Norah's Night (IV)

The bear made its debut at the Suite door, perched precariously on Norah’s forearm as she pressed the buzzer with the back of her hand. She looked, Andy thought, impossibly put-together: not a hair out of place, dress a pop of deep fuchsia, shoes sharp enough to filet salmon. If she’d lost the old edge, nobody told her wardrobe. But there was a new ease in the set of her shoulders, a careful uncurling that told Andy the arcade had worked its magic.

He buzzed her in. She entered like she was being chased—first the bear, then the rest of her, swept in by the clack of her heels. Norah scanned the room and exhaled, as if she’d been bracing for a test and found the answer key taped to the wall.

“You made it,” Andy said, crossing to meet her.

She offered the bear by way of greeting. “Fortune wanted to see where the real grown-ups live,” she said. “I told him it was out of his league, but he insisted.”

“Then he’s in luck,” Andy replied, and took the bear with unnecessary ceremony, cradling it in one arm.

The air was different tonight, not electric, just… easy. Norah’s guard was down a few clicks from the usual. Even her makeup felt lighter. She did a slow turn, surveying the room. “Is this a test?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Because I see only one place to sit, and it’s a trap.”

Andy gestured grandly at the kitchen. “Or we could cook first. I have a suspicious amount of groceries.”

Her face went skeptical, but the smile was real. “What’s the catch?”

“You help,” Andy said, opening the fridge. “Or at least pretend to.”

“Deal.” Norah set Fortune at the head of the dining table, straightened his bow, and crossed the kitchen with a glide that made Andy’s insides jitter.

She stopped by the island, shifting her weight from one stiletto to the other. "Still not sure how this works, by the way," she said, glancing down at her heels with a grimace.

Andy tilted his head. "What, the Top Heavy transformation?"

"Yeah, Arabella's little joke. Shoes come off, I have to crawl everywhere until I put them back on. But when I wear them, it’s like… they don’t hurt, and I can do things with them no sane woman ever would." She straightened her spine, wincing slightly. "Like running and tackling a giant annoying Mildred."

Andy grinned. “Flip side of the coin, I guess. For what’s worth, you look good in heels.” He slid a cutting board her way. "Here you go. You chop. I stir."

Norah accepted the knife, examining it like a surgeon prepping for a tricky incision. “What are we making?” she asked, sizing up the peppers, onions, and the small, hopeful pile of shrimp.

“Paella,” Andy said.

“Ambitious,” Norah said, eyebrows arching. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Food poisoning,” he said. “But it’ll be memorable.”

She grinned, the old sharky one but tempered by a layer of fondness. “You’re an optimist.”

They worked in near harmony—Norah dicing peppers with the precision of a bomb squad, Andy tending the sizzling pan. The only real tension came when she tried to sneak a shrimp, and Andy, watching, flicked her hand with a spatula.

Norah gasped, half outrage, half laughter. “****! You assaulted a Contestant.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t let you compromise the experiment.”

She sucked her knuckle, then licked the shrimp anyway, unrepentant. “You know, I only know how to cook three things. My specialty, ramen, and… grilled cheese.”

“Not sure about your specialty, but the last two? That’s… an interesting recipe book,” Andy said.

“Yeah,” she said, “but I do them all really well. And for your information, if you’re good, maybe I’ll make you my specialty next time.”

He met her eyes. “Is it a secret recipe?”

She smirked. “It’s a secret, but it’s not a recipe.”

They kept working, falling into a rhythm: Norah chopped, Andy added to the pan, the air filled with garlic and pepper. The fire in the living room flickered, painting the walls with moving light. At some point Norah left her side of the counter and leaned over his shoulder, pretending to supervise. Her chin nearly grazed his arm, and Andy, very aware of her, managed not to mess up the rice.

She said, “I keep waiting for you to turn into an asshole, you know.”

Andy almost dropped the spoon. “What?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Every time things start feeling easy, I wait for the other shoe. It’s a bad habit.” She glanced at him, all challenge and a tiny hint of hope. “You gonna disappoint me?”

He stirred the pan, then said, “Not tonight.”

“Good answer,” Norah said, then poked his side with a clean spoon.

By the time dinner was done, the kitchen looked like a crime scene, and Fortune had toppled off the table in protest. Norah rescued the bear, sat him up between them on the couch, and they ate straight from their bowls, legs tangled, firelight flickering across their faces.

