Shared Notes, Part 1

The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness.

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 88 VP - 2600 BP - 2 Achievs
Sam - 87 VP - 5700 BP - 2 Achievs
Norah - 74 VP - 2350 BP - 3 Achievs
Marissa - 72 VP - 3000 BP - 1 Achiev
Claire - 69 VP - 8900 BP - 2 Achievs
Liesa - 69 VP - 4200 BP - 2 Achievs
Emily - 57 VP - 6100 BP - 1 Achiev (used)
Dawn - 54 VP - 6300 BP - 2 Achievs
Emi - 46 VP - 3550 BP - 1 Achiev
Chloe - 14 VP - 4275 BP - 1 Achiev
Myra - 14 VP - 4800 BP

Andy woke to a room full of quiet. Not the sterile silence he’d sometimes come to expect, but the lingering warmth of a night that had been good and real and just enough. The Suite was still dim, early blue leaking in through the shades and throwing faint rectangles across the carpet. Next to him, Liesa and Sam slept on, both tangled in the rumpled comforter, hair in competing states of disaster.

For a moment, Andy let himself do nothing at all—just breathe, watch the soft rise and fall of the two people closest to him, and catalog the evidence that last night hadn’t been a one-off trick of the dark.

He shifted, careful not to disturb Liesa, and was rewarded with the sight of her face unguarded—mouth slightly open, eyes fluttering behind closed lids. Even in sleep, she reached out for Sam, hand on her arm, as if afraid this would vanish if she let go. Sam, for her part, sprawled as she always did: one leg off the bed, one hand tucked under her own chin, expression stuck somewhere between a scowl and a smirk.

Andy lay back, letting his own eyes drift half-shut, until Liesa stirred. It was subtle—a twitch, a slow withdrawal of her hand from Sam’s bicep, then a nervous patting around herself as if to confirm the reality of her location. When she realized she was still sandwiched between Andy and Sam, she stilled, then peeked over the blanket, her hair an actual halo of knots and curls.

“Hi,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.

Andy smiled, rolling to face her. “Hi yourself.”

She blinked at him, then at Sam, then down at the state of the bed. “I thought I would wake up alone,” she said. “I always wake up alone.”

He shook his head, reached over, and ran his thumb gently across her cheek. “Not today,” he said.

Liesa’s eyes went glassy for a second, but she laughed it off, covering her mouth. “I look terrible,” she said.

Sam grunted awake on cue, burrowing deeper into the covers. “You look like a goddess, babe,” she slurred, not opening her eyes.

Liesa flushed. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not,” Sam said, her voice muffled. “If I had bedhead like that, I’d rule the world. Andy, back me up.”

Andy nodded. “She’s right. You pull it off.”

Liesa tried to hide her face, but the effort was mostly for show. After a moment, she looked back at Andy, her expression softer, more at ease than he’d seen it. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier. “For last night. For… this morning.”

Sam yawned theatrically, then rolled onto her back. “Can we all agree that we’re not going to be awkward about it? Because I’m starving.”

Liesa giggled, a real, unfiltered sound. “I could eat.”

Andy swung his legs out of bed, grabbing his shirt from the footboard. “I’ll make breakfast. I have a date with Chloe in an hour, so I need to get moving.”

Sam shot him a look. “You and Chloe, huh? That’s adorable.”

He shrugged into his shirt. “It’s just a walk.”

“Everything is ‘just a walk’ with you,” Sam said, rolling her eyes. She scooted upright, blanket clutched to her chest, and poked Liesa in the ribs. “You heard the man. We have to eat before he ditches us for his next harem adventure.”

Liesa snorted, then hesitated, glancing at Sam. “Do you want help?”

Sam looked at her, then at Andy, and grinned. “Come on. Let’s show him how it’s done.”

Liesa beamed, and together they untangled themselves from the bed, gathering clothes as they went. Liesa’s robe was missing, so she borrowed Sam’s oversized t-shirt, which fit her more like a tunic than anything else. Andy couldn’t help but smile as he watched them move—Sam’s brash confidence, Liesa’s cautious but eager mimicry.

