Intermission: A Flyby

He woke to sunlight so bright it cut right through the blackout curtains. Andy rolled over, groaning, and found the other side of the bed cold. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and checked his phone. It was 7:34 AM. He’d slept almost six hours. It felt obscene.

He made coffee and drank it standing in the kitchen, watching the pale blue light of morning chase the shadows off the volcano. He didn’t want breakfast, but he peeled a banana and ate it anyway. Then he wandered the rooms, checking that everything was in its place.

The elevator buzzer made him jump, coffee sloshing down the front of his shirt. He checked the camera and saw Arabella waiting. He wiped his hands, took a breath, and opened the doors.

“Good morning, Andy,” Arabella said, stepping inside. Her perfume was some impossible blend of vanilla, roses, and chrysantemums. She wore a tailored navy jacket, a white silk blouse, and a look that was both gentle and wicked. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“I don’t think there is a good time,” he said, trying to smile. “But I’m awake. That’s a start.”

She followed him into the kitchen. “I brought you something.” She set a small, pale pink bakery box on the counter and opened it with magician’s flair. Inside were two pain au chocolat, dusted with gold powder.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

Arabella smiled. “Today is off-script. An extra day, to balance the three nights we folded into one. There won't be a gap in the memory of the harem, and they won't remember anything that happens today except perhaps as a fading dream. But you will. There’s nothing in the official rotation, no eliminations, no date nights. We are, for the moment, in the eye of the storm.” She poured herself coffee from the still-hot carafe and sipped, black and unflinching. “Which is why I wanted to speak with you before the others wake.”

He took the other pastry, not sure whether to eat it or treat it like a prop. “Should I be nervous?”

“Never with me,” she said, with a tilt of her head. He sat at the counter, waiting.

Arabella broke the silence first, brushing an invisible crumb from her lapel. “I spoke with Claire yesterday,” she said. “She’s requested an increase in the library’s Latin collection, and she wonders if a greenhouse might be open to negotiation.” She sipped her coffee, gaze unreadable. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Andy kept his voice level. “Is there a crisis?”

“Oh, nothing so dramatic.” Arabella smiled, the curve of her lips knife-sharp. “Actually, I have a present for you.” She set her mug down, then, with a sleight-of-hand that would have made a card shark jealous, produced a slim white envelope from inside her jacket. “Open it.”

He took it, half expecting a summons or a contract, but inside was a single folded card, blank except for a gold foil seal on one corner. He cracked it open.

Inside, in her looping, old-fashioned script, it read:

TODAY YOU WILL MEET SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS.

He looked up. “Fortune cookies? That’s vague, even by your standards.”

Arabella’s eyes glimmered. “Sometimes I enjoy the anticipation more than the event itself.”

He put the card aside. “So what is this, a morale booster? Or am I getting a new rival?”

Arabella didn’t answer. Instead, she crossed her legs, and for a long, almost uncomfortable moment, just looked at him. “You’ve done well,” she said, “keeping the harem intact through two challenges, plus the Garden business.” She leaned forward, elbows on the marble. “I spoke with Shar last night. We’re in agreement.”

Andy felt a tingle of dread. “About what?”

Arabella grinned, all teeth. “That you would benefit from meeting another Master. Or, in this case, a Mistress.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… from a different season?”

“Precisely,” she said, as if granting him a boon. “You’ve been isolated, Andy. The others have each other, but the role you fill is… singular. It wears on you, whether you admit it or not. You have corresponded with other Masters, but letters can only go so far. You have met Harper, but her season is in the endgame now, and she comes from a different world. You need to meet someone who comes from your world, who understands the... references, if you will. We thought it might be helpful for you to compare notes, as it were.”

He thought about this. In truth, the idea was more appealing than he wanted to admit. “I’m not sure I’d make a great impression.”

Arabella stood, smoothed her skirt, and drifted to the windows, backlit by the sunrise. “No one makes a good first impression in this job. You just try not to make it worse.” She turned. “Would you like to meet her now?”

He glanced at the pastries, the lingering scent of butter and chocolate, and then at the clean, gleaming kitchen. “All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Arabella’s smile was delighted. “Follow me.”

She led him to the lounge, right by the elevator, then, with a little showman’s gesture, drew a line in the air with her finger. The wall shimmered, pixelated, and split down the middle. On the other side, a The HH corridor with a door at the end, opening into a long corridor of black stone and moody candlelight. A shadow moved on the other side. As they got closer, the shape resolved into a woman—tall, maybe six feet, lean and trim, except for breasts easily Marissa’s size, with a cascade of wine-red hair pulled into a loose tail. She wore a crisp, tailored black skirt and a blouse the color of dried blood, and from her shoulder blades unfurled a massive pair of leathery, dragon-like wings, the membranes glittering wine red as she moved. Her face was pale, her eyes a piercing green.