Andy took a bite, surprised at how good it was. “We did it,” he said, after swallowing. “First time I succeed at paella.”

Norah tasted hers, considered, then nodded approval. “Ten out of ten. Would eat again.” She peered at him over the rim of her bowl. “Are you always this domestic?”

He smiled. “Sometimes. I used to cook a lot with my mom. She said it was the only way I’d learn not to poison myself in college.”

“She was onto something,” Norah said, mouth full.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional clink of spoon against ceramic and the faint, rhythmic tick of the fire’s ignition. Norah seemed content to just be, which was new. Andy let the quiet settle, and felt, for once, like he wasn’t failing some invisible test.

They finished dinner with the bowls balanced on their knees, neither willing to break the warm geometry of their limbs. Fortune slumped between them, a pink referee. Norah’s head rested on Andy’s shoulder, her eyes half-shut, the steady flicker of the fireplace softening every line of her face.

“You know what’s weird?” she said, not moving.

Andy risked a guess. “The bear is making me nervous. I think he’s judging us.”

She snorted. “Not the bear. This.” She gestured at the two of them, the food, the couch. “The first time I was here, it was a disaster. I spent the whole date night waiting for you to screw up, or for me to screw up, or for someone to come in with a camera crew and start laughing.” She shifted, turning her face up to his. “But tonight, I keep forgetting this is the Harem Hotel. It feels… normal.”

He grinned. “Define normal.”

She pursed her lips. “Nobody screaming, nobody fighting, nobody trying to ice me out.” She picked at her sleeve, thoughtful. “And I don’t feel like I have to win at anything.” She shot him a sidelong look. “Except maybe dessert. I will crush you at dessert.”

He nodded, solemn. “I believe you.”

They let the silence stretch, the kind that felt less like an absence and more like the two of them holding space together. Norah traced a lazy finger up Andy’s arm. “You remember the last date night? When we found out about the… transformation thing?”

Andy stiffened, then relaxed. “Yeah.”

She grinned, wolfish. “Bet you haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

He blushed, caught. “Maybe a little.”

She rolled her eyes, amused but gentle. “Well, the offer still stands.” She tapped his nose. “Use it wisely.”

He thought about that, but didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You could look any way you wanted, if I fantasized hard enough. You ever think about what you’d pick?”

Norah went quiet, her gaze flicking to the fire. “I used to. But now?” She shrugged. “I think maybe I’m fine the way I am.”

Andy nudged her. “That sounds suspiciously like growth.”

She snorted. “Gross.”

They sat for a while, fire crackling, the bear falling forward to rest against Norah’s leg. Then she straightened, sat up, and clapped her hands. “Enough feelings. Game time.”

He groaned. “Are there rules?”

“Almost none that I’m telling you,” she said, and rooted through her purse, emerging with a battered pair of dice and a handful of sticky notes. She started scribbling on the notes, then folded each into a tight square.

“Here’s how it works,” she said, rolling the dice onto the coffee table. “If you get even numbers, you pick a note and do what it says. Odd numbers, you answer a question. No skips, no whining.”

Andy leaned over, peering at the notes. “Did you invent this just now?”

She grinned, pleased. “Obviously.”

He rolled, got a six. Norah picked a note for him and handed it over. He unfolded it: “Tell me three things you’re grateful for about today.”

Andy considered. “The walk in the gardens. The way you laughed in the arcade. And your crinkle-nosed smile when you got the bear.”

Norah blushed, caught off guard. “That’s… corny.”

He shrugged. “It’s true.”

She studied him, hesitating for a moment, as if looking for something in his eyes. Then, surprising him, her hand darted out to grab the note he had just read. "Mine." She claimed it possessively, blushing slightly. Before he could react, she picked up the dice. She rolled, and got a one. Andy fished for a question. “What’s your biggest childhood fear?”

Norah hesitated, her playfulness faltering for the first time since she’d walked in. It took a second for Andy to realize she wasn't just thinking up a dramatic answer; the silence was real, the tension gathering in her jaw and the way her hands curled around her knees. She stared at the little bear, then looked up at Andy—a quick, nervous flicker—before saying, “That I’d disappear and no one would notice.” Her voice was flat, as if she’d read it from a textbook. “Or that I’d turn into my mom.” The last bit had an unplanned edge, as if it slipped out before she could polish it into something softer.