In the kitchen, they fell into a rhythm: Andy cracked eggs and started the bacon, Sam sliced bread and made coffee, and Liesa set the table, lining up silverware with careful precision. It was domestic in a way that felt almost surreal, like play-acting adulthood for a benevolent audience.

Sam leaned over the counter, sipping her coffee. “So, Andy. How does it feel to have a literal harem?”

He looked at her, deadpan. “I’m mostly just trying to avoid catastrophe.”

Liesa laughed, padding over to taste the eggs. “You’re not like others, Andy. You just want everyone to be happy.”

Sam raised her mug in salute. “He’s always been a weirdo that way.”

Andy slid the bacon onto a plate, then shrugged. “What are best friends for?”

Sam pointed her fork at him. “Don’t go soft on me, Cooper. I’ll tell everyone.”

Liesa snorted again, then paused, eyes bright. “It’s wholesome,” she said, looking between them. “The way you are together. Like brother and sister.”

Sam and Andy shared a glance, then both nodded.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “He’s the brother I would’ve chosen if I had a choice.”

“And she’s the sister I would have picked, too.” He gave Sam a quick side hug. “Can’t imagine going through this whole thing without you.” He said, grinning at the blue-haired woman.

Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder. “You’d have been a blubbering mess by the end of Round One!” Liesa laughed, enjoying the camaraderie.

They ate, the conversation skipping from light to lighter: favorite breakfast foods, worst dates, the time Sam accidentally set fire to the college dorm’s microwave. Liesa listened, at first shy, but soon she was jumping in with her own stories—childhood mishaps, painting disasters, the way her father used to insist Belgian waffles were only authentic if you burned them. The three of them laughed, more than once, and when Sam made a show of finishing the last piece of bacon, Liesa mock-glared and stole it from her plate anyway.

After breakfast, Sam stood, stretched, and smacked Andy on the shoulder. “We should go. Give you time to shower before your big date.”

Liesa looked at Andy, then Sam, then back again. “Do you… do you mind if I—”

Sam cut her off, looping an arm around Liesa’s waist. “Come with me. We can gossip about Andy while he’s gone.”

Liesa looked genuinely delighted. She turned to Andy, hesitated, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said again, quieter. “For being mine. For letting me be yours.”

He kissed her back, soft and brief. “You’re always welcome. Schat.”

Liesa’s eyes went wide at the word, and she smiled, then pressed her face into Sam’s shoulder to hide it. Sam gave Andy a look—half gratitude, half triumph—then led Liesa toward the door, their heads together in quiet conversation.

Andy watched them go, surprised at how right it felt to watch Liesa leave with someone else and not worry if she’d come back. There was a spring to her step that hadn’t been there before, a new steadiness. She wasn’t haunted anymore.

He set about cleaning up the breakfast plates, humming under his breath.

Chloe was waiting for him in the Main Lobby, perched on the edge of a wide upholstered bench as if ready to spring to her feet at the first sign of movement. Her hands twisted at the strap of a faded blue messenger bag; she wore a linen sundress with a cardigan over it, but still looked as if she was bracing for a wind that might never come. The new weight of her body—the impossible, enormous fullness of her chest—had changed her posture, but her expression was pure Chloe: eager, hopeful, slightly terrified of what the day might bring.

Andy called out to her softly. She spotted him and rose, a little too quickly, nearly stumbling over her own feet.

“You came,” she said, then immediately blushed, as if her words were embarrassing in themselves.

He smiled, trying to radiate the calm she so obviously needed. “Of course I did. You ready?”

Chloe nodded, then bit her lip. “I have something to show you. But you have to promise not to laugh.”

Andy made a solemn face. “I swear on my honor.”

She giggled, hiding her mouth with one hand, then took his in both of hers and marched him toward the doors. There was no hesitation in her grip—her fingers laced tight, holding on with the gentle desperation of someone who half-expected to be left behind at any second.