She looked up, caught sight of Arabella, and folded her arms. “You’re a little early,” she said, voice low and scratchy, the accent pure corporate New England.

Arabella shrugged. “I like to keep the other party on edge.”

Andy realized, abruptly, that he had never seen a real dragon-girl before, at least not outside of a con. He wondered if Liesa would faint with jealousy.

The woman sized him up, then offered a hand. “Laura Black,” she said. “But Laura is fine.”

He reached for the handshake, but paused half a second too long. “Sorry,” he said, “I knew a Laura once.”

She grinned. “Who hasn’t?”

Arabella snorted, then clapped her hands together. “Laura, this is Andy Cooper. Andy, Laura Black. For one day only, consider yourselves on leave from the competition.”

Laura released the handshake with a little flourish, then stepped into the Suite. She paused, letting her wings stretch to full span. “You get sunlight?” she asked, glancing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, not hiding the envy. “I’ve been living in a haunted castle for three weeks. My last vacation was a tour of the orgy pit.”

Andy chuckled. “You’re welcome to the balcony. I keep forgetting to use it.”

Laura headed straight for the windows, wings folding neatly along her back. “You don’t know how much I needed this,” she muttered.

Arabella watched them, hands clasped behind her back. “You two are alike,” she said. “Both ran companies, or nearly so. Both held leadership positions. Both were recruited by **** rather than choice.”

Laura laughed. “Recruitment? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Arabella ignored her. “You’ve both adapted. And you both have harems with women who—” she hesitated, searching for the word—“refuse to play the expected roles.”

Andy glanced at Laura, who was now pressing her forehead against the glass, as if absorbing Vitamin D by osmosis.

Arabella continued, “Shar and I believe it would be mutually beneficial for you to compare experiences. Neither of you is the type to ask for help, but both of you could use it.”

Laura turned, green eyes catching Andy’s. “Is this the part where we trauma-bond over our impossible harems?”

Andy shrugged. “There are worse icebreakers.”

Laura gave a half-smile, then sank onto the couch, wings draping behind her like a velvet cloak. “All right, let’s do this. You want to go first, or should I?”

Arabella looked pleased. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, glancing at Andy. “Try to enjoy yourself, at least for a few hours.”

She walked to the elevator and left, the door whooshing closed behind her.

Andy sat on the edge of an armchair, one foot tapping. “So,” he said, “haunted castle?”

Laura grinned. "It's as much fun as it sounds. We have sex orgies almost every night, invisible ghost servants, and the only way out is up or out. I’m exhausted. I've already knocked up three contestants, and some others are fighting for the right to be next."

Andy's coffee mug froze halfway to his mouth. "Wait—you got them pregnant? As in, you..." He gestured vaguely at her midsection.

Laura's wings flexed with amusement. "One of my transformations." She winked. "And it works."

Andy shook his head, processing. "Three pregnancies in just three weeks? And here I thought telling my harem ‘I love you’ after two weeks was rushing things."

Laura shrugged. "It's a fast-tracked season. Also, my harem is sex-crazed. How about you?"

He thought about the last few weeks. “We just finished a second challenge. No eliminations yet, but that’s mostly because I managed to game the system on the first round.”

Laura looked impressed. “You cheated the game?”

He shook his head. “No. I just found a loophole.” He explained, briefly, how he’d traded the risk of elimination for a collective draw, with the help of a strange maintenance man, and how Arabella had gone along with it, at least on the surface.

Laura whistled. “Respect. Most Masters just do what they’re told until it’s over.” She smirked. “I guess you’re not most Masters.”

Andy nodded at her wings. "That was your first transformation?"

She made a face. "No. First was 'Command and Conquer.' Makes it nearly impossible for my contestants to resist direct orders." Her fingers flexed unconsciously. "Even when I slip up and say something I don't mean."

"I got something similar," Andy said quietly. "As a gift. Upgraded it immediately to require intent. Too easy to say 'come here' casually and suddenly they're tripping over themselves to reach you. No one should have that much power."

She met his eyes with respect. "Smart move."

Andy nodded. “Thanks. And how are you handling yours?”

Laura shrugged. “It’s a job. You show up, you do your best, and you try not to think about how fucked up it is until the paperwork is done.”