Andy nodded, but he didn't try to fill the silence with a joke or platitude. Instead, he matched her quiet, the two of them watching the fire roll and catch in the glass. The game, for the moment, was forgotten. Norah toyed with the dice, rolling them back and forth with a rhythmic, mindless motion.

Eventually, she shook her head, smirked a little. “That got dark. Sorry.”

He shrugged. “You asked for honesty. I can handle it.”

They resumed their makeshift game, but the questions and prompts started to drift. The next roll, Norah landed a five, and Andy said, “What do you wish people understood about you?”

She squinted at him like he’d rigged the dice. “That I’m not a bitch on purpose,” she said, then laughed, almost relieved to say it. “It’s just… easier sometimes. People expect you to be mean or a hardass, and then you can’t disappoint them.”

Andy nodded. “That makes sense.”

She studied him, skeptical. “Does it?”

He didn’t blink. “Absolutely. It’s a defense mechanism.”

Norah looked away, lips pressed thin. “Yeah, well, doesn’t work so well when you start believing it yourself.”

They kept rolling, but every round circled back to the same spot—a kind of emotional home base neither of them wanted to claim but couldn’t quite avoid. At some point, Norah abandoned the dice entirely, just curling up on the couch, knees hugged to her chest, arms wrapped tight. She watched the fire, but Andy got the feeling she wasn’t seeing the flames at all.

“You want to hear something weird?” she said, and this time there was no playful preamble, no punch line.

“Always,” Andy replied, but softly.

She started twisting a lock of her dark hair around her finger, winding it tighter and tighter until the tip went white. “You know I was the youngest of four sisters,” she began. “Our family was… complicated.” She grinned, but it was just a flex of muscle, not a real smile. “My sisters were all older, smarter, prettier. Our parents fought a lot, about money, mostly. And when there was any extra money, my sisters would get a new dress, or new shoes, and I’d get the hand-me-downs. So I learned early that if I wanted anything, I had to fight for it.”

She paused, the words hanging in the air, then went on. “I got good at it. Like, really good. I was the kid who finished the science fair project before anyone else, who won the spelling bee, who took summer classes just to stay ahead. But every time I brought something home, it was like—” She mimed a hand brushing crumbs off a table. “Nobody cared. Or worse, they cared but not for the right reasons.”

Andy frowned, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Norah shrugged, staring at Fortune, the little bear now slumped over her knees. She spoke with a matter-of-factness that made Andy ache. “My sisters were praised for everything they did, down to the guys they married and the children they have. But me? I’d get an A on a test, and my mom would say, ‘are you sure you didn’t cheat?’ Or I’d get into a better college than my sisters, and Dad would joke that it was because the school needed diversity points.” She met Andy’s gaze, her eyes glassy but locked on his. “It never stops. Even now, when I win something, I don’t feel proud. I just… wait for someone to tell me I didn’t earn it.”

Andy reached out, touched her hand, found it cool and a little tense. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said. “You already did.”

Norah blinked, then looked away, her voice thin. “You say that, but…”

Andy waited, the hush between them filling with the white noise of the gas fireplace. Norah hugged herself tighter, digging her chin into her knees as if trying to shrink down to a manageable size. She didn’t cry, but her voice was so small he almost had to lean in to hear it. “I know it’s dumb,” she said. “At some point I started thinking, maybe if I just outwork everyone, if I’m always ahead of the curve, nobody can hurt me. But it’s exhausting. It’s like… there’s a treadmill in your head and you can never step off, because if you do, you’ll turn into the person you’re afraid of.” She glanced at Andy, almost apologetic. “Does that make any sense?”

He nodded, and for a long moment just let her words settle over him. “It does,” he said, imagining young Norah to the side, watching, yearning for her parents’ approval while her sisters were showered with praise. Remembering the memory of Eid, and little Norah’s excitement turning to ash upon realizing the gift she had been expecting so much was just another hand-me-down. For the first time, he thought he could see that little kid in Norah’s eyes, hurting and yet hoping that this time, she could be first for once.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then made a face. “I’m turning into a therapy cliché.”

Andy grinned. “Maybe. But you’re my favorite client.” He let the joke float, then said, “So what happens if you lose at your own game?”

