Norah's Night

The Suite felt more like a museum after dark, every surface gleaming, every item precisely aligned, as if the room itself were holding its breath. Andy sat on the edge of the red couch, watching the blue fade from the sky and waiting for a sign—any sign—that the evening would not be as empty as it seemed. He’d kept the lights low, letting only the pool lamps over the counter, and a single reading sconce in the far corner do the work. He wondered if that made him look haunted or just lazy. Katherine watched him from her painting, but didn’t try to communicate. Either he had hurt her feelings, or she understood his need for silence.

The buzzer by the elevator let out its staccato cough. Andy jerked upright, heartbeat flicking up a notch. He crossed to the panel and hit the admittance button.

The elevator doors parted with their habitual hush, and Norah Rahman stepped out as if from a boardroom—chin high, lips pressed to a neutral line, arms crossed in front of her chest in a way that looked practiced but also deeply uncomfortable. A plastic bag hung from one hand. She wore a slate-gray blazer and matching skirt, the kind of outfit designed to project authority at a board meeting, except the blazer strained ludicrously at the buttons, her breasts threatening to mutiny. The skirt hugged hips that had outgrown every off-the-rack option known to Western tailoring. Her heels were so sharp they’d leave divots in a hardwood floor. Even in this getup, she was half a head shorter than she’d been a week ago, and Andy wondered if she noticed how often her posture compensated for the stolen inches.

Norah didn’t step fully out of the elevator. She stood at the threshold, dropping the plastic bag to the ground, eyes flicking across the Suite with quick, hawkish sweeps—fireplace, table, art, Cooper—then back to the ground. She smoothed her skirt with both hands, a nervous tic that only emphasized the way her curves had become a full-time project. The mask, it seemed to Andy, was fully back.

“I see Arabella’s taste in interior design stops at ‘rich widower with too much time,’” Norah said, the words dry as bone.

Andy laughed, a little ****. “Yeah, it’s a lot. I keep waiting for the ghosts to show up and start rearranging things.”

She lingered in the elevator vestibule, arms crossed even tighter. Andy gestured. “Uh, please. Come in.”

Norah didn’t move. She scanned him, head to toe, then let out a breath. “Let’s just get this over with, Cooper.”

He gestured to the table in the dining area, already set with a bowl of almonds and two mugs. “Tea?”

“Sure.” She stepped into the Suite with the deliberate pace of someone boarding a witness stand. The click of her heels was the only sound for a moment.

She did not sit. Instead, she hovered near the archway to the kitchen, arms locked across her chest, eyes glued to the view beyond the glass wall. “Nice sunset,” she said, though she never actually looked at it.

Andy poured the water, trying to make the act as non-threatening as possible. “Jasmine or mint?”

“Black.”

He quickly found a bag of black tea, then set the mug on the table, nudging it in her direction. She took it, but didn’t drink, holding it as if it might reveal a hidden message if she just waited long enough.

She sipped her tea, grimacing a bit as if bracing for poison. “Honestly, I thought you’d just cancel. Or ask me to pawn it off on Claire or Liesa, or even Sam.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Not that I could… but even if I did, why would I do that?”

She glared at him, but there was more fatigue than heat in it. “Because you’re not stupid. You know I’d rather be anywhere else. And you definitely know you’re not my type.”

He tried a smile, softening the edge. “No offense taken. I’m still contractually obligated to be a good host.”

She let the silence stretch. He watched her shoulders slowly drop from their defensive perch, a half-inch at a time, as if she was negotiating every degree with a union rep in her head.

Norah scanned the Suite again, this time letting her gaze linger on the painting of Katherine, then the fireplace, and finally on Andy himself. “Arabella said it’s tradition,” she muttered. “That the… contestants each get a turn in the penthouse. But she said it like it’s supposed to be some big reward. Like a night at the palace.”

Andy said, “I think it’s less about the room and more about not having to share a bathroom for once.”

That got a faint smile out of her. “You joke, but you haven’t seen the disaster zone after eight women try to get ready for breakfast at the same time.” Her eyes sharpened. “Or maybe you have. You’re the only one with a private shower.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t ask for it. You’re welcome to use it tomorrow. I won’t peek.”

