Presto

The interval after the unmasking had the unreality of the eye in a storm—people moving, laughter and voices darting, but with the sense of a held breath before the next reckoning. Andy noticed, even from the center of the floor, how quickly the Contestants re-sorted themselves into micro-clusters: Sam and Dawn immediately beelining for the snacks, Liesa and Chloe locking arms and gushing in a torrent of affection, Marissa and Myra sharing a quiet, conspiratorial chat at the edge of the parquet, and Claire, for the moment, standing by herself, notebook clutched to her chest and her ears at full attention.

At the far end, Arabella stood on a dais—wine glass traded for a slim, coppery notepad—and waited until the room’s static faded to a level where her voice could carry. The lights above dimmed, and the floating orbs clustered in a slow, stately descent toward her.

“Contestants, guests, and of course, our one and only Master—” she gave Andy a sly, direct glance that made his ears burn hotter than any of the actual Contestants, “—I will now present the scoring and rewards for tonight’s Challenge.”

She began to speak, but stopped—mid-sentence, with a precision that made it clear this was not improvisation, but the effect of some other, stronger will—when Claire raised a hand. Not high, not frantic, just a simple, waiting gesture, as if she’d been holding it in reserve since the first dance.

Arabella, who never once gave up control of her own show, smiled and swept a hand: “Claire, dear, is there something you wish to share before I tally the results?”

Claire nodded, then hesitated, gaze flicking from Andy to Laura, then to Riley and Myra—lingering on the latter pair, which Andy instantly clocked as significant. She opened her notebook, flipped past several densely annotated pages, and wrote a line in her delicate, looping script. She tore it out and, with an efficiency that suggested long practice in passing notes across a crowded library, held it above her head for all to see.

The room’s hush deepened as women craned to read.

Andy, closest, was the first to see the words:

For those close to the 100 VP mark, especially if you might reach it with this Challenge, consider donating points to Myra and Riley. Otherwise, the gap cannot close, and we cannot end the game this round. Just a suggestion.

He felt the message ripple through the crowd. Sam grinned wide and gave a thumbs-up; Dawn looked at Riley and Myra, then at Claire, then bit her lip and looked away, as if not sure whether to be proud or abashed. Liesa raised her eyebrows, impressed, and Marissa actually gave a small, approving clap. On the other side, Andy caught Norah’s jaw tighten, and then—predictably—Riley bristled, hands balling at her sides.

“Thank you for your suggestion, Claire,” Arabella said, her tone genuinely gentle. “Would anyone care to respond before we formalize the offers?”

Riley didn’t wait. “I don’t want charity,” she said, voice as blunt as ever, her heterochromatic eyes burning holes through the floor. “I want to win it, or lose it, on my own.”

Myra, for her part, simply shook her head, a faint smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. The new Myra, Andy thought, could take the help and not hate herself for it.

Norah cleared her throat. “No offense, Riley,” she said, “but if you don’t want the VPs, that’s your business. Just know that if you turn them down, you’re basically volunteering for a lot of very creative, very kinky sex with Cooper here in the Sixth Round.” She leaned into the last phrase, putting enough heat on it to make half the room break into knowing grins.

Erin let out a barked laugh. “I love how you say that like it’s a punishment,” she said.

Andy played his part, putting a hand to his heart in a show of wounded dignity. “I do take pride in my work, Norah. But if Riley thinks she can out-stubborn the point system, I’m not sure even I can compete.”

Riley shrugged, but Andy saw the edge soften just a fraction. “It’s not about stubborn. It’s about dignity.” She looked up at Claire, and for once, there was no bite in her words. “But I’ll let it happen. Just this once.”

Andy saw Norah’s reaction, the micro-collapse of her hard mask into something raw and real. “Good idea,” Norah said, her voice lower, almost affectionate. “Better than bitching when you’re up to your neck in… whatever Andy’s next plan is.”

“I’m more worried about what you’ll invent for me,” Riley said, her smile razor-thin but present. “But fine. I’ll take the handout. Just don’t expect me to write a thank-you note.”

Dawn, voice tentative but clear: “Is it okay to help, if it helps the group?” She looked at Arabella, then at Claire. “I don’t want to make things worse by trying to help.”

Claire scribbled a new note and held it up:

It is not charity. It is teamwork. If one wins, we all win, or none of us do.