Norah considered, then smiled, slow and genuine. “You get to keep the bear,” she said. “But only for the night.”

She handed him Fortune, then curled against his chest, her body softening into his. For the first time, Andy felt the tension melt from her frame, her head heavy on his shoulder, her hand still in his.

“You’re not going to change, are you?” she whispered, not quite a question.

“Not if I can help it,” he answered.

She nodded, content, and let her eyes fall shut.

By the time the fire shrank to embers, the night had pressed in thick and close, turning the glass wall into a black mirror. Norah had drifted partway into Andy’s lap, her cheek pillowed on his thigh, and Fortune the bear squashed into the narrow space by her hip. The old, sharp Norah was nowhere in evidence. In her place was someone quiet, almost sleepy, her voice low and threaded with something softer than exhaustion.

“You know what I used to hate?” she murmured, her eyes tracking the dance of orange light on the ceiling.

Andy smoothed her hair, slow and careful. “What?”

She rolled, so her face was angled up to his. “Silence. At home, it meant someone was mad, or about to get mad.” She considered, then added, “But here, it just means you’re not in a rush to go somewhere else.”

He let the words land. “You don’t have to rush for me,” he said, gently.

She smiled, crooked and shy. “I know. I like that about you.”

They stayed like that, neither speaking, until Norah shifted, propping herself upright so they were almost nose to nose. Her eyes glinted, searching his face for something he couldn’t name.

“I don’t feel like an outsider anymore,” she said, soft. “I was so sure you’d keep me on the edges, but you didn’t.”

He shrugged. “You’re not on the edge.”

Her gaze flickered, uncertain. “Sometimes I don’t know where the edge even is.”

He slid a hand along her jaw, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her cheek. “You’re with me. That’s all that matters.”

Her breath caught, and in the hush that followed, they closed the last distance. The first kiss was light, almost nervous—Norah’s lips brushing his, retreating, then landing again, firmer. Andy felt her shiver, the barest tremble running through her shoulders.

She laughed against his mouth, the sound barely audible. “Sorry,” she said, pulling back an inch. “Kiss-Induced Dizziness.”

He grinned, remembering. “The swooning?”

She nodded, eyes bright. “Arabella really outdid herself. It’s worse when it’s…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“When it’s what?” Andy coaxed.

“When it’s real,” she finished, almost bashful.

He kissed her again, deeper this time. She melted into him, arms winding around his neck, her body going pliant in a way that made it clear she was letting go, trusting him to catch her.

Each kiss left her a little more breathless, her skin warmer, her hands more insistent. She moved with a hungry, deliberate energy, like she was memorizing every part of him she could reach. With every sweep of his mouth, every press of his hand, she grew bolder—until she suddenly broke away, gasping and dizzy, her head tipped back, her throat bared.

Andy eased her into the cushions, keeping a hand at the nape of her neck. “You okay?” he whispered, close.

She nodded, giddy. “It’s like vertigo, but not scary. Just… intense.”

“Good?”

She laughed, then caught him by the collar and dragged him down. “Best I’ve ever had.”

They kissed again, and again, until the world was only the heat between them and the soft, syncopated thump of their heartbeats. At some point, Norah’s hands were under his shirt, cool against his ribs, while his slid up the back of her dress, finding the smooth line of her spine as he kissed her again.

The dizziness hit her hard—she went limp for a moment, then clung tighter, holding him like an anchor in a storm. When she could breathe again, she pressed her face into his chest, muffling a laugh.

“You think it’s always going to be like this?” she asked, voice small.

He stroked her shoulder, gentle. “I hope so.”

She lay there, listening to his heartbeat, until her own breathing slowed to match it. Then, with a strength that surprised even her, she pushed him back, straddled his lap, and planted both hands on either side of his head.

“I want you to kiss me until I can’t stand,” she said, a dare and a plea all at once.

He obliged.

Achievement Unlocked: Beyond the Data +5 VP

She dragged him up by the hand, dizzy and giggly, her kisses coming in staccato bursts as they staggered toward the bedroom. At the threshold, Norah stopped short, her breathing uneven, and fixed her gaze on the pair of stilettos still strapped to her feet.

She went still, and Andy felt the shift: something fragile suspended in the air.

“Is it weird if I ask you something?” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Never,” Andy said, careful.