Norah gave him a look like, sure, you will. But her arms dropped from their stranglehold around her ribs, one hand now cradling the mug. “This is weird,” she said, quietly. “Can I just say that?”

Andy nodded. “It’s weird for everyone, Norah. Are you hungry? There’s food. Or, uh, drinks if you want something stronger.”

“Just the tea,” she said, but sat at the edge of the couch, knees together, hands folded. “Is this where you give the pitch? Tell me how much you value my input, or whatever?”

He blinked, then grinned. “I think you’re confusing me with HR.”

She cracked a smile, genuinely this time, but it vanished quick as it came. She looked at her lap, fingers twitching on the mug handle.

He decided to risk it. “You want to talk about anything? Or we can just sit here in silence and watch Katherine glare at us.”

Norah looked at the painting, then at Andy, then back. “God, that thing looks alive.” Andy didn’t reply. As always, Katherine pretended to be a painting with Andy’s nightly encounters.

Norah stared at the painting for a long moment, then said, “I always thought the point was to win. But the challenge’s coming up, and I found myself thinking… what happens if you don’t?”

Andy hesitated, then said, “I don’t think you’re in danger.” Unless there was an Audience vote and the Audience voted purely on likeability, Andy thought glumly. Based on what he’d heard from the others, Norah had not exactly worked to make herself likeable.

She shrugged, unconvinced. “You’d be the last to know, anyway. Arabella’s always three moves ahead.” She sipped her tea, then shifted closer to the table, as if the act of conversation had loosened her spine.

Andy watched the way her hands curled around the cup, knuckles pale against the glaze, and thought about what Dawn had told him—that Norah’s anger was armor. He wondered what she’d look like with the armor off, and if she even remembered what it felt like to not be bracing for attack.

He poured himself a mug, matching her posture. They sat together in the lamplight, side by side, in silence. For a moment, it felt almost normal.

Norah broke the spell. “You know,” she said, looking him dead in the eye, “I’m only here because Arabella said if I didn’t cooperate, I’d be punished. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

He nodded, appreciating the bluntness. “Understood.”

She softened, just a fraction. “You’re not as bad as I thought, Cooper. Still not great. But not vomit-inducing.”

He raised his mug. “To not inducing vomit, then.”

She snorted, the sound raw and real. “To not inducing vomit.”

They toasted, the mugs clinking like an accidental secret.

Somewhere outside, the wind shifted, carrying in the scent of ocean and rain. Norah let herself lean back, the last of her professional stiffness draining away. Andy let the quiet wrap around them, neither pressing for more nor expecting anything in return.

They sat in silence for a while. Andy nursed his tea, uncertain what to do with his hands. Norah had found a thread on her blazer and was working it loose, her thumb worrying at the edge until the fabric started to unravel.

Andy tried not to stare, but his eyes kept coming back to her—the way the transformation had molded her body, the way her arms pressed the blazer so tight across her chest that the buttons looked like they’d pop if she took a deep breath. Her hair, which he remembered as tightly managed in a bun or braid, now fell past her shoulders in impossible waves. There was no hiding the way her lips had filled out, or how the transformation had shifted her proportions from “tough conference call” to “pinup calendar with an MBA.”

She caught him looking and bristled, pulling the blazer lapels together. “You staring for a reason, Cooper?”

He looked away. “Sorry. I just… are you okay?”

She rolled her eyes, but something in her posture shifted. “No, I’m not okay,” she said, voice tight. “I’m in a stranger’s body, on an island where the main entertainment is humiliating me. So, no, I’m not okay.”

Andy nodded, letting the words hang. “I didn’t mean… the transformation, specifically. I mean, in general. You seem…” He fumbled for the word, landed on, “Tired.”

Norah let out a short laugh, the kind that sounded more like a bark. “That’s a new one. Most people just say I’m difficult.”

He hesitated, then decided to just say it. “I’ve been thinking about that meeting. The one where I…” he winced, “where I called you reckless.”

Norah’s fingers stilled on the thread. She stared straight ahead, jaw set.

“I know I already apologized,” Andy said, keeping his voice low, “but I don’t think I really understood how much it hurt you. I thought I was being honest. Maybe even helpful. And look, I wasn’t having a good day, not that it’s an excuse. But now I see it was a lot more than that.”

She didn’t answer right away. He was about to backtrack when she spoke, her voice so quiet he barely caught it.

