Blueprints in the Sunlight

Chapter XV: Blueprints in the Sunlight

VP and BP Standings
Claire - 23 VP - 2000 BP
Sam - 5 VP - 2500 BP
Emi - 4 VP - 2000 BP
Dawn - 3 VP - 2000 BP
Marissa - 3 VP - 1500 BP
Liesa - 3 VP - 1900 BP
Erin - 0 VP - 1000 BP
Norah - 0 VP - 1000 BP

The morning crept into the gardens behind the hotel, drenching everything in a soft, forgiving light. Andy had always liked this hour, when the world felt unscripted and the day’s burdens hadn’t yet found him. He lingered by the path, watching as Dawn worked quietly by a stone planter, hands deep in an explosion of fresh flowers.

She wore a pale yellow sundress that looked borrowed from another era, and her hair was pinned up in a twist that made her look older, softer somehow. The bench beside her was scattered with stems and clippings—she was making arrangements for the lounge, he guessed, though Dawn took such care with every blossom it looked less like a chore and more like meditation.

Andy almost turned around, not wanting to interrupt, but Dawn glanced up and saw him. She brightened, waving with fingers stained green from the stems. He found himself smiling, surprised by how much her small presence could shift the gravity of a space.

“Morning, Andy!” she called, standing to brush her skirt smooth. She didn’t move toward him, just gestured at the riot of petals in front of her. “Come look?”

He joined her, tucking his hands in his pockets. “You’ve got a gift,” he said, nodding at the arrangement. “It’s like you’ve been doing this for years.”

Dawn ducked her head, almost shy. “My grandma used to say flowers have feelings, too.” She picked up a drooping tulip, cradling it in her palm. “If you put them in the wrong spot, they sulk.” She eyed him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I don’t want any sulking flowers in the garden today. It’s been a hard week for everyone.”

He could see it—the strain etched into the way she held herself, the extra carefulness in her gestures. Dawn had been emotional ballast from the beginning, the one with the sunny disposition who could brighten a room with a touch or a word, but lately there was a tension behind her calm. He wondered if she noticed it.

She bent low to adjust a wayward stem, then straightened, studying him with a new seriousness. “Have you talked to Norah?” she asked, as if the question had been weighing on her since sunrise.

Andy shook his head. “I figured she’d want space.”

Dawn shrugged, twisting her mouth. “Maybe. Or maybe she just doesn’t know how to ask.” She set the tulip gently back in place and dusted off her hands. “Emi told me something yesterday, about Norah’s life before she came here. It wasn’t great. I guess, when you called her out in that meeting… she’d just clawed her way out of a pretty rough spot.” Dawn hesitated, then added, “She took it harder than anyone realized.”

Andy frowned, vaguely remembering the incident. He’d meant it as constructive, but maybe he’d been careless. “I wish I’d known,” he said, and meant it.

Dawn’s voice was gentle. “We all wish things, sometimes.” She looked at him, eyes kind but clear. “But you can still fix it.”

He studied her face, the way her lips pressed together at the corners, the way she always seemed to search for the right thing to say even when she already knew it. “I’m not sure she wants to talk to me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dawn said. “Go anyway. She’s sitting by the east fountain, pretending to relax, but she’s just drawing circles on the stone.” Dawn glanced sideways, then, almost conspiratorial: “She’s not angry, just… stuck. You’re good at getting people unstuck.”

He winced, not convinced, but nodded. Dawn smiled, satisfied, and reached out to squeeze his arm. Not a comforting squeeze, more a transfer of energy, a little charge to get him moving.

As Andy started to leave, she called after him, “Just listen first. That’s what most people forget to do.”

He paused, half-turned. Dawn’s eyes crinkled at the edges, her smile soft and unburdened. Andy wondered if this was her compulsion… then realized he wasn’t sure there was any difference at this point.

Andy nodded again, and walked toward the fountain, Dawn’s words heavy and warm in his chest.

Norah was exactly where Dawn had said she’d be: hunched over a slab of weathered stone, a sketchbook perched precariously on her knees, all but camouflaged by the bank of overgrown ivy that shaded the east fountain. The world around her was a hush of water and wind, and Andy irrationally wondered if she’d chosen the spot for its privacy or if the garden itself had grown around her, like armor.

He hesitated at the edge of the clearing, not wanting to startle her, but Norah’s pencil kept moving, relentless, carving furious lines onto the page. He waited for a lull, but there was none.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. The word barely registered above the bubbling fountain.