The effect was profound. Chloe’s eyes filled, and she actually reached over to squeeze Liesa’s hand. Emi, tears already glittering on her lashes, nodded hard enough to make all six arms tremble.

Arabella gave a warm, almost maternal nod. “Well said, Claire. That is indeed the spirit of a well-functioning harem.” She glanced at Andy, a question in her gaze.

He smiled, and for the first time since the night began, felt the burden of keeping score slip from his shoulders. “Whatever helps the team.”

Arabella set her notes aside. “Very well,” she said. “We’ll discuss the numbers in a moment. First, I’ll ask everyone to finalize their intentions before I calculate the rewards.” She paused. “Before we proceed, a point of clarification on the Victory Point system. Each of you may donate no more than ten percent of your current total per round—rounded down.” She let her gaze sweep the Contestants, eyes twinkling. “And for those who have already crossed the hundred point mark, further donations are unfortunately disallowed.”

At this, several women looked around, doing the math in the air. Erin’s eyebrows shot up; Sam just shrugged, as if her largesse was a known quantity and no one should be surprised; Claire’s face was unreadable, but her hands—one absentmindedly tracing the notebook’s edge—hinted at satisfaction.

Chloe, ever the sentimental one, raised her hand. “Who’s over a hundred right now?”

Arabella smiled. “At the start of this evening? Erin, Sam, and Claire. Others may join them by the close, depending on how the scores fall.”

Chloe’s lips parted in a little O, but she nodded.

Emi, who’d been holding her six hands together in a tense tangle, blurted out, “I’d like to donate my max to Riley, please. I have a feeling I’m going to end up with a lot, and… it just feels right.” Her blush was almost violent, climbing from her cheeks to the tips of her ears and even into her hairline.

Andy tried not to smile, but the way Emi’s entire body vibrated with the need to help was adorable.

Riley turned, the protest loaded in her mouth—but the sight of Emi, literally wringing her own hands, seemed to halt it. “Okay, fine,” Riley said. “I can live with that one.” She gave Emi a quick, sideways smile that was, for once, free of irony.

Chloe, not to be outdone, piped up, “I’ll donate my nine to Riley, too.” She looked at her own hands for a moment, as if to steady them, then reached over and squeezed Riley’s shoulder. “You were the best at the ball.”

Riley shook her head, but the words seemed to land deeper than they should have. Andy saw her jaw work, and then, in a softer voice: “Thanks, Chlo. Really.”

Liesa, who’d been quietly conferring with Claire, leaned forward. “Will donate nine to Myra.” She turned to Myra directly, eyes very green in the light. “You said that you never had a family who would back you, or fight for you. You have one now. So: take it. Please.”

Myra blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, Andy saw her trying to muster her usual cool, but it wouldn’t stick—there was just a stunned, bashful acceptance. “I… That means more than you know, Liesa. Thank you.” Her tail swished in a way Andy could only call shy.

The donations began to snowball. Marissa, after a careful glance around the table, said, “I’d like to match that for Myra as well.” Her smile was soft, but her voice was the solid, therapist tone she’d always used when a patient needed the facts more than the feelings.

Marissa’s measured statement of intent put a fine point on the room. For a second, nothing moved but the shimmer of champagne in the lights, the hush echoing off the dome. Then Andy noticed Norah, and the way she squared up—shoulders pulled back, chin up, face composed—but her hands worked at her side, one thumb unconsciously worrying a charm on her bracelet.

She stared down at the table, doing the math. Andy could see every step of the calculation: Norah running the numbers, extrapolating endgames, tallying risk and reward. But beneath the logic, he recognized something else—an emotional calculus he’d seen only a handful of times, usually in people who’d never had enough to call their own. He watched the microexpressions: a flicker at the edge of her jaw, a small flare in her nostrils, a faint tremor in the foot she thought was hidden under her chair. Andy felt the pang of it before she even spoke.

“I’ll do it, too,” Norah said. Her voice was too smooth, the professional patina layered thick over something raw. “Nine points. To Riley.” She set her jaw, and for a second, Andy thought she might actually regret it—but then she looked at Riley, and there was a flash of old rivalry, chased quickly by pride. “But only if she promises to try harder in the next Challenge. No more sitting on the edge and letting the rest of us do the heavy lifting.”

Riley’s mouth opened in mock outrage. “I never—”

Norah held up a finger, silencing her with the practiced authority of a boardroom negotiator. “You don’t have to win, but you have to fight better. Or else I want my points back.”