“You don’t get it,” she said. “You never did.”

He nodded, patient.

Norah flexed her hands, then let them drop into her lap, palms open and empty. “I spent my whole life trying to get a seat at the table,” she said. “I was the youngest of four girls. My parents were janitors, poor immigrants from Jordan. My sisters all married before they hit twenty-one, dropped out of school, and never left the old neighborhood. I was the one who was supposed to get out. Supposed to be different.” She took a shaky breath. “Everywhere I went, I was the charity case. The ‘diversity hire.’ The kid who got the scholarship because the school wanted to look good in the alumni magazine.”

Her voice grew steadier, angrier. “So when I worked my way into that Lanternlight internship—when I actually earned it—I thought maybe I could finally just… belong. Not as the charity kid, but because I was good. Because I was better than everyone else in the room.”

She glanced at Andy, and her eyes were burning. “Then you stood up and told the room I was reckless. In front of everyone. You have no idea what that did to me.”

He tried to speak, but she cut him off. “It wasn’t just the words, Cooper. It was you. The golden boy. You sailed through school, you got the funding, the job, the app, everything. You didn’t even know what it was like to have people count you out before you even opened your mouth.”

He winced. “That’s not true…”

She shook her head, sharp. “Don’t even say it. You think I hated you because you were a jerk? I hated you because I looked up to you, and you proved I was right to never trust anyone in the first place.”

Her hands came up to her face, trembling. She wiped her eyes, but the tears started anyway, heavy and hot. “God, this is so pathetic,” she muttered.

Andy reached out, then stopped, not sure if she’d want to be touched.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know…” He trailed off, words failing him.

Norah’s shoulders shook. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, fighting for control. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ll get eliminated next week, go back to the wreckage Arabella will make of my life, and you’ll go back to being perfect.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to go back. I mean… you matter. Here. You’re not just a number or a project.”

She laughed, bitter. “Yeah, okay.”

He let the silence fill the room, waiting for her to say more.

Norah’s hands dropped. She stared at the table, her face wet, voice thick. “Do you know what the worst part is?”

Andy shook his head.

“The worst part is, I spent all this time thinking that if I could just be better, just work harder, I could fix it. But all I became good at is never letting anyone see me bleed.”

He nodded, slowly. “I get that. More than you think.”

She looked at him, surprised. “You? What do you have to hide?”

He considered, then said, “A lot, actually. But that’s not the point.”

She rolled her eyes again, but it was softer this time. “Sure.”

Andy watched her, wanting to reach out but knowing she had to close the distance herself.

Norah drew a shaky breath, wiping at her cheeks. “I don’t want to hate you anymore,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It’s too much work.”

He smiled, small. “You don’t have to like me.”

She met his eyes flatly. “I don’t.” She paused. “But maybe I could, someday.” She snorted, then said, “Don’t get your hopes up, Cooper.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She sniffed, then picked up her mug, cradling it in both hands. “Thanks,” she said, voice almost steady. “For listening.”

“Anytime,” Andy said, and meant it.

Norah looked at him without the old heat in her eyes. Just tiredness, and maybe a little relief.

They sat together, drinking their tea in the slow dark, the Suite around them quiet and safe. For the first time since the game began, Andy thought maybe he understood Norah a little better. Maybe enough to make a difference, maybe not. Sometimes he felt like he was pulling teeth.

They didn’t move for a long while, letting the silence fill in the cracks words couldn’t reach. Eventually, Andy set down his empty mug and said, “I’m going to tell you something.”

Norah didn’t look at him, but nodded, eyes on the dark window.

“That day, that meeting,” he said, choosing words carefully. “It wasn’t about you, really. I mean, yeah, your name was on the report, but I was… off. Distracted. There was a lot going on. It was… an anniversary I could have done without. Not an excuse, just… context.”

He saw her jaw tighten, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I know how it feels to be picked apart in front of a crowd,” Andy said. “I’ve had it happen. More than once. I remember my early pitches to investors, when I started fundraising for Aural. I should have known better.” He paused, made himself go on. “But I want you to know: I never thought you didn’t belong. You were the best analyst on the team.”