She looked down, running a thumb along the line of her heel. “Do you want me to keep them on?” she asked, voice so quiet it barely made it past the noise in his own head.

He blinked, unsure. “If you want—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “That’s the version of me everyone sees. The one who never stumbles. The one who wins.” She laughed, but the sound had an edge. “If I take them off, I can’t walk. I’ll just… crawl. And maybe that’s pathetic. But it’s the version of me no one else sees.”

Andy caught her hand, holding it between both of his. “You never have to be just one version,” he said. “Not with me.”

For a long moment, she studied his face, searching for any hint of mockery or revulsion. Then, slowly, she bent down, unbuckled the straps, and let the shoes fall to the carpet.

Norah stood in the doorway, her balance delicate as an eggshell, toes flexed against the thick carpet, bare of the pretense her stilettos provided. For a second she hovered, uncertain, then let something in her face relax—a tiny surrender—and tipped forward, hands to the carpet, knees following. She crawled deliberately, eyes forward, hair slipping over one cheek to make a velvet curtain. Every movement was measured and strangely regal, as if she were intent on dignifying the act, not undermining it. A lesser person might have looked awkward, ungainly. Norah made it theater, as if she were dancing for his pleasure at a music no one else could hear.

She paused, turned her head towards him with a grin, but he could see in her eyes how part of her feared he'd judge her. What she saw in his face made her relax slightly. "You can slap it, you know. This is prime spanking position."

Andy blinked. "You want me to?"

Norah rolled her eyes. "I don't not want you to."

Andy reached out and slapped her left ass cheek, the slap strong enough to make her stagger forward slightly. "Oh!" She gasped, and for a moment Andy thought she was in pain, but a look at her face showed him otherwise. "That was... oh! I could get used to that..." She looked at him again with a nervous grin, biting her lip. Andy raised an eyebrow playfully.

Spanked by the Master! +1 VP

Before he could do it again, she crawled past him, a living dare, her spine a studied bow, her hips swaying with feline control. She passed the foot of the bed and crested the mattress, then rocked back on her knees at the center. Her hair tumbled in waves over honeyed shoulders, and her smile—at once biting and fragile—told Andy exactly how much this was costing her, how much she wanted him to see it anyway. Her ass swayed hypnotically.

Twerked for the Master! +1 VP
First! x2

Andy hesitated. He’d never seen her like this: raw, the usual shield of irony gone. The room seemed to sharpen around her, like she was the only thing in focus. He felt both privileged and aroused, as if handed a map to some secret and asked to keep it safe.

Playful Humiliation for the Master! +3 VP
First! x2

She patted the bedspread, invitation and command. “Well?” she said, the arch of her voice less confident than she probably meant it to be.

He crossed to her, climbing onto the mattress, but she stopped him mid-motion, palm to his chest. She pushed, gentle but insistent, and he let himself fall backward, landing with a soft bounce on the other side of the bed. She straddled him, knees astride his hips, and looked down with a gaze that dared him to flinch.

She ran her hands up his arms, not softly, as if memorizing the terrain of him. He reached for her, but she caught his wrists and pinned them above his head, grinning as she leaned in to bite his lower lip, not quite hard enough to hurt. He grunted in surprise, and she sat back, laughing, arms crossed. For a second, Andy thought she might actually leave him there, but then she sighed and draped herself forward, the length of her body a heated blanket over him.

“You really don’t mind?” she whispered in his ear, the words thready.

“Mind what?” He struggled for coherence; she was distracting at close range.

“That I’m not—” She broke off, biting her lip, searching for words.

He shook his head. “I want all of you,” he said, and for once, he meant it with zero exaggeration.

She shivered, then released his wrists and lay beside him, her back to the headboard, drawing him in with a crook of her finger. He followed, folding himself around her, hands in the small of her back, lips at her neck. She was shaking, and he realized it was adrenaline, not fear.

“Don’t stop,” she said, voice muffled by the comforter, and he didn’t.

Every touch made her more restless. She’d fight for control, then lose it, then seize it again, as if the act of yielding required constant negotiation. He found himself wanting to reassure her, to prove that letting go wouldn’t mean disappearing, but mostly he just wanted to keep kissing her, to taste the sharpness of her, and the sweet shock of her surrender.