Riley considered this, then rolled her eyes in a dramatic arc. “Fine. I’ll try. But if Arabella’s idea of a Sixth Challenge is anything like the last three, we’re all going to need a bigger bribe.” Her eyes flicked to Andy, a sharp, sidelong glance that could have cut glass. Then, more quietly: “Thank you. All of you.”

The admission cost her nothing on the surface, but Andy saw the color high in her cheeks, the way her hand trembled as she reached for her drink. The words had landed.

Norah, for her part, didn’t let the moment show. She pivoted to Andy, and for once, there was no edge in her look—just a kind of bone-deep fatigue, the kind that came from giving up something you’d worked too hard to earn. “You owe me,” she said, half-accusatory, half-teasing.

He wanted to deflect with a joke, but the sincerity of the moment made it feel wrong. “I know,” he said. “And I’ll make it up to you. Any way you want.”

She arched a brow. “Any way?”

He spread his hands, palms up. “Name it.”

Norah held the pose, considering, then let it drop with a rueful, genuine smile. “Maybe I’ll take you up on it on our next date night. For now, just make sure we get to the last Challenge, Cooper. I’ve never wanted something this much and had to share it so many ways.” The mask of bravado had slipped; she wasn’t hiding the emotion anymore.

Sam, who’d been watching with a soft grin, lifted her glass. “That’s what makes you good, Norah. You always want the thing for keeps. But sharing isn’t a weakness, you know.”

Norah gave her a sidelong glance, then a single, sharp nod. “It is when people take it from you. But I’ll try.” She said it like an oath.

Andy let it hang, proud of her. Proud of all of them, really.

At the other end of the line, Dawn brightened. “If we’re allowed to donate, I’d like to give mine to Myra,” she said, voice earnest but a touch nervous, as if she thought she was missing some step in the process. “She’s a good person.” She turned to Myra, smile unguarded and bright. “You’ve come such a long way since the start.”

Myra, uncharacteristically, colored so fast it was visible in the candlelight, her blush climbing up her neck and into her hairline. “I don’t… Thank you, Dawn. That means a lot.”

But Claire, ever the strategic one, lifted her pen and scribbled another note, this one brief, and held it up for all to see:

Dawn and Emily should not donate this round; the threshold is still at least 20 points away for them, and they were both identified, so they probably didn’t rank high this Challenge.

She didn’t raise her hand or make a fuss—just let the logic do its work. Andy saw Dawn read it, then nod, her face a mix of gratitude and disappointment. Emily, who had been quiet until now, piped up: “I mean, if we’re being efficient, I’ll wait and help next time. But for the record, I’d have given them to Riley, too.” She gave Riley a little wave, which Riley returned with a grunt.

For a moment, the entire chain of women from one end of the table to the other seemed locked in a perfect, unspoken unity: each doing what they could, each trusting the others to carry the weight when it was needed.

Arabella let the moment breathe before stepping in. “Then it’s decided,” she said. “I will record the donations as follows: Riley, you receive from Emi, Chloe, and Norah; Myra, you receive from Liesa and Marissa. All other totals remain unchanged.”

She looked at the group, the pride so obvious in her face that it could have lit the candles. “You are, as always, extraordinary. I have rarely seen such a collection of women—each strong, each stubborn—willing to put aside pride for the good of the group.” She glanced at Andy, and her smile was a thing of pure mischief. “And you, my dear, are lucky to have them as your harem.”

Andy found himself grinning, not out of obligation, but because it was impossible not to. The room felt lighter than it had all night—less like a contest, more like a family plotting the world’s weirdest Thanksgiving.

Arabella set her notes down, and the floating orbs drifted into a close cluster, dimming until only a soft, lunar light rimmed the hall. “Very well. If no other donations or amendments, I’ll close this round and proceed to the scoring.” Andy glanced at the line, scanning for last-minute confessions or dramatic reversals, but there were none. He felt a surge of contentment, unexpected and whole, as he realized there was nothing left unsaid, nothing left unoffered.

Arabella lifted her notepad again, but this time she set it down without reading. Instead, she drew herself up to her full height—her voice clear, unhurried, nothing of the Host-mask in it.