They left the climate-controlled quiet of the main building and stepped into the Inner Gardens, the air already warm with the promise of a high summer day. The path to the gardens wound through low hedges and flowerbeds, a riot of color and scent, but Chloe barely glanced at them. She led him past the usual showpieces—topiary, a koi pond, a trellis heavy with scarlet bougainvillea—toward a more private plot nestled behind a row of dwarf cypress.

The garden was new. Andy could tell by the raw edges of the bed, the dark, fresh soil, the marker sticks pressed into the ground at regular intervals. Here, in a rectangle no wider than a picnic table, grew neat lines of herbs: basil, parsley, chives, dill, mint. Some were already tall and bushy; others clung to the earth with only two leaves, the green so tender he was afraid to breathe too hard for fear of knocking them over.

Chloe released his hand, crouched by the basil, and started brushing dirt from her palms. “This is mine,” she said, voice proud and quivering at once. “I started it two weeks ago. I read the books in the library. There’s a whole shelf about gardening, did you know?”

Andy knelt next to her, surveying the plot. “It’s impressive. I can barely keep a cactus alive.”

She grinned, ducking her head. “I have a cheat code. Mildred let me use the greenhouse for seedlings.” Her cheeks colored. “I think she feels sorry for me.”

“I don’t think Mildred is programmed for pity,” Andy said. “She probably admires your work ethic.”

Chloe snorted, then covered her mouth in horror at the unladylike sound. “Sorry, I—” She started to stand, but Andy put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “It’s good to see you happy.”

She looked up, surprised. “You can tell?”

He nodded, meaning it. “You’re glowing.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small, stubborn smile curved her lips. She pulled a small trowel from her bag, offering it to him. “If you’re going to compliment me, you have to help weed.”

He took the trowel, accepting his fate. “Deal.”

They worked in tandem for a while. The job was simple, mindless in the best way: pull the tiny invaders, loosen the soil, pinch off the first flowers to coax the plants into thicker growth. Chloe narrated as she worked, mostly to herself but also for Andy’s benefit, explaining which ones needed more water, which would bolt in the heat, which would taste best on fresh bread. Andy watched her quietly, noticing how all her shyness and embarrassment melted away while she worked. She was beautiful, and entirely unselfconscious for once.

After a few minutes, Andy noticed she was humming. It was tuneless at first, just a vibration under her breath, but gradually it resolved into the opening bars of “Rainbow Connection.”

He looked over. “Are you singing to the herbs?”

Chloe jerked, blushing furiously. “No! Well, maybe. There’s a study about it—plants respond to music, apparently.”

Andy grinned. “That explains a lot. I bet you serenade them every morning.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but the tension was gone. They fell into a rhythm, punctuated by small talk and the occasional mild insult (“You’re pruning that like a serial killer,” “You’re letting the parsley run wild, it’s a bad influence”). By the time the sun had crested the cypress, Chloe’s arms and dress were streaked with soil, and she’d all but forgotten to be embarrassed by her body or her hands.

“You know,” Andy said, brushing dirt off his knees, “I think this might be the healthiest basil on the planet.”

Chloe beamed, basking in the praise. “Thank you. I’m going to make pesto with it.”

He held up his hands, palms muddy. “I’m impressed.”

They sat on the stone border, catching their breath and letting the sun dry the sweat from their forearms. Chloe glanced sidelong at Andy, then down at her shoes, then back at the herbs.

“I used to think I was bad at everything,” she said, voice soft. “Like, not just school or sports, but even the things I cared about. I always assumed I was one mistake away from being replaced.”

Andy heard the weight behind her words—the invisible tally marks of old failures, old hurts. “You’re not replaceable,” he said, meaning it.

She picked at a loose thread on her cardigan. “Sometimes I think that’s why I want kids so badly. So there’d be someone in the world who looked at me and thought I was the whole universe. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Andy didn’t know what to say, so he squeezed her hand.

Chloe’s eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she leaned against his shoulder, a feather-light touch. “Thank you,” she said, barely audible.

They sat like that, sun on their backs, watching the mint leaves quiver in the breeze.

By noon, their work was done. Chloe brushed herself off, leading Andy down a winding path to a secluded table shaded by lemon trees. There, a Mildred already waited, expression a study in stoic hospitality, setting out two plates of cold chicken salad and a pitcher of mint lemonade.

