herself to the left of the array, on Andy’s right, while he took the Master’s Throne. Katherine’s painting was propped up next to the throne, her eyes animated, drinking in every detail of the gathering. Andy wondered how she felt, finally known to everyone, finally able to move and communicate without fear of being pitied, and finally able to leave the Master’s Suite to participate, even if only marginally, to these events.

Andy sat, looked out over the group, and for a brief, wild moment, felt a kind of pride he’d never allowed himself before. The harem was his—his responsibility, his family. There was no avoiding it now. He felt the charge in the air, the anticipation, the way each woman carried her own hopes and nerves and excitement.

Then, just as he was about to say something, a flicker of motion at the edge of the sand announced Arabella’s arrival.

She walked barefoot across the beach, her dress a swirl of deep purple that made the rest of the world seem washed out by comparison. Her hair was up, a few soft strands pulled loose by the wind, and the expression on her face was both somber and amused, like someone watching a party and already mourning its end.

Arabella reached the Gazebo and nodded to Andy, then addressed the group with a warmth that surprised even him. “Thank you all for being here,” she said, her voice carrying easily. “Today’s challenge will be one you’ve never seen before, and one you may never see again.” She held up a small stack of cards, their edges glinting. “But before we begin, I want you all to know: I am proud of each and every one of you. You have made this season more remarkable than I could have ever dreamed.”

She paused, letting her words sink in, and Andy felt the group lean forward, hungry for what came next.

He watched as Arabella’s gaze swept over the assembled women. She was poised on the threshold, ready to deliver the next twist.

Arabella moved to the center of the raised platform. She set the stack of cards on the rail with a click that made everyone flinch—not from fear, but from the sudden, delicious tension of a real event about to happen.

She turned, letting her gaze touch every woman in the harem. Even the ones who looked away—Erin, feigning indifference; Riley, arms folded; Chloe, hands clutched tight—found themselves drawn back to her, as if pulled by the **** of her expectation.

“Welcome,” said Arabella, voice smooth and bright. “You look… magnificent.” She meant it, too: Norah’s heels dug lines into the platform, and her skirt was already ripped; Liesa perched at the very edge of her seat, hands folded, cheeks burning; Dawn’s ears stood at attention, her smile wide and nervous; and so on, each woman transformed in ways both subtle and impossible, a living exhibition of what the Hotel could do to the brave and the unlucky alike.

“Today is a day of recognition,” Arabella continued. “You have come far. Many harems break after the third round. Many more break by the fifth. Some rejoin, some suffer. You—” she swept her hand toward them “—are still here, together, all of you.” She glanced at Laura, then at Andy, and the look held a flicker of private congratulation. “There will be a challenge, yes, but this is not the end. Today is about celebrating what you have become, as individuals, and as a whole.”

The women sat taller. Even Myra, who had spent most of the morning with her hands folded and her tail flicking, raised her head, the sunlight catching the white in her fox ears.