“Before I announce the results, a reminder that scoring tonight was… unconventional. Each role—Revealer, Phantom, and Impersonator—had its own goal. The times at which Andy identified you, or failed to, were compared against a theoretical optimum, then assigned a percentile score. That percentile score was the basis for the ranking, although it was evaluated differently depending on the role..” She smiled, eyes twinkling at Claire and Norah, who both leaned forward with the same hungry spark. “I have spared you the arithmetic, although I see at least two of you who would prefer a full accounting.”

A flutter of laughter. Claire, for her part, wrote a single word in her notebook—transparency, in looping letters—and held it up for Andy, who grinned in appreciation. Norah simply rolled her eyes, then gestured with her glass in a little salute.

Arabella continued, “Some of you may be surprised at the results. Some of you may not. But for the first time, the best overall performance was achieved by…” She paused, a true professional, letting the room strain for a beat and a half. “Chloe.”

There was a beat of silence, a bubble popping at the core of the group. Chloe’s hands flew to her mouth; her mask, already off, dangled from her wrist. Her blush was volcanic, and her hair seemed to shimmer around her face as if trying to hide her from the attention.

“Me?” she said, and the word sounded like a child’s, bewildered and overjoyed.

Arabella inclined her head. “Identified as a Revealer in exactly one minute, thirty-two seconds, with a flawless supporting performance. Sixteen points, putting you at a new personal best.” She let the applause roll—Sam started it, then Emi, then the whole cluster, Liesa’s hands clapping so hard Andy thought she might actually burst with pride.

Andy crossed to Chloe and caught her in a hug, her hair tickling his face and her arms wrapping around him so fiercely he thought his ribs might bend. She clung for a long moment, breath coming in little hitches. Then, unexpectedly, the hug multiplied: first Liesa, squeezing in from the side; then Emi, with all six arms; Dawn, bunny ears brushing against Chloe’s forehead; and finally, after a moment, both Riley and Laura, who took either side and closed the circle until Chloe was entirely surrounded, supported and celebrated.

Andy felt the ache of it—not envy, but the warmth of watching someone finally, finally be seen for exactly what she was.

Arabella let them have the moment, then gently called the group to attention. “There is, of course, a second place. And I’m delighted to say it belongs to the only successful Phantom of the evening—the woman who, for the entirety of the game, was never even suspected until Andy ran out of options and simply named her—incorrectly, I may add—by process of elimination.”

She made a little drumroll on the table, all drama, then said: “Claire. Fourteen points, and a record in fooling the Master himself.”

If Chloe’s win was a burst of delight, Claire’s was a slow, building tide. She didn’t jump or gasp; she just drew in a long breath, ears high and trembling, and wrote a line in her notebook with hands that only shook a little. She closed her eyes for a second, the relief so evident in her posture that Andy felt his own chest relax in sympathy.

The others responded in their own ways: Erin grinned, big and wolfish, as if the trick had been played on her and she loved it; Liesa let out a tiny, delighted whoop; Marissa nodded, slow and full of respect, her smile a private tribute to a peer who had pulled off something she herself could not.

Andy went to Claire, and the instant he put his arms around her, he felt it: the bond, the current, the connection that had been absent all evening. It roared back to life so hard he actually reeled. Claire leaned in, her nose just below his chin, her entire body radiating an affection so big and uncomplicated that Andy almost laughed.

He whispered, “I missed you,” and she scribbled a response in her notebook, then held it to his chest so only he could see:

But it was worth it.

He grinned, then ruffled her hair, and she actually let herself purr—just once, but it was the real thing, and it sent the whole hug into a new tier of intimacy.

Sam watched, shaking her head, and muttered, “Don’t trust it, man. That’s the oldest trap in the book. First they purr, then they use your chest as a launchpad to conquer the world.”

Andy laughed, and Claire’s smile, when she raised her face, was equal parts pride and mischief. She wrote, in big block letters, I AM JOKING. (mostly), then let it drop, her satisfaction visible from across the room, as her tail swished.

Laura, who had been standing with Riley, turned to Andy and said, “I’m honestly impressed you missed her. I didn’t think that was even possible.”

Andy shrugged. “She was perfect. I should have seen it, but…” He trailed off, then squeezed Claire one more time. “I’m glad I didn’t. She did an amazing job.”

Marissa raised her glass. “To the Phantoms, then. And to the girls who keep all of us honest.”

The toast echoed around the table, glasses clinking, arms interwoven, the whole group lit up by a pride that had nothing to do with scores or masks or the contest itself.

Chloe, still red but smiling, looked at Claire and said, “You were amazing.” She meant it.