He laughed, surprised at how much the comment resonated. “Yeah. That’s pretty much my approach, too.”

Laura leaned forward, elbows on her knees, wings rising behind her like a shield. “Tell me about your harem.”

He hesitated, then decided to give her the honest version. “I’ve got ten, maybe eleven if you count the new one. Two exes, one high school friend, my lesbian best friend, a marketing exec who got upset at a comment I gave during a presentation, a childhood playmate, the consierge of a hotel I stayed at, two middle school schoolmates, my therapist, and a girl from another season.”

Laura grinned. “I can top that. Mine has my twin sisters, both younger than me, one a cat-girl, the other a dog-girl. My best friends from college, one of whom is now a literal fairy. My ex-girlfriend, who was still pissed at me for the breakup but now is a giant, and my celebrity crush, who got permanently paired up with her fake, but now very real, girlfriend. Oh, sorry, wife.” She ticked the list off on her fingers. “Oh, and my boss’s daughter. She’s a cow-girl now, and she’s one of the girls I impregnated.”

Andy blinked. “That’s… impressive.”

Laura laughed. “It’s a living.”

They sat like that for a while, swapping stories about the challenges, the transformations, and the moments of accidental grace that made the whole ordeal bearable. They shared stories of their lives before the Harem Hotel, he told Laura about his company and how he had just closed its sale, and Laura told him of her career as the fastest-rising VP of Sales in company history. Both of them understood that this wasn’t bragging: rather, they both felt that the person across the table from them might be the only person who would understand.

Laura was funnier than he expected—her wit dry, but never cruel. She had a way of undercutting the horror of their situation with a simple, factual delivery that made even the worst parts seem manageable. He found himself relaxing, even enjoying the conversation.

At some point, he realized they’d finished both pastries and most of the coffee. He got up to make a second pot, and Laura stretched her wings, the tips nearly brushing the ceiling.

“You ever wish you weren’t here?” she asked, not looking at him.

He measured out the grounds, thinking. “Every day,” he said. “But only for a minute. Then I remember what I’m here for.”

She turned, one eyebrow arched. “Which is?”

He poured the water, waited for the drip to start. “To make sure no one gets left behind. To fix what I can, even if it’s not enough. And to take this second chance, and run with it.”

Laura nodded, a slow and solemn thing. “I like that answer.”

He brought the mugs back, and they sat in silence for a minute, listening to the surf and the faint sound of birds. Outside, the sunlight had climbed high enough to paint the whole room in gold.

She said, “You know, I think I might actually enjoy today.”

Andy smiled, meaning it. “Me too.”

They spent the rest of the morning talking shop, as if it was just another Tuesday and not the strangest day of their lives. For the first time in weeks, Andy felt almost normal.

By nine, the clouds had burned off and the entire island was soaked in impossible, photoshopped sunlight. Laura stood on the Suite’s balcony with her arms folded across her chest and her wings unfurled to their full, six-foot span. For a few seconds she just stared, eyes narrow, as if daring the day to turn out to be a simulation.

“I forgot what it was like to see the sun,” she said. “Shar keeps our castle in darkness. She’s a vampire, I think, and I’m convinced she thinks she’s running a vampire startup.”

Andy leaned on the railing beside her. “Does it make you want to bite someone, or just make a run for open water?”

“Little of both,” Laura replied. “If you see me jump off the balcony, that’s just years of corporate training kicking in.” She stretched her wings again, then tucked them tight to her back and turned to face him. “So. Is there an actual beach on this island, or is it just for show?”

“There’s a main beach,” he said. “And three or four coves the staff think we don’t know about. Want to see?”

Laura grinned. “Lead the way.”

The path down from the hotel entrance was lined with white stones and bougainvillea, the air so heavy with the smell of salt and flowers that Andy felt lightheaded. Laura kept pace beside him, her stride as easy as a marathoner’s, but every so often she would unfurl her wings and let the breeze hit them, as if she couldn’t decide whether to enjoy the moment or test the limits of the place.

At the bottom of the hill, the sand stretched out in a long, soft arc, bracketed by volcanic rock at one end and a patch of mangroves at the other. The ocean was blue the way phone screens never quite got right. There were no other guests—Arabella must have cleared the schedule, or maybe nobody else was up this early.

Laura looked at him, then at the water. “You swim?”

“Much better now,” Andy admitted. “It’s the best way to clear my head.”

"I should probably change. I don't think I should ruin one of my favorite blouses."

Andy nodded. "There's a changing cabana just over there." He pointed to a weathered blue structure half-hidden by palms. "I'll use the one on the other side."