Chloe burst out laughing when she saw the garnish: a sprig of her own basil, perfectly placed on the edge of her plate.

Andy grinned. “Looks like you’re famous already.”

Chloe pretended to groan, but the delight in her eyes was impossible to miss. She took a seat across from him, hands folded, and when she looked up, her voice was lighter than it had been in weeks.

“I think this is going to be a good day,” she said.

Andy agreed, and meant it.

The spa was nearly empty in the after-lunch lull, just the hush of distant water features and the muted footfalls of the occasional Mildred gliding through the marble corridors. Andy checked in at the front desk, where a Mildred in a seafoam kimono nodded him and Chloe through without a word. They passed into the main room—a dim, echoing rotunda, humidity and eucalyptus hanging thick in the air, the curved walls adorned with live moss and backlit river stones.

The mineral pool at the center steamed gently, its surface dappled with sunlight from the high glass dome overhead. Chloe paused at the threshold, surveying the room with the caution of a wild animal who suspected a trap. She’d changed into a red bikini, the straps wide and practical, but her breasts were so massive and buoyant that the top seemed more like a technical achievement than swimwear. Even now, after weeks of living with them, she moved as if expecting them to slip or betray her at any moment.

Andy shed his shirt, towel over his shoulder, and waded in first, testing the water with a toe. “Perfect,” he said. “You coming?”

Chloe hesitated. “Can I—do you mind if I wait until everyone leaves?”

He looked around. “We’re alone. Unless you think the ferns will judge you.”

She rolled her eyes but made no move to join him. Instead, she fidgeted at the water’s edge, arms crossed over her chest, as if hiding the obvious would make it less so.

“You look good,” Andy said, no irony or mischief in his voice. “Really.”

Chloe’s face went tomato-red. “Stop. You don’t have to say that.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t, if it weren’t true.” He splashed water in her direction, then grinned when she flinched. “Just get in. It’s better once you’re under.”

She did, at last—stepping delicately down the submerged stairs, hands braced on the rail. When she hit waist-deep, her body seemed to relax, the buoyancy lightening the heavy new center of gravity. She floated to the far end, keeping her back to the wall, and only then did she finally look at him.

The light in the spa was forgiving, the pool’s blue-green tint washing out any sharp edges. Chloe hugged her knees to her chest, settling in with a sigh of relief.

“This is nice,” she admitted. “I haven’t been swimming since the transformations.”

Andy treaded water a few feet away, giving her space. “I missed this, too. It’s the only place in here that feels like nothing bad could happen.”

She smiled, small but genuine. “Except for swimsuit malfunctions.”

“That happened to Marissa, the first round. Definitely confirmed I was done being her patient.” He laughed, and she relaxed by degrees, settling her arms along the tile edge.

They soaked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the trickle of water and the dull, throaty hum of the spa’s filtration system.

Chloe was the one who broke the quiet. “Arabella told me something,” she said. “A few days ago. Remember?” She kept her eyes on the wavering shadows on the ceiling. “She said I’m not infertile anymore.”

Andy blinked. “I remember that. Is it too much?”

She nodded, the motion oddly careful. “I don’t know how to feel about it. It’s… a lot.”

He floated closer, propping his elbows on the ledge beside her. “What does it mean to you?”

Chloe gave a helpless shrug. “I always wanted kids. Even before I knew I couldn’t have them, I imagined it—being a mom, doing better than my own did.” She twisted a damp lock of hair around her finger. “When I found out I couldn’t, it felt like the universe’s way of saying I wasn’t good enough. Like, ‘You don’t get to pass on your mistakes.’” She laughed, but it was bitter. “Now, all of a sudden, it’s possible. Maybe. But I don’t even know if I deserve that.”

Andy shook his head. “You do.”

She glanced at him, uncertain. “What about you? Did you ever… want that?”

He thought about it. “I didn’t, for a long time. After Laura, I didn’t think I’d ever want anything like that again. But lately…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Chloe waited, patient.

He tried again. “I think if it were with the right person, I could be a good dad.”