Claire just nodded, a single, graceful motion, then scribbled another note. She held it up for Chloe, who read it, then immediately burst into happy tears again, her hands flying up to her face. Liesa hugged her tighter, and Emi joined, and for a minute Andy thought maybe the ball would simply end here, everyone wrapped up in each other, never bothering to leave.

Arabella let the applause for Claire’s win simmer, then drew everyone back in with a single, well-timed clink of her glass. “For third place, we have a tie—one I suspect will be a delight to both parties. Myra and Emi, each with twelve points. Their performances as Impersonators were so flawless that even Andy was fooled, and believed them Claire and Norah, respectively.”

The news hit Emi like a bolt—she clapped two of her hands to her mouth, while another pair fluttered at her sides in a helpless, delighted dance. Her cheeks flushed pinker than her gown. Myra, on the other hand, registered the announcement with a controlled smile, but her tail betrayed her, swishing in a little burst of happy energy that lit the outlines of her body with a faint green fire.

Arabella nodded to them both, then, with a sly look at Emi, added, “Even with your donation, this pushes you beyond 100 VP. Congratulations.”

Emi blushed. “I’m just glad I got to do it,” she said, and even with the flush on her cheeks, her voice carried the pure joy of someone who never thought she’d be noticed at all.

Andy, who remembered Emi as the shy, almost invisible girl in the first round, felt a surge of pride that surprised even him. He crossed to Emi and caught her in a side hug, careful not to tangle up her arms. Laura joined in, her own smile wide and unguarded, and after a second’s hesitation, Laura reached out to Myra and pulled her into the hug, too.

Myra went rigid for a heartbeat, then allowed herself to melt into the embrace, her head tipping forward until her chin rested on Emi’s shoulder. The four of them stood that way for a few seconds—until Liesa, unable to resist, broke in with a gentle, “Can I?” and then joined the tangle, bringing Chloe along for the ride.

The group hug grew, almost comically, until Sam called, “Stack collapse in three, two—” and everyone broke apart, laughing, a little dazed by the overflow of affection.

Marissa, arms crossed but eyes warm, caught Andy’s gaze. “Well done,” she said, and the words meant more coming from her than from anyone else. Andy nodded, a little awkwardly, feeling a sudden and profound respect for the way Marissa managed to be both inside and outside of every moment, all at once.

Arabella let the laughter wind down, then gestured to the next mask on her sheet. “Fourth place, with ten points—and a special mention for dramatic flair—goes to Norah. I should add that your ability to weaponize a wardrobe malfunction is now officially in the records.”

Norah rolled her eyes so hard it might have been audible, but Andy saw her mouth twitch at the corners. She spread her hands as if to say, What did you expect?, but her cheeks showed a faint, uncharacteristic flush.

“Not bad,” Andy said, grinning at her. “But the second you started mashing your boobs into me, I knew it had to be you.”

A ripple of laughter rolled through the group. Norah gave him a look that was supposed to be devastating, but the effect was ruined by the color in her cheeks. She opened her mouth, probably to fire back something scathing, but the words stuck for half a second, and she finally just muttered, “Not my most subtle work, I’ll admit.”

Sam sidled up and elbowed Norah in the ribs, gentle but definite. “You know you’re allowed to have fun, right? Even when you’re not winning.” She raised her eyebrows, teasing. “In fact, it’s usually more fun then.”

Norah shook her head, but she was smiling now, the flush fading as quickly as it had arrived. “You’re incorrigible,” she said, but there was no heat in it.

Andy stepped closer and, surprising himself, just hugged her, the same way he’d hugged the others. For a moment, he thought she’d stiffen and resist—but she didn’t. She hugged him back, tight and brief, then patted his back twice in a gesture that was more affectionate than anything she’d ever admitted out loud. When they pulled apart, she cleared her throat and reset her posture, but the armor wasn’t quite all the way up.

Sam, seeing this, just grinned wider, then gave Norah a one-armed hug of her own. The room was alive with a sweetness that even Andy hadn’t seen coming.

Arabella, seeing all of this, looked positively radiant. She let them have a few seconds of peace before she prepared to announce the next tier—her eyes bright, her smile a promise.

“In fifth place, with eight points, we have Marissa.”