They separated with awkward smiles. Inside the tiny wooden stall, Andy peeled off his shirt and pants, grateful he'd worn his swim trunks underneath that morning—a habit he'd developed since arriving on the island. The salt-crusted boards beneath his feet were warm from the sun.

When he emerged, Laura was already waiting, transformed. She wore a sleek black bikini that contrasted dramatically with her wings, which seemed to catch the sunlight differently now, iridescent where they had seemed merely dark before.

Laura caught him looking, arched an eyebrow, and spread her wings just enough to throw two perfect shadows on the sand. “What’s the verdict?” she asked, and if the question was loaded, it didn’t sound that way.

“Honestly? I feel underdressed,” Andy replied, gesturing at his own, unremarkable blue trunks.

She laughed. “Give it five minutes. Sun does weird things to your confidence.”

He doubted that, but he let her lead the way down the beach. She rolled her neck, shrugged her wings, and muttered, “God, I forgot how much I missed warmth. Shar keeps the sky dark and the lights on a three-watt vampire setting. I’m pretty sure my tan line is now an endangered species.”

He thought about the lighting in the haunted castle, how it must be all blue shadows and gothic arches, and tried to picture this same woman prowling through a catacomb at night. The image made him smile.

They walked the waterline, the sun already hot enough that the water was warm and calm. Laura didn’t complain—if anything, she seemed to feed on it, letting her wings trail just above the sand and steering them toward the place where the tide lapped lazily at the shore.

Andy waded in up to his knees, then farther, until the water reached his waist. Laura followed, but paused at the surf line, wings lifted slightly as if she was debating whether to get them wet.

He turned. “You swim with those?”

She scoffed. “They’re waterproof. I’m not a bird.” She waded in after him, wings held high. When the next wave hit, she ducked beneath it, then surfaced, blinking salt from her eyes. “You know,” she said, “if you’d told me a year ago that I’d be on a tropical beach, talking shop with a fellow harem Master, I’d have laughed you out of the room.”

“If you’d told me I’d be a harem Master at all, I’d have asked you what flavor of mushrooms you were on,” Andy replied. He cupped a handful of water and dumped it over his head, more to buy time than for refreshment.

She floated on her back, wings streaming behind her, making gentle lazy kicks to keep herself upright. “So, Andy Cooper. Tell me about your harem. Any standouts?”

He smiled, because it was the easiest question in the world. “All of them. But if I had to pick two or three, Erin. She was my ex, but we reconciled. She’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met, and she’ll fight for you to her dying breath if she takes you into her circle. Says what she means, always. She makes it impossible to bullshit her. Sam is the best friend anyone could ask for—she keeps me honest. First week in, she was the only reason why I didn’t lose my mind. And Claire… well, I didn’t realize how much I needed her in my life until I saw her again, the first day.”

Laura’s face changed, just a little, at the mention of Claire. “Is she the catgirl?”

“Yeah. Claire Freeman. She’s… I don’t know how to describe her. She’s sharp, but gentle. Keeps notes on everyone and everything. She’s frightfully smart, and yet there’s a vulnerability to her.”

Laura grinned. “My little sister’s a catgirl too. Tracy. She’s obsessed with one of your harem, actually. Keeps asking when she’ll be allowed to join the Pathfinder party.”

Andy blinked. “Sam’s Pathfinder party?”

“The very one,” Laura said, eyes glinting. “Apparently she’s been following the game logs.”

Andy laughed, imagining it. “I think Sam told me of a letter she sent her.”

Laura shrugged, wings flicking water like a dog. “Tracy’s got no chill. She wanted me to ask if Sam could sign her Monster Manual.”

“I’ll let her know,” Andy promised. “She’ll probably make a ceremony out of it.”

They swam in silence for a while, letting the ocean do its work. Andy watched the way the sunlight caught in the webbing of Laura’s wings, making the wine-red scales glow like stained glass. She looked so at home here, even if she’d just admitted she wasn’t.

He caught movement on the far end of the beach. A woman with dark hair, dressed in a black tank top and ripped jeans, sitting alone on a towel, knees drawn up to her chest. It took him a second, but he recognized Riley even from this distance. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her face turned toward the horizon, and she looked as closed off as it was possible to be without a wall between her and the world.

Laura saw the direction of his gaze, but didn’t comment. Instead, she dunked herself under, came up with her hair slicked back, and said, “If you stare at her too long, she’ll bite you.”

“She would,” Andy agreed, and sighed.