Norah’s pencil froze mid-arc, then resumed, even faster than before. “If you’re here to gloat about the leaderboard, don’t,” she muttered, not looking up.

Andy sat beside her, careful to leave a healthy gap on the bench. “I haven’t checked it today,” he said, honestly.

She snorted, eyes fixed on the paper. “Of course you haven’t. You never had to. It’s just us peons fighting for scraps, isn’t it?”

The silence stretched, filled only by the splashing water and the scratch of graphite on paper. Andy let it linger, unsure what to say. He watched the way Norah hunched over her sketchbook, the muscles in her jaw tight enough to hurt. The top of the page was crowded with geometric shapes—stars, hexagons, fragments of city skylines—but the bottom was just a tangle of dark, frantic spirals, like she was drawing a hole and then trying to fill it.

“You’re good at that,” he offered, after a while. “Drawing, I mean.”

Norah’s lips twisted, but her pencil slowed. “You know, most people just ask what you’re drawing.”

He shrugged, not sure if it was a joke or a barb. “Fair point.”

She closed the sketchbook, thumbing the edge of the paper. “You need something, or is this just a drive-by guilt trip?” Now she glanced at him, eyes sharp and tired.

Andy took a breath. “I wanted to talk.”

Norah rolled her eyes, but the fight was half-hearted. “About what?”

He picked a flower from the planter behind them—something small and blue, with petals like broken china. He twirled it between his fingers, buying time. “Dawn said I should listen,” he said. “So… I’m listening.”

Norah barked a short laugh, more exhausted than amused. “Dawn’s too nice for her own good. She probably thinks if she hugs the universe hard enough, it’ll finally love her back.” The words came out cruel, but Andy heard the longing buried beneath.

He nodded, not taking the bait. “Maybe. She cares, though. About you. About everyone.”

Norah blinked, then looked away. She was quiet for a long time. “I’m not like her,” she said, voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to be.”

He waited.

She dug her thumbnail into the page, tearing a tiny crescent of paper free. “You want to know why I never liked you, Cooper?” she said, not angry—just tired. “Oh, I looked up to you, but I didn’t like you. It’s not because of the job. Or the transformation. Or even the stupid game.” She stopped, pinching her lips shut.

He didn’t push.

Finally, she looked up, eyes wet and fierce. “It’s because you had every advantage and you still managed to make it look like an accident when you crushed me. I worked for years to get out. Out of my house, out of my family, out of that shitty little neighborhood where every week someone went missing or ended up pregnant at fifteen or got a scholarship and flamed out after two semesters because they didn’t know how to talk to people who’d never been hungry.” She shook her head, disgusted with herself for saying it out loud. “I had one shot. I got it. Then you stood up in front of a dozen people and told me I was reckless. That I was lazy. That I didn’t care about the consequences.”

Andy felt the words like a slap, each one heavier than the last.

Norah exhaled, a shaky, broken thing. “You know what it feels like, when you’re finally on the other side and everyone expects you to fail? And then you do, and the guy who made it out by accident gets to decide if you’re worth keeping around?”

He wanted to say no, he couldn’t imagine. But it wasn’t his place.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, angry at herself for showing any weakness. “It was easier to hate you than admit I didn’t belong. But you made it clear that time. And I still don’t. Not here. Not anywhere.” She jammed the sketchbook into her bag, as if the act of hiding it could erase the confession.

Andy reached for her hand, then thought better of it. “I’m sorry,” he said, and for the first time in a long time, he meant it without reservation. “I can’t undo what happened. But I’m trying not to make the same mistakes.”

Norah shook her head. “That’s the thing about you, Cooper. You think if you’re nice enough, you can make up for the past. But it’s still there. It always will be.”

He nodded, accepting the verdict. They sat in silence, the air around them heavy and bright.

After a while, Andy said, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just want to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Norah stared at the fountain, watching the way the water caught the light. “Understanding is overrated,” she said, but there was no bite in it.

Andy stood to leave, but she stopped him with a question: “Why do you even care, anyway? You’re the only one who can’t lose. You’ll get what you want. Doesn’t matter what the rest of us think.”

He looked at her, the blue flower still cradled in his palm. “None of this is what I want, Norah. But maybe that’s the point,” he said. “Maybe what we do here matters more than what comes after. And the one thing I want is for you all to be safe.”