The words seemed to ripple outward, and for a moment Marissa’s face was unreadable—a still pond, perfectly calm. But Andy saw her hand flex on the stem of her glass, the knuckles whitening, just for a second. Then she lifted her head, looked straight at Andy, and gave a small, satisfied smile: not gloating, not even prideful, just a private, quiet affirmation. As if to say, This was the score I wanted. I did what I meant to do.

Andy met her gaze and returned the smile, nothing performative in it. Laura, watching from beside him, murmured, “She’s good. Really good.” Andy agreed. There was a professionalism to Marissa’s entire bearing, a confidence that made even fifth place seem like a kind of victory.

Arabella didn’t let the moment stretch. “In sixth place, with six points—Liesa.”

Liesa, who had been half-listening and half-conspiring with Emi, jerked upright and blinked, caught off guard by the announcement. She made a tiny “who, me?” gesture, then broke into a slow, slightly crooked smile. Sam was on her instantly, arms wrapping around Liesa’s shoulders and squeezing her close. Liesa giggled, the sound bright and a little embarrassed.

Sam said, loud enough for everyone, “See? It’s fun even when you don’t win.” She gave Liesa a gentle shake. “Six points is amazing, schat. Next time, you get seven.”

Liesa leaned into the hug, comfortable and easy, and Andy felt a pang of the old affection—how natural Liesa was at making everyone feel seen, even when she was the one supposed to be in the spotlight.

As Andy watched, he noticed that Laura had drifted over to Claire. The two stood apart from the group, heads tilted in toward each other, Claire’s notebook open and a pen moving rapidly across the page. Laura’s face was intent but relaxed, the kind of focus she reserved for a science experiment or a puzzle she actually wanted to solve. Andy couldn’t hear them, but he felt sure it was about VPs or strategy—a running commentary, not a critique.

Arabella, seeing this, nodded to herself and went on. “In seventh place, with four points: Erin.”

The announcement came with no fanfare, but Erin’s reaction was priceless. She stood stock-still, eyes going a little wide, then made an exaggerated “well, that happened” face and shrugged. “I blame the borrowed skin,” she said, deadpan. “That and the fact that someone”—here she aimed a meaningful glance at Andy—“couldn’t tell the difference between me and a very naked, very suggestible art student.”

The room broke out in laughter. Even Myra grinned, her tail curling in a pattern Andy recognized as deeply amused.

Andy tried to mount a defense. “In my defense, Emily is really, really good at pretending to be you.”

Erin smirked. “Sure, but she’s not as good at pissing you off as I am. That’s how you knew it was me, right?”

Andy laughed, and this time, he couldn’t help but let the warmth show. “Actually, it was more the way you reacted when I looked at you. That, and the way you looked at me in the dance, when I mentioned the log. If a look could punch a hole through my head, yours would have done it.”

Erin rolled her eyes but looked pleased, and for a split second, Andy thought he saw a faint, very faint, blush tint the green of her cheeks. “Well. At least my legacy is secure.”

The others joined in, the laughter lingering for several beats, no one in a rush to move on.

In the edge of his vision, Andy saw Claire and Laura break from their huddle, Claire tucking her notebook away with a look of deep satisfaction and Laura beaming with a happiness that was, for once, uncomplicated by loss or longing.

The room felt… right.

Arabella’s eyes swept the line, making sure everyone had their moment. There was only one last tier to announce. Andy let himself enjoy the anticipation—knowing, for the first time, that it wasn’t about the score. It was about being together, and being proud of each other, and being proud of himself for surviving the impossible.

Arabella let the laughter and applause subside before moving on. “Eighth place goes to Sam, with two points. While some might say that a stronger deception would have served you better, I think it speaks volumes that you preferred to be seen rather than to hide.”

Sam grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Two more than I was expecting,” she said, and the confidence in her voice was matched only by the way she swept an arm to encompass the whole group. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I spent years pretending. Tonight, I just wanted to be here.” She looked at Liesa, who squeezed her hand in solidarity, then at Andy, who gave her a thumbs-up.

Arabella nodded, pleased. “In ninth, a tie: Emily and Dawn, both earning zero points—though I should note that your impersonations were among the most convincing, and had Andy accidentally misidentified you as each other, you would be higher on this list.”

Dawn accepted this with a little wave, her cheeks pink but her eyes bright. “I had fun,” she said, and it was clear she meant it. Emily, for her part, gave Andy an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “better luck next time.”

Andy laughed, crossed to both of them, and pulled them into a quick, warm hug. “You were both amazing,” he said, and the words felt right.