For a moment, Norah didn’t respond. Then she let out a breath, slow and unsteady. “You know what pissed me off the most, Cooper? It’s that you were right.” Her laugh was almost a sigh. “I made a mistake. A big one. If you’d pulled me aside, told me in private, I’d have fixed it. But you went public, and then I couldn’t fix anything.”

He nodded, accepting the blame, but not without pointing out the truth. “I tried to pull you aside. Remember? But I could not get you alone. And so I fucked up,” he said, quiet. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him then, really looked, as if searching for a trap. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she leaned back into the couch, letting her arms drop to her sides. “Okay,” she said. “I believe you.”

Andy nodded, tentative.

Norah shifted, pulling her knees up and tucking her feet under her skirt. “I admired you, you know. Before all that. You were… smart. You could have coasted, but you didn’t. I always thought you’d be the one to burn out first. Then you went and made it big.” She smirked. “Suppose I should be jealous.”

“Don’t be,” Andy said. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks. Most days, I felt like I was waiting for someone to figure out I had no idea what I was doing.”

She snorted. “Welcome to my entire life.”

He grinned. “Imposter syndrome is universal, huh?”

She laughed—low and genuine this time. “Maybe.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows. Andy got up, retrieved a thick throw blanket from the back of the armchair, and offered it to her. “You want this? The temperature drops after dark.”

Norah eyed it, then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, burrito style, and visibly relaxed. “You know, I never had a boyfriend growing up. Not even a casual thing. My parents were old school—Jordanian, you know?—and I was always too busy working, or studying, or helping my mom with my sisters’ kids.” She shrugged, the movement tiny under the blanket. “By the time I got to college, it was like… everyone already knew the rules except me.”

Andy sat next to her, closer now. “That sounds lonely.”

She nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

He let her have the silence, letting it feel more like a shelter than an absence.

After a while, Norah said, “What about you? You ever feel like you’re just faking it?”

Andy considered. “All the time,” he said. “I still do.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Especially here. I’m supposed to be the Master, but most days I have no idea what I’m doing. The game keeps changing the rules.”

Norah smiled, small and almost kind. “You’re not half as bad as you think, Cooper.”

He met her eyes. “You neither, Rahman.”

She looked away, embarrassed, but not angry. “I’ll try to remember that.”

They sat like that, a little closer, the warmth of the blanket stretching to fill the gap between them. Andy thought about the past week—how Norah’s name had been a warning to everyone, a cautionary tale of not insulating yourself from the Audience or the others. Now, she was just a woman, tired and bruised and trying to find her place in the world.

As the night pressed in, the Suite softened into a world of lamplight and hush. Norah wrapped the blanket tighter, shifting so she faced Andy fully.

“I should tell you something,” she said, voice a bit unsteady. “About the transformation.”

Andy waited, watching the flicker of her hands as she fidgeted with the fringe.

“I hate it,” she said, blunt as always. “Not the boobs. Not even the hips. But the height. I feel like a kid again. Like I got shrunk down to something you can pick up and move wherever you want.”

She made a face, disgusted with herself. “And I know it’s not your fault. Not really. But I keep thinking… if your preferences change, do I change with them? Or is this just who I am now?”

Andy thought about it. “I don’t think you’re changeable like that. Arabella’s not that literal.”

Norah’s laugh was hollow. “Easy for you to say. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to worry about turning into someone else’s idea of perfect.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think there is a perfect.”

She eyed him. “You saying that to make me feel better?”

“No,” he said. “I’m saying it because I see you handling this better than I could. I’d have gone off the rails by now. You’re adapting.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t argue.

He tried to lighten the mood. “Besides, you’re terrifying with or without the extra curves. No one’s going to mistake you for a pushover.”

She rolled her eyes, but a **** smile crept onto her face.

For a while, they sat in the companionable silence of people who had run out of excuses to hate each other. Then, quietly, Norah said, “You know what scares me most? That I’ll wake up one day and not remember what it was like to be… me. The old me. Like she’s gone for good.”

Andy let that settle. “I don’t think she’s gone,” he said. “She’s just—” He searched for the word. “—different. And you get to decide what stays and what goes.”

She considered that, then nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He stood, stretched, and said, “You want the bed? I can take the couch.” Then he realized that wouldn’t work, based on Arabella’s rules.