Chloe’s eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she nodded slowly, her lips pressed tight. “That’s nice,” she said. “I like that.”

They sat in the warmth, letting the water leach away the old aches.

After a while, Chloe said, “I walked with Riley last night. On the beach.”

Andy smiled. “Yeah? How was it?”

Chloe’s face softened, the old tension gone from her jaw. “It was… good. We talked about everything. Not just the river, or Laura, but the years after. All the anger and the guilt, how we both got stuck in it.” She fiddled with the wet hem of her bikini. “She told me she’d been angry at me for so long. That forgiving me felt like setting down a rock she’d been carrying for years.”

Andy listened, not wanting to interrupt.

Chloe took a breath. “I think we’re okay now. For real. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Andy said, “I’m glad.”

Chloe smiled, radiant and a little mischievous. “She’s still mean. But it’s nicer now.”

They laughed, and it sounded like freedom.

The humidity, the warmth, the privacy—everything in the room seemed to conspire to make Chloe’s guard drop. She inched closer to Andy, not quite touching, but letting her knee bump his with each shift.

After a bit, Andy asked, “How do you feel about Myra? After everything.”

Chloe was quiet for a long time. Then, “She was always hard to like. Even as a kid.” She traced a pattern on the tile with her finger. “After I found out what really happened with Laura, I hated her. Really hated her. But now… I don’t know.” She looked up, searching for the words. “She’s not the same. She’s trying so hard, and I think she needs a friend more than anyone else here.”

Andy considered that, then nodded. “You want to be that friend?”

Chloe shrugged, looking fragile and determined at the same time. “I want to try. I think we all need to try.”

She turned the question around. “How do you feel about her?”

Andy stared at the water's surface, remembering Myra's face when he’d told her everything—how small she'd looked, how lost. "I forgave her," he admitted. "When I realized she'd been punishing herself all these years without even knowing why." His fingers traced circles in the water. "I think I want to help her now. She deserves that chance."

Chloe's eyes widened slightly, then softened. She squeezed his hand beneath the water. "See? Better than you think."

They sat side by side, watching the ripples on the pool's surface, possibilities rather than regrets shimmering in the heat and light.

Eventually, Chloe stood, water streaming from her hair, and stretched. “I want to go back in,” she said, “but if I lose this top, you have to promise not to laugh.”

Andy grinned, already reaching for the spare towel. “I’ll look away.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then dove, graceful and unafraid, into the deep end.

Andy watched her go, glad to have her back, if only for the afternoon.

After the last soak, Andy and Chloe dried off and wandered into the spa’s relaxation lounge—a long, sun-washed room lined with pale teak loungers, the air cool and heavy with the smell of salt and citrus. The only sound was the occasional tink of glass from the self-serve water station in the corner. Andy filled two glasses—heavy, thick-bottomed—and brought one to Chloe, who lay back, eyes closed, her hair still damp at the ends.

She accepted the glass, sipping slowly. “Heaven,” she said, eyes fluttering open. “This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for myself.”

Andy reclined beside her, letting his body melt into the unfamiliar luxury. “You deserve it.”

They didn’t talk for a while. Chloe seemed content just to exist, and Andy was happy to let the quiet stretch. The world outside the windows was a perfect postcard: the sweep of gardens, the flash of sea beyond the breakwall, the bright, heartless blue of the sky. Andy was nearly asleep when he sensed someone else enter the room—a presence, at first, then the soft scuff of boots on the floorboards.

Riley stood just inside the door, a towel bunched in one fist and a scowl on her face. Her black-red hair, still damp, was shoved back like she'd dragged her fingers through it in frustration. Her eyes flicked from Andy to Chloe to the exit, calculating odds.

"Shit," Riley muttered. "I'll come back later." She pivoted on her heel, shoulders already hunched against whatever polite protest might follow.

Andy sat up. "Don't go. There's plenty of room."

Chloe echoed him, her voice softer. "Stay. Please."