They drifted, silent, in the glass-blue water for a long while, neither of them in a hurry to get back to the sand. There was no audience, no script. It was just two people, letting the sun do its work, the current pulling them a few yards down the beach at a time. Andy thought that maybe, if he kept still long enough, he could forget the days when every minute had to mean something.

Eventually, Laura grew restless. She snapped upright and shook the hair from her eyes, then splashed toward shore with long, easy strides. “I’m not built for lounging,” she said. “If I sit still, I start mentally composing emails.”

He followed, letting the waves push him in until his toes caught sand. “I’m pretty sure there’s a pill for that,” he called, but she just rolled her eyes, wringing out her hair with a brisk, businesslike motion.

The walk back up the beach was slow and companionable. Laura dug her heels into the sand, leaving deep tracks behind, and every so often she’d flick her wings open to catch the air. She did it without thinking, like a tic, and Andy found himself envying her the ease of it. He almost asked, but thought better of it, not wanting to break the spell of being just two people with nowhere to be.

As they crested the rise above the tide line, Laura slowed, then stopped. She tilted her face up, soaking in the sun as if she was trying to recharge through sheer willpower. “God, I forgot how good this feels,” she said. They walked on, past the driftwood logs and the ring of stones that marked the fire pit. “You think your people are awake by now?”

He checked his watch. “Probably. Dawn’s usually the first up—one of her transformations sort of makes it mandatory. If the others are asleep, it’s only because they’re plotting **** for her waking them.”

Laura snorted, but in a way that said she respected it. “You got a good one there,” she said. “My harem, if left unchecked, would burn down the kitchen within a week.”

He grinned. “I almost want to introduce them, just to see which group would implode first.”

They paused at the edge of the sand, near the half-buried shade structure that passed for a cabana. Laura found a patch of sun-warmed rocks and settled there, wings stretched wide. Andy leaned on a support post, content to let the conversation stall.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the surf, and the faint whine of an insect somewhere in the grass.

Out of the corner of his eye, Andy saw Claire, walking down the path from the hotel in her usual quick, mincing steps. She wore a plain white shirt, loose at the collar, and a pair of navy shorts. Her glasses were fogged, probably from the humidity, and her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, but her cat ears twitched with every step.

She spotted him, then Laura, and made a beeline across the sand.

Laura clocked her in two seconds flat, then arched one eyebrow and said, “Let me guess: Claire?”

“Guilty,” Andy said.

“She’s even more intimidating in person,” Laura said, sotto voce.

He tried not to smile. “She’s a librarian. They train for that.”

Claire arrived, pausing two feet away and blinking at Laura as if processing a rare bird. Her tail flicked behind her, unconsciously. She opened her notebook and scribbled:

Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting.

Andy shook his head, and could sense her curiosity. “You’re not. Claire, this is Laura Black. Laura, this is Claire.”

Claire nodded, clearly having already known this.

I watched your season.

Laura’s eyes widened, but only a little. “My humiliation is complete. You’re a fan?”

Claire shook her head.

I’m interested in the history. The way different seasons evolve. Yours was unique.

Laura grinned. “You keep stats?”

I do.

Claire glanced at Andy, then added, I also suggested to Arabella that it might be beneficial for the two of you to meet. For morale.

Laura’s gaze softened, just a little. “So you’re the mastermind?”

Claire hesitated, then nodded.

Andy is better with people than he thinks, but he needs someone to bounce off. You’re similar, I think. That’s why I thought you’d get along.

Laura looked at Andy, mock-accusing. “You let her run your social calendar?”

He shrugged. “She’s better at it than I am.”

Laura laughed, and it was the first time Andy heard her really let go. “You’re good, Claire,” she said. “Very good.”

Claire smiled, shy but pleased.

Then Laura’s eyes narrowed, a glint of mischief. “You ever play Pathfinder?”

Claire blinked.

Yes, but I am not good at improvisation.

“My little sister Tracy is obsessed with the game,” Laura said. “She wants to join your harem’s campaign. She’s not subtle about it.”

Claire tilted her head. She’s the catgirl. I would love to meet her. If that’s allowed.

Laura snorted. “You’ll have to get past her robot first. She got one in her last transformation round.”

Claire pouted, then looked at Andy. You never get me a robot, she scribbled, but he could sense her playfulness. This is nice, she added on a second line. You making friends. You’re good at it.

He felt himself flush, but didn’t deflect. “Thank you, Claire.”

Laura watched the exchange with a knowing look. “I see what you mean,” she said. “You two work well together.”

Claire’s tail flicked again, and she looked down at her notebook. She hesitated, then wrote, If you need anything, or if you want to talk more, I’ll be in the library.