The other women echoed the sentiment—Emi applauding with all six hands, Chloe offering her own hug, and even Riley ruffling Emily’s hair.

Arabella waited a beat, then said, “Riley, also tied at zero. But I want to point out that of all the Revealers, you were the hardest for Andy to find. Your ability to hold a secret is legendary, apparently, even when you should want to be found.”

Riley smirked. “It helps when no one expects you to play by the rules.” She shrugged, then, softer: “I liked it. Being part of the puzzle for once.”

Andy, a little surprised, said, “I thought you were a Phantom. You kept me guessing the longest.”

Riley looked almost bashful, then recovered with a quick, deflecting laugh. Chloe, standing nearby, reached out and took Riley’s hand, squeezing it in a gesture that was as much apology as support. Riley didn’t let go.

“And finally,” Arabella intoned, “last place—tenth—goes to Laura. Negative two points, for the fastest identification among the Phantoms. I will add that there was never a version of this game where any role for Laura would not have been uniquely loaded. The logic was unbreakable, and that is as much a credit to Andy’s bond with her as it is to Laura herself.”

The group was silent for a second, but Laura didn’t flinch. She smiled, a tiny, impish thing, and said, “I knew I’d be last the second I walked in. But it’s fine.” She looked at Andy, then at Arabella. “We talked about it, actually. Figured if there had to be a negative, it might as well go to the person who can’t be eliminated, and can give them to someone who can take the blow.”

Andy nodded. “It was a strategy. Better to take the hit than risk anyone else.”

Claire, from the far end, scribbled and held up a card: I’ll take them, then added, At this point it’s only fair.

The group laughed, and for a second, all the history and pain in the room seemed to dissolve into a simple, shared joy.

Claire, nodding, added a line in smaller script: With great points comes great responsibility.

Norah read it over her shoulder and snorted. “Nerd,” she said, but her tone was all affection.

Arabella regarded them all with a look of true satisfaction. “You have played this challenge beautifully. You have outwitted, outlasted, and, more importantly, out-cared for each other. I am proud to have watched it.”

She glanced at Andy, her eyes gentle. “The Dance Hall is yours for the rest of the night, to celebrate the traditional after-Challenge party. And well-deserved, too. The guests will retire soon, but you are welcome to celebrate or conspire as you wish.”

The Contestants let the reality that the Fifth Challenge was over settle over them. Sam poured another round of drinks and off-handedly mentioned to Liesa she’d need to do something to catch up to Claire, waggling her eyebrows suggestively as Liesa blushed. Chloe herded everyone toward the center of the floor for an impromptu dance, and even Riley, caught off guard by the moment, joined in the laughter and the light.

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Author's Note: A little peek behind the curtain for this Challenge, given its complexity. It was fun to try and come up with a fair scoring system that accounted for the three very different roles, particularly for the Impersonators.

Each dance was given a maximum length of 6 minutes, 30 seconds (5 minutes for the dance, up to 1:30 for the extra time Andy would need to identify a girl at the end, if he didn't do so at the dance). Because no Contestant was identified in less than 1:30, provisional scoring would take the 1:30 mark as the start. Within that time, percentiles were assigned to brackets of seconds (e.g. 1-10, 11-20, and so on).

The order of the dances was randomly generated. How well each girl did during her dance (net of the potential confounding factor of an Impersonator already almost successfully fooling Andy, like it happened with Erin, requiring Andy to first dismantle that theory) was based on a combination of factors including the girl's personality and stats, as well as her mindset going into the challenge. This led to each girl being identified (wrongly or correctly) within a certain time bracket, and thus being assigned a specific percentile.

Ranking was assigned based on role, with an interim score (not a VP reward!) based on the percentile (with the highest score being 100):

• For Revealers: 100 - percentile
• For Phantoms: percentile
• For Impersonators: a flat 80 points if they successfully fooled Andy into identifying them as the person they were meant to impersonate; a flat 40 if they fooled him into thinking they were someone else; 0 if they were identified correctly. They also received up to 40 points of bonus based on how much time it took Andy to identify them (the faster the misidentification, the more points; or, if identified correctly, the longer they got him fooled, the more points), with a cap at 100 points.

As a result, Chloe scored the win as a Revealer since she was identified at 1:32 (a percentile of 0.00%, leading to a perfect score of 100), while Laura was last place as a Phantom (with a percentile of 8.33%, leading to a score of 8.33).