Riley rolled her eyes but tossed her towel onto the far lounger with enough **** that it slid across the surface. She perched at the edge, one leg bouncing, and reached for a glass of water. After a quick gulp, she set it down with a sharp clink, both hands braced on either side like she was about to launch herself toward the door.

No one spoke. Andy let himself drift, eyes half-closed, and when he glanced over, Chloe had done the same. Riley stared out the window, jaw working like she was grinding her back teeth to dust. Finally, the rhythm of nothing happening seemed to wear her down.

She relaxed in stages—shoulders first, then the rigid line of her spine, then her restless fingers that had been tapping an irritated beat against the towel. When she finally spoke, it was to the middle distance. "I needed to get away for a minute. From everyone. From myself." The words came out clipped, almost defensive.

Chloe nodded, not pushing.

Riley snorted softly. "It's not like I have anywhere better to be. I just thought it would help." She exhaled through her teeth, a sound like air escaping a punctured tire.

Andy glanced at Chloe. She smiled at him, then closed her eyes again. He got the message: back off, let it breathe.

Riley finished her water, poured another. She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet do its work. After a long while, her body lost the last of its tension; she curled her legs under herself, shifting so that she faced both Andy and Chloe, no longer perched at the edge.

For a while, the three of them just lay there, the soft afternoon sun painting shifting patterns on the floor. Time stretched, unhurried, the kind of peace that was hard-won and easily lost.

At some point, Chloe reached over and put her hand on Riley’s. Not tight, not claiming—just a gentle touch, fingers laced over knuckles. Riley startled, a micro-flinch, then looked down at their hands and let out a small, involuntary laugh. She didn’t pull away.

Andy watched them, surprised at the sudden sting in his eyes. He blinked it away, then leaned back and let the day hold all three of them, together and alone, just as they were.

By late afternoon, the sunlight had shifted from surgical to forgiving, turning the tiled floors and frosted-glass railings of the resort into something honeyed, almost nostalgic. The spa had emptied out, leaving Andy, Chloe, and Riley to drift their way back toward the Main Lobby, a small and accidental flock. Chloe led, her stride light and aimless, every so often stopping to fuss with the loose hem of her dress or examine the intricate patterns of shadow cast by the creeping vines overhead. Riley followed, hands in the pockets of her borrowed robe, head down but steps steady, the afterglow of sauna and steam giving her a rare, contented languor.

Andy trailed the two of them, not out of caution but from a desire to see how they moved through the world now—if the morning’s work, the talk and the tears and the soaking heat, had changed them at all.

The paths in the inner gardens were mostly deserted, the guest corridors echoing only with the distant clink of glass and the soft shush of air through the vents. Once or twice they passed Mildred. None of them acknowledged the trio, and Andy was glad for it—he wasn’t ready to be reminded of the outside world just yet.

Chloe, noticing the silence, made a little production of announcing every new sight: “That’s the hibiscus hedge I almost crashed into the other night,” or “You ever notice the weird heart shape on this leaf?” She laughed after each one, a sound that started hesitant but soon grew in confidence, the edges of her voice catching on Riley’s occasional, faint smiles. It was the kind of laughter you got from a child who’d just learned it was okay to make mistakes.

After a while, Riley began to contribute her own observations, most of them sarcastic but none of them biting. “That’s the bench where Norah yelled at me for tracking sand indoors. Again.” Or, “I’ll bet you five bucks that’s not a real bee, but a surveillance drone.” She delivered the lines with her usual deadpan, but the old strain had bled out, leaving only the dry wit underneath.

By the time they reached the glass doors of the Main Lobby, the three of them had almost fallen into step: Chloe on the right, Riley on the left, Andy in the center. The sunlight painted their shadows in long, unbroken lines across the lobby floor.

Chloe grinned, then impulsively hugged Andy. It was a quick, sideways thing, but she lingered just long enough to make it clear she meant it. “Thank you for today,” she said. “For all of it.”

Before Andy could answer, she straightened, smoothed her dress, and added, “I need to shower before dinner. I want to look presentable for our date.”

“Big plans?” he asked, gently teasing.

Chloe ducked her head, shy but not ashamed. “We’ll see,” she said.