She turned to Laura and added in looping script, It was very nice to meet you.

Laura nodded, a little more formally than before. “Likewise.”

As Claire walked away, Andy saw her shoulders relax, the tension gone. He glanced at Laura, who was smiling after her.

“She’s something else,” Laura said.

Andy nodded. “She is.”

They stood in silence, watching the waves for a few minutes, until another figure appeared at the top of the beach. Sam, hair streaked electric blue and pulled into a messy bun, jogged down the steps, waving when she saw them. She wore her battered cargo shorts and a “UIC Women’s Rugby” tee. The effect was disarmingly casual, and Andy was reminded, not for the first time, how much of a fixture she’d become in his life.

“Sam,” Laura said, as she approached.

Sam grinned. “You must be the dragon lady.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Only on Fridays.”

Sam laughed, and stuck out her hand. “Sam Collins. Resident troublemaker.”

Laura shook it. “Laura Black. Guest star.”

Sam turned to Andy, mock-serious. “You’re not cheating on the girls with another harem, are you?”

He shook his head. “Just networking.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “That’s what they always say.” She dropped her voice, a little conspiratorial. “Claire told me you were here. Said you were her favorite from your season. Tracy, too.”

Laura snorted. “That girl has horrible taste.”

“I’ll pass it on,” Sam grinned, then sobered. “But seriously. Thank Shar for the letters. They helped.”

Laura nodded. “Will do. You’re one of her favorites from other seasons, you know.”

Sam smiled, softer this time. “That tracks. Tell her thank you.”

Laura’s face flickered, something unguarded breaking through for a second. “I will.”

Sam slapped Andy on the shoulder. “Have fun on your strategic partnership, dude. Get us on syndication, that’s where the money is.”

Andy grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sam turned, satisfied, and jogged back up the steps.

Lunch was a spread of cold fruit, cheese, and olives, with a carafe of mint water sweating condensation onto the glass-topped table. They ate on the balcony, the umbrella angled to block the worst of the noon glare, but the air was still thick with light and the sound of gulls. Andy wore a dry t-shirt and linen pants, Laura was back in her blouse and skirt, and her hair in a high ponytail, wings folded so they didn’t interfere with her seat.

For a long while, neither said much. The food was good, the view even better, and the ordinary hush of the hotel—distant voices, the hum of the HVAC—settled over them like an extra layer of insulation from reality.

It was Laura who broke the silence. She picked up a slice of watermelon, turned it over in her hands, and said, “You know what’s weird? I don’t miss real life. Not the meetings, or the quotas, or even my old apartment. But I do miss knowing what comes next.”

Andy nodded, then speared an olive. “I get that. At least with a product launch, you know the timeline. Here, I keep thinking Arabella’s going to throw a curveball and I won’t see it coming.”

Laura chewed, then leaned back. “She probably will. That’s her job. She and Shar are cut from the same cloth—always five moves ahead. But I think yours actually wants you to win.”

Andy looked at her, curious. “You think so?”

Laura nodded. “Yeah. She doesn’t act like it, but I can tell. I’ve watched a few seasons, including mine. You can always spot the Host’s favorite, even when they pretend not to have one.”

He laughed, then, not in disbelief, but because it sounded so exactly like something Claire would say. “You should compare notes with Claire. She’s convinced Arabella’s sabotaging her own show on my behalf.”

Laura grinned. “Smart girl. She’s right, too.”

For a few moments, they continued eating in silence. Andy glanced at the sea, then at her. “I used to think the hard part would be the game. The tests. But it’s not.” He tried to say the words, struggled, then just let them out. “It’s being scared I’ll break someone who didn’t deserve it.” He paused. “And no one deserves it.”

Laura smiled. “You get it.”

Andy nodded. “You ever get the feeling you’re just running simulations on the same ethical dilemma, over and over, hoping one of them finally spits out ‘you did the right thing’?”

Laura’s smile turned genuine. “That, or a new kink.”

He grinned, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Laura picked up her glass, swirled it. “You ever wish you could just be alone? Even for a day?”

He laughed. “All the time. Sometimes I dream I’m in a hotel room by myself, nothing but room service and a blank TV. I love the women of my harem, but I used to have a lot more time for myself.”

She grinned. “I dream about driving. The city at night, no traffic, just music and the open road.” She flexed her wings unconsciously. “But even in the dream, I’m watching the rearview.”

Andy thought about that, then raised his glass. “To open roads, and hotels with good locks.”

Laura tapped her glass to his. “And to not screwing it up worse than you already have.”