She considered, then rolled her eyes. “You always did have a messiah complex.”

He smiled, the first real one of the morning. “That’s what Sam calls it, too.”

Norah snorted, then looked down at her sketchbook. “You can go,” she said, but she was already flipping to a new page, the pencil in her hand less angry now.

Andy walked back toward the main path, the blue flower twirling between his fingers. As he reached the bend, he glanced back. Norah was still sketching, hair blowing in the breeze, her silhouette sharp and alone against the stone.

Tonight would be her night with him. Perhaps he would have another chance to break through her defenses… or perhaps it would be an awkward night he would rather forget, later. But if Norah continued down this path… Arabella had said the Audience had plenty of power, in this game. And Andy had to assume the Audience was always watching. Norah was fast-tracking herself for elimination, unless she changed something.

He wondered if she even had the desire.

Marissa rounded the corner and nearly collided with Erin, who was stalking the hallway like a caged predator. Erin’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes too bright, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

They jerked back from each other, and for a moment neither said anything. Then Erin started pacing again, her words tumbling out with each step.

“I can’t do it. I literally can’t. I thought maybe if I just waited it out, or tried harder, but it’s not working. And the worst part is, he knows. He offered to help, like he’s doing me a favor, but it just makes it worse.”

She spun, agitated, then glanced at Marissa. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dump all this—”

Marissa held up a hand, gentle. “It’s fine. Walk with me?” She gestured down the hall, toward a small alcove with a window seat overlooking the gardens. Erin hesitated, then followed, her fists balled in her pockets.

They sat. For a few seconds, Marissa let the silence do its work.

Erin slouched, staring out at the hedge maze below. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t think about anything else. It’s in my head. It’s like—” She gestured, searching for words. “The more I try, the worse it gets. I thought I could just ignore it, but I can’t even sleep anymore.”

Marissa watched her, calm and attentive. “Tell me what’s happening,” she said. “In detail.”

Erin pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. “If I even try to get off, nothing happens. Like my body’s on strike.” She glared at the window, as if it had betrayed her. “And I know exactly why: the rules say I can’t unless he’s watching. It’s not just a kink. It’s my literal reality now.”

She blew out a long breath. “And the thing is, I don’t even want him. Not like that. But now my body is holding me hostage until I get over myself and just—” She broke off, clenching her jaw.

Marissa let the pause stretch. “What about it bothers you most?”

Erin looked at her, startled. “The whole thing, obviously.”

Marissa tilted her head. “Be specific.”

Erin slumped, then buried her face in her hands. “That I need him at all,” she said, voice muffled. “That after all these years of being fine alone, the only way I can feel anything is if he’s there. Watching.”

Marissa nodded, slow. “What would happen if you asked him to help?”

Erin shot her a glare. “I’d die of humiliation, probably. Or hate myself for giving in.” She huffed, then added, “I know how it sounds. I know it’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Marissa said. “It’s frustrating. And it makes sense, given the circumstances.”

They sat in silence again. Erin gnawed her thumbnail, staring at a point somewhere in the middle distance.

Marissa folded her hands in her lap. “You have three options,” she said, voice calm but not cold. “One: you keep suffering. Two: you accept his help, but on your terms. Three: you find a different solution.”

Erin laughed, sharp and bitter. “There is no different solution.”

Marissa shrugged, the barest smile on her lips. “You’d be surprised what people can adapt to.”

Erin stared at her for a long moment, then looked away. “Why are you being so nice?”

Marissa considered. “Because I’ve been where you are. Not exactly, but close. And because you deserve to have choices, even if they’re all bad ones.”

They watched a pair of birds dart and chase over the hedge maze, their wings catching the last gold of afternoon.

Finally, Erin straightened, brushing invisible lint off her jeans. “Okay,” she said, her voice more certain than before. “I’ll talk to him. But it’ll be on my terms, not his.”

Marissa nodded, approval soft in her eyes. “Good,” she said. “Let me know if you need to debrief after.”

Erin managed a laugh. “I’m sure I will.”

She stood, hesitated, then held out a hand. Marissa took it, the gesture brief but real.

As Erin strode off, her shoulders were a little higher, her step a little more sure.

Marissa watched her go, then turned to the window, letting the quiet settle around her. While it wasn't Erin's business, Marissa also had to make a decision about how she would handle her own date night with Andy, tomorrow.