She kissed like someone who’d spent years being told not to, and now had a limited time to make up for all she’d missed. She undid his jeans, let him out and immediately impaled herself on him with a groan of pleasure. She switched between slow, almost contemplative motion and bursts of greedy hunger. She’d press herself along the length of him, then break away, panting, then fling herself back, hands in his hair, leg over his hip, wrestling with the need to both consume and retreat. It was a dance, and Andy realized he’d never once been bored by the way Norah moved.

But something else happened, too, as the encounter deepened. The more she let him, the more she seemed to let herself. Her hands loosened. Her eyes softened. The biting humor at the edges of her kisses dissolved, leaving only heat, and need, and a vulnerability so real he felt dizzy with it.

At the critical moment, she surprised him. Instead of flipping him over, instead of pushing boundaries, she just held on. Her legs locked around his waist, her arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. She shook as she came, and the sound she made was half-laugh, half-sob, the kind of noise you’d make if you’d just been forgiven for everything and didn’t know what to do with it.

He didn’t last long after that. The weight of her, the warmth, the simple fact of being trusted—he felt it all at once, and let go, closing his eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch the mess of his face in that moment. But she did watch. She cupped his cheek, thumb sliding along his jaw, and smiled like she’d just won a prize she didn’t think she’d ever get.

For a while, they just lay there. Her head resting on his shoulder, her breathing ragged, skin cooling in the air. He wondered if this was how she always was, or if it was something special—if anyone else had ever seen her this way, or if she’d spent her whole life saving it up for a night like this.

She rolled onto her back, stared at the ceiling, then at him. Andy propped himself up on his elbow, unsure what to say, not wanting to cheapen it by saying the wrong thing.

Norah reached out, fingers twining in his. “You know what’s messed up?” she said, voice raw but content.

“What?”

“I thought the crawling would mortify me. But I liked it. I liked how you looked at me. Like you saw something worth loving.”

He stroked her hair, gentle. “There’s a lot worth loving.”

She pressed her nose to his collarbone, breathing him in. “Don’t get sappy on me.”

He smiled, holding her close. “Never.”

After a while, she said, “You’re going to make me want this every night, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “That’s the plan.”

Norah laughed, the sound low and tired and happy. She tucked herself under Andy’s arm, thigh hooked over his, and lay there in the hush, both of them listening to the settling of the Suite around them.

“You’re the only one who gets all of me,” she whispered, voice hoarse but proud. “The heels. The crawling. The truth.”

Andy stroked her bare shoulder, the rise and fall of her breath a gentle lull beneath his palm. “You’re easy to love,” he said, meaning it.

She made a skeptical noise, but didn’t contradict him. Instead, she traced a lazy circle on his chest. “I thought the crawling would be the worst part. Like, ultimate humiliation. But it’s not. With you, it’s almost… fun?” She yawned, fighting the sleep clawing at her eyes. “Maybe it’s a little hot, too. But don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “Scout’s honor.”

She nestled closer, head pillowed on his chest. She was already fading, her breathing slow and deep.

He let her sleep, watching her face relax, the lines of competition and calculation smoothing out until she looked almost like a kid again. ****, open. Safe.

He lay awake a long time, replaying the day in his mind. The arcade, the paella, the game on the couch. Norah’s laugh when he said she belonged. The look on her face when she let herself fall, trusting he’d catch her.

He didn’t want to ruin it with old ghosts, but they crept in anyway. When sleep finally took him, it dropped him straight into the river.

He was thirteen again, cold water pressing in on every side. Laura was ahead of him, arms flailing, hair spread like ink in the current. He reached out—always a little too slow, always missing her hand by inches. He heard her voice, calling his name. He tried to scream, but the river filled his mouth, his nose, his chest.

He woke gasping, sweat slicked to his skin, Norah’s hand still curled at his side, her head burrowed into his ribs.

He looked up, breath catching. Katherine’s painting hung on the wall opposite the bed, just visible in the silver wash of moonlight from the glass wall. The painted woman stood serene and naked, her eyes dark but kind, her hands folded behind her back.

For a moment, he let himself believe she was watching. That she saw the whole mess—Andy tangled up in the living and the dead, always yearning, never quite able to let go.

In the dark, he raised his hand in a quiet salute. Katherine dipped her head in the faintest of gestures, as if to say: I know. It’s okay.

He shut his eyes, and let himself drift.