They drank, and the laughter lingered, soft and companionable.

After a while, Andy cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Do you ever worry that you like it too much? The control, I mean. The—” he searched for the word—“power.”

Laura’s expression changed, became sharper, more alert. “You mean, do I ever worry I’m a monster?” She set the glass down, folded her arms. “Sometimes. But I think if you’re asking the question, you’re not one yet.”

He nodded, relieved. “I used to think the worst thing was losing myself. Now I think the worst thing is forgetting who I wanted to be.”

Laura watched him for a moment, then said, “You’re better at this than you think.”

He shrugged. “I’m just making it up as I go.”

She snorted. “Aren’t we all.”

As the plates emptied and the mint water grew tepid, the mood shifted from confessional to almost light. They sat in the silence for a while, the kind that only happens when both parties have nothing left to prove.

Finally, Laura stood, stretched, and cracked her back. “So, any clue as to what comes after this?”

Andy thought about it. “I used to think I’d go home. But now… I’m not sure what home even means.”

“Maybe that’s the trick. Not trying to get back, just figuring out how to survive the next day.”

He watched her, and realized he meant it when he said, “Thank you.”

She gave him a look that was half gratitude, half wry amusement. “You’re welcome. But if you ever tell anyone I have a soul, I’ll deny it.”

He grinned. “Your secret’s safe.”

Laura leaned on the rail, her wings rising and falling like a metronome. For a minute, neither spoke.

“So,” she said. “Ever flown before?”

He hesitated, surprised. “Not recently.”

She glanced at him, reading his face. “You want to get out of here, or are you just going to stare at the volcano all day?”

He smiled, surprised by his own answer. “Let’s do it.”

Laura gave a little clap, then pointed at the glass doors on the far end. “What’s the highest point we can get to, here?”

And pointed up. “Observatory deck. It’s private.”

She nodded, started toward the door, then turned. “You’ll need to change.”

He blinked. “Into what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not what. Who. Your girl form. Lighter, smaller. Less dead weight for me to haul. Besides, it’s more fun.”

He wanted to object, but she was already halfway to the spiral staircase. He followed, and by the time he reached the top landing, Laura was standing by the safety rail, wings half-spread and face set in concentration.

He focused, felt the internal click, and let himself shift. The change was easier now, almost a relief, as if Andi lived just beneath his skin, waiting for an excuse to be called up.

Andi stretched, feeling the new alignment of muscle and bone, and looked down at herself—athletic, long-limbed, a little awkward in the new proportions but not uncomfortable. She wore a white tee and shorts, no bra, and the wind felt cold and honest across her chest.

Laura checked her out, nodded approval. “Perfect.”

Andi made a face. “I always forget how weird this feels. Not bad. Just… foreign.”

Laura shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”

Andi grinned, edged up to the rail. “How does this work? You just… fly?”

Laura rolled her neck, then locked eyes. “No. First, I pick you up. Second, we jump. Third, I hope the thermals are as good as advertised.”

Andi hesitated. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“Of course not,” Laura said. “But we’ll look amazing doing it.”

Before she could argue, Laura wrapped her arms around Andi’s waist, pulling her tight against her chest. Laura’s body was hot, almost feverish, the wings trembling with a kind of animal anticipation. Andi smelled the sharp tang of sweat, the hint of some powdery perfume, and something else—fear, or maybe excitement.

Laura whispered, “Close your eyes if you have to.”

Andi opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Laura leapt over the rail.

The first second was pure, vertical panic. They dropped like a thrown stone, the rush of air blasting every thought from Andi’s head. Her brain was all animal, pure lizard terror, every cell screaming for purchase.

Then Laura snapped her wings open, and they went from falling to soaring, the drop traded for a weightless, impossible glide.

Andi shrieked, once, but it turned into laughter. The wind was so loud she couldn’t hear herself. Laura adjusted her grip, holding Andi against her chest like a lover, her wings slicing through the updrafts with perfect, practiced confidence.

The world spun: the hotel a toy, the sea a blue smear, the volcanic rim jagged and perfect in the distance. Laura banked hard, pulling them parallel to the cliffs, then looped into an updraft that made Andi’s stomach flip and her eyes water with joy.

They rode the air, dipping and climbing, the island unrolling beneath them. There were places Andi had never seen: hidden coves, bands of green forest, silver ribbons of waterfalls tumbling from the caldera to the rocks below. The jungle was alive, thick and tangled, birds scattering as they buzzed overhead. The coral lagoon to the south was a patchwork of turquoise and navy, the water so clear Andi could see schools of fish threading through the rocks.