Norah looked startled, then shook her head. “Arabella said I had to share it with you, or else I’d get penalized.”

Andy shrugged, grateful she had pointed out his error before he had to correct himself. “Rules are rules. But I promise not to invade your space.”

She grinned, just a flash of teeth. “If you do, I’ll break your kneecaps.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

Norah got up, the blanket dragging behind her like a cape. She hesitated, then turned and, before he could react, hugged him. It was awkward, arms around his waist, her breasts pressed against his belly, face mashed against his chest, but for a second she just held on, trembling. Then she pulled away, eyes bright with fresh tears.

“Sorry,” she muttered, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “Don’t get used to that.”

He smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hugged the Master! +1 VP

She vanished into the bathroom with the bag she had brought, and a few minutes later emerged in a baggy T-shirt and pajama shorts that did almost nothing to hide her new figure. She climbed into bed, curling up on the far side like a wary animal.

Andy waited until she was settled, then turned off the main light, leaving only the glow from the lamp near the bed.

As he crawled under the covers, he said, “Thanks for being honest. And for the hug. I know it’s not easy.”

She grunted. “Get lost, Andy.” But there was no venom in it, only tiredness. He wondered if he was still supposed to be cold to her, to repay her for her anger. But he was responsible for all of them, including Norah. She wouldn't have been summoned, had it not been for him. And she would still look like her old self, had it not been for him. So... he could let go of the resentment. He could let go of the frustration. She wasn't wrong, after all. There was a chance she would go home in two days, in whatever bizarre shape Arabella would 'gift' her after elimination. Did it really cost that much, to be kind?

It didn't, so he would be. He lay in the dark, the silence comfortable, and listened to the rhythm of her breathing until they both drifted off.

Andy woke in the half-dark to the feeling of warmth and weight against his chest. For a disoriented moment, he thought he’d rolled onto one of the couch cushions, but then the cushion breathed—deep, steady, and unmistakably human.

He blinked at the sliver of light coming through the wall of glass. Norah was curled up beside him, head nestled into his shoulder, one arm thrown across his ribs. The blanket had tangled itself somewhere near the foot of the bed. She was so close her hair tickled his neck, and every inhale pressed the soft crush of her breasts into his bicep. His arm was caught between them. It was a sensation he’d never in a thousand years have expected, and for a while, he just lay there, taking it in.

He tried to shift, careful not to wake her, but her grip tightened.

“You don’t have to move,” she mumbled, voice raspy from sleep.

Andy froze. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—”

“Stop talking,” Norah said. Her eyes flickered open, the pupils enormous in the pre-dawn. “Just… don’t.”

He let his head sink back to the pillow. After a few minutes, he felt her body relax again.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He turned, propping himself on one elbow. “Do what?”

Norah shrugged, a stiff little motion. “This. Not hating you. Not wanting to punch you every five seconds.” She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, almost hiding. “I kept thinking if I was angry enough, it’d be easier to go home when I got cut. But now I don’t know what to feel.”

He put a hand on her back, just resting it there. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

Norah snorted, but it was a soft sound. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

He smiled. “Pretty much.”

She went quiet again. He felt the tension slowly bleed away. He didn’t know what made him do it—maybe the darkness, maybe the stillness—but he bent down and kissed the top of her head.

Norah jerked, startled. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, like she expected a punchline.

He kissed her again, this time on the forehead, then the bridge of her nose. She blinked, stunned, and for once, didn’t say anything. So he kissed her on the lips.

Kissed the Master! +1 VP

The first kiss was quick, testing. The second was slower, Norah’s hand coming up to his cheek, her fingers trembling. For a minute, they just held each other, breath mingling, neither one willing to break the spell.

When Norah finally pulled away, her cheeks were damp. She wiped them with her sleeve, embarrassed. “Great. Now I’m crying again. That’s, what, three times in one night? I’m breaking records, Cooper.”

Andy smoothed her hair. “I think you’re allowed.”

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “You ever think maybe you were born to mess up women’s lives?”

He laughed, surprised. “I try not to.”

She was quiet, but the humor wasn’t mean anymore. “What if I told you I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want you to go away?”

He said, “I’d say you’re in good company.”

She turned her head, searching his face. “Is it always like this? The game? The weird rules and the feelings and everything?”