Riley snorted. “She says that to everyone. It’s her love language.”

Chloe giggled, then waved at the two of them and headed for the elevators, the swing of her hair catching the low light. She looked back once, caught Andy’s eye, and then vanished into the mirrored doors.

Now it was just him and Riley, standing in the cathedral hush of the lobby.

For a moment, neither said anything. Riley fished in her robe pocket, producing a battered pack of mints, and offered one to Andy. He took it, the taste sharp on his tongue.

Andy let the mint dissolve on his tongue, staring at the ornate glass doors as the light outside shifted from afternoon to early dusk. The lobby was empty now, except for the two of them and the silent company of a distant Mildred, dusting the edges of a display case with an air of barely concealed resentment.

For a while, Andy and Riley stood in silence. She kept her attention on the passing clouds beyond the glass, jaw working like she was mulling over whether to say anything at all. After a bit, Andy pocketed his hands and said, “You holding up okay?”

Riley’s eyes snapped to him, caught off guard. She studied his face, then snorted and looked away again. “That’s my line,” she said. “I’m the resident emotional support delinquent, remember?”

He smiled. “I thought you were the bitch who only does hugs by appointment.”

She grinned, faintly. “Fine. You get one free, then it’s back to sarcasm.”

She shifted her stance, leaning against the marble pillar with deliberate laziness, but Andy noticed the white-knuckled grip she kept on her own forearm. It was an old tell. “I’m okay,” Riley said, eventually. “Or as okay as anyone is in this place. You?”

Andy exhaled, letting the quiet settle between them. “Honestly? Today was better than most. I think Chloe’s going to be okay. That helps.”

Riley tilted her head, weighing him. “You’re better at this than you used to be,” she said. “The feeling stuff.”

He shrugged. “You get enough practice, you can fake anything.”

Riley let out a bark of laughter, startling the Mildred by the trophy case, who shot them both a dirty look and disappeared down a side hall. Riley sobered, brushing a hand through her hair. “Sam says it’s your birthday soon.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “She would.”

“Planning on anything, or just hiding from the world like usual?”

He grinned, then shook his head. “It’s not the day itself. It’s what comes after. Laura’s birthday is three days later. Every year, it’s like… double time bomb.”

Riley’s face changed. She blinked, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer than Andy had ever heard it. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded. “It’s always a rough week.”

She didn’t say anything right away, just rocked back on her heels, then said, “You ever share her birthday? With anyone, I mean.”

Andy hesitated, but the question felt honest, not like a trap. “Not much. I try to remember the good stuff, but usually I just… wait for it to pass.”

Riley looked at him, eyes sharp and green and painfully alive. “You know, you don’t have to do that alone. I miss her too. It’s not a badge of honor.”

He snorted. “You offering?”

She scowled, but didn’t back off. “Yeah, I guess I am. You want to talk about it, or scream into a pillow, or punch a wall, I’ll do it with you.” She made a face, then added, “But if you tell anyone I’m going soft, I’ll set your shoes on fire.”

Andy let out a laugh, a real one. “Deal.”

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. Then, she cleared her throat and stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off her jacket. “There. You got your one. Don’t expect another until next year.”

He grinned, feeling something in his chest unwind, just a little. “I’ll count the days.”

Riley smirked. “You do that.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels. “You’re seeing Chloe tonight?”

“Yeah. I think she wants to cook dinner.”

Riley’s mouth quirked. “Don’t let her near the blender. Trust me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you’re here, Riley. I mean it.”

She pretended to gag. “Jesus, get a room.”

He shot her a look. “You’re getting soft.”

She pointed at him. “Watch it. Or I’ll show up to your date and make it weird.”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go get ready, birthday boy. You’ve got a fan club waiting.”

As Riley turned to leave, Andy called after her, “Hey. I’ll see you at the next one?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, the sunlight making a halo out of her wild hair. “Fine,” she said. “And I promise not to make you cry this time.”

He nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

She gave him a lazy salute and strolled off toward the elevator, whistling a song he recognized from years ago.

Andy stood in the middle of the empty lobby for a while, letting the echo of her steps fade.