Laura whooped, triumphant, as they caught another thermal and rocketed higher. The sun burned across their faces, and the air was so cold it made Andi’s teeth ache.

They didn’t talk for a long time, because there was nothing to say that would match what the wind was already telling them.

Eventually, Laura eased them into a gentle, spiraling descent, aiming for a narrow plateau of grass and rock nearly at the top of the volcano. She flared her wings, angled into the wind, and set down with a bone-jarring thump, both of them tumbling to the ground in a heap of laughter and tangled limbs.

Andi rolled off, gasping, her body shaking with adrenaline. “You’re insane,” she said, and meant it as a compliment.

Laura flopped onto her back, wings splayed, grinning up at the sky. “You should see me when I’m trying to impress someone.”

Andi caught her breath, then looked out at the view. They were above everything: the hotel, the resort, the endless sweep of blue. The wind was softer here, and the grass warm from the afternoon sun.

After a while, Laura sat up, folded her wings, and gave Andi a look that was more serious than before. “You know what I hate about this?” she said.

Andi shook her head.

Laura plucked a blade of grass, twisted it between her fingers. “Back home, I was always the one in charge. I ran my life. Nobody could tell me what to do. Then I got picked for this stupid show, and suddenly every day was a new hoop to jump through. I’m still in charge, technically, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

She tossed the grass aside. “You think they picked us because we like being in control?”

Andi thought about it, remembered every time Arabella had smiled just before dropping a new twist. “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps they picked us because there was something that needed fixing.”

Laura laughed. “Or breaking. Depends on the day.”

They watched the clouds for a while, both quiet.

Andi said, “I keep wondering what happens when this is over. If I go back to normal, or if there even is a normal. Some days I think I’ll just fade out, like a video game character left idle for too long.”

Laura turned, looked her up and down. “You’re too stubborn to fade.”

Andi snorted. “You don’t know me that well.”

Laura shrugged. “I know enough. You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Andi smiled, a little. “Guess I am.”

The sun started to tip toward the west, shadows stretching out across the grass. Laura stood, dusted herself off, and said, “Race you back to the hotel?”

Andi raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to make me run?”

Laura grinned. “You have to work for it.”

She took off at a loping jog, wings tight to her back, legs pumping with the energy of someone who’d spent their whole life pretending not to care about anything. Andi let her get a head start, then followed, the wind cool and the air sweet, the ground sloping down and down until the hotel rose up before them like the set of some impossible dream.

Laura reached the observatory deck first, but only by a few seconds. She leaned on the rail, breathing hard, a flush in her cheeks.

Andi came up beside her, panting, and said, “You cheat. Those wings are worth at least thirty seconds.”

Laura just smiled, the real kind.

They stood like that, watching the shadows spill across the bay, neither in a hurry to go inside.

At last, Laura said, “You know, this was a good day.”

Andi nodded, feeling it down to her bones.

They didn’t talk for a while, just let the silence fill up with all the things they didn’t need to say.

When they finally went back downstairs, Arabella was waiting in the lounge. She wore a sunset-orange dress, her hair swept up, and she gave them both a look of pure, predatory delight.

“Did you have fun?” she asked.

Laura bowed, dramatic. “Thank you, Arabella. You keep your promises.”

Arabella smiled. “Always.” She turned to Andy. “And you?”

Andy felt a pang of something like gratitude. “It was perfect,” she said.

Arabella winked. “I’m glad. It’s not every day we get to see a Master and a Mistress go for a joyride.”

She crossed to the glass wall, drew her finger through the air, and opened a portal. On the other side, a room of black marble, flickering candlelight, and a rush of cold air.

“Back to reality?” Laura asked.

Arabella nodded. “For now.”

Laura turned to Andy, held out her hand. “If you ever need to catch up, you know where to find me.”

Andi took the hand, squeezed it, and said, “Same. If you ever need a vacation, you’re always welcome. We’re in this together, whether they like it or not.”

Laura’s grip was strong, but she let go with a soft smile. “Next time, I’m picking the wine.”

“Deal.”

With a final wave, Laura stepped through the portal, wings flaring once as she vanished into the gloom.

The room was quiet again. The wind outside had shifted, carrying the faint sound of the ocean up from the rocks below.

Andy stood at the window, watching the sunset, thinking how different the island looked from the air—how small the hotel was, how endless the blue beyond. And how for the first time since he had arrived on this island, the part of him that was the Master didn’t feel entirely alone.

Author's Note: The second link below will take readers back to Wrynn's branch of the story.