He thought about it, then shrugged. “I’m starting to think the game is what we make of it. But the feelings are real. That’s the part I can’t fake.”

Norah studied him for a long minute. Then she smiled, just a little. “I’m not planning to seduce you, by the way. You’re not that irresistible.”

He grinned. “Understood.”

She nestled into his side, her body soft and heavy against his. “Also… I don’t know how to do it. Never did. But I guess it’s not the worst thing. You know. If you wanted to hold me a little.”

He wrapped his arms around her, gentle. “Happy to.”

They lay like that, neither quite sleeping, as the sky slowly turned from black to purple to gold. At some point, Norah’s breathing evened out. Andy listened to it, let himself drift, and wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was a way for both of them to belong.

He felt almost whole. That was, of course, when Norah grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on one of her boobs. “For comfort,” she muttered sleepily. “Don’t get used to it, Andy.”

It was hard, to go back to sleep after that. For a while after that night, Andy wondered how he had succeeded.

Master touched her boobs! +2 VP

Spooned by the Master! +1 VP

Achievement Unlocked: Splinter's End! +5 VP

Andy woke to an empty bed and the pale sting of morning sun. The air in the Suite was cool, sharp with the bite of ocean breeze filtering through the half-open windows. For a moment, he wondered if he’d dreamed it all—the long night, Norah’s hesitant warmth, the way she’d fit so perfectly into his side—but the faint imprint of her head on the pillow, and the stray black hair curling across his forearm, proved otherwise.

He got up, wrapped himself in a robe, and padded to the kitchen. The place felt different now—less like a stage set and more like somewhere a real person might live. He started the coffee, then rummaged in the fridge for eggs and bread. He found himself humming, a habit he hadn’t noticed in years, and let the sound fill the room. He wondered about last night. Had he kissed her out of pity? To give her something, anything, to cling to while the tide threatened to drag her under? The truth was, he couldn't say. But when he had awakened and found her clinging to him, those huge dark eyes staring at him... it had not mattered. Perhaps he had just listened to his heart.

Andy chuckled, despite himself. He seemed to be doing a lot more of that, recently.

As he plated his breakfast, he glanced at the painting above the fireplace. Katherine’s eyes were already on him, bright and mischievous. She stood in her meadow, hands on her hips, looking more amused than ever. The frustration he had felt last night with her had evaporated, he realized. Whether she had an angle or not, and what she knew that she couldn’t share… they were questions for another day. The fact that she was trapped, and lonely… that was something he could help with, at least a little. Out of human kindness, if nothing else.

He raised his coffee mug in greeting. “Morning, Katherine.”

She nodded, tilting her head in a way that seemed to say, Well? Out with it.

He took a sip, then said, “You ever have one of those nights where everything changes, and you’re not sure if it’s for the better or worse?”

Katherine arched a painted brow, then rolled her eyes with theatrical exaggeration. She pointed at herself, then at Andy, then made a looping motion.

He laughed, then leaned against the counter. “She left before I woke up,” he said, softer. “But I think we’re good. Or, at least, not enemies anymore.”

Katherine brought her fingers to her lips, then spread them outward—a gesture of approval, or maybe just relief.

He watched her for a moment, thinking about the last few days. About Claire, and her quiet bravery; about Erin, and the way she’d let him see the real her, even if just for a second; about Liesa’s laughter, her messy, hopeful heart. And now, Norah—no longer a threat or a ghost from his past, but something else. A person, complicated and fierce and trying to be better… if only she could ensure her pride wouldn’t get in the way.

He looked at Katherine again. “You think I’m doing okay?” he asked, only half joking.

She considered, then made a thumbs-up, followed by a little waggle of her hand, not bad but not perfect.

He grinned. “Tough crowd.”

Katherine’s smile widened, and she gestured with both hands—something between a hug and a cheer. Then she pointed at the window, at the wide open world beyond.

Andy followed her gaze, then turned back to Katherine, who was watching him with something close to pride.

“Thanks,” he said. “For keeping me honest.”

She shrugged, modest. Then pointed at herself, then at Andy, then back again.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I suppose we’re in this together.” He set his coffee on the counter and let the sunlight wash over him, the sound of the sea just a faint echo in the distance.

Andy took a deep breath. Last day before the challenge. He wondered what it would bring.