First Light Outside

The ceremony ended, but the air on the terrace still vibrated with the echoes of Arabella’s speech. For a few breaths, nobody moved. The Contestants just sat in the wind and sun, processing the future they’d been given. For once, the chatter didn’t explode immediately; there was only the sound of waves and a few creaking boards as the women absorbed the new versions of themselves.

Andy stood from the Throne and felt the eyes of half the harem on him. Not in the usual way, not in the “he’s going to fuck one of us before dinner” way, but in the way people look at a guy who’s just been named the new mayor, or anointed with some ancient, dangerous title. Even those who’d known him longest—Sam, Erin, even Liesa—were squinting at him as if they expected him to start levitating, or issuing edicts about mandatory yoga. The Capstones had changed something.

He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite land.

Laura—both of her—caught the expression immediately. One of her turned her head and met his gaze from twenty paces away, the other already moving toward him, white dress catching the sun. Andy braced himself for whatever complex emotion she’d decided to bring into the moment, but what hit him was nothing like that. Instead, Laura’s approach was simple, straightforward. She just walked up and stood next to him, like she’d done a thousand times before.

He felt the soft nudge of her presence even before she spoke. “You’re doing the face again,” she said, in perfect synchrony.

He glanced down. “Which face?”

“The one where you’re about to fix a cosmic error but don’t want anyone to see you care about it.”

He smirked. “I have no poker face around you, do I?”

Laura, both bodies, rolled her eyes in sync, then nudged his elbow. “If you’re worried about the power, don’t be. If anyone can handle it, you can.”

He let himself look at her fully. She was so alive now, it almost hurt to remember the last round—how lost she’d been, how haunted. The body language was still uniquely hers, both versions standing in perfect echo, arms folded and chin a touch too high. But her eyes were clear, and the bond between them hummed with the soft, strange certainty of a shared future.

He could have stood there forever, but the moment was interrupted by the softest tread of feet, almost inaudible, then the visual: Claire. Her approach was silent—cat tail in a gentle curve behind her, notebook held like a prayer book against her chest. She stood on his other side, a polite triangle forming, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were enormous and oddly **** behind the glasses.

She tapped his arm, then flipped her notebook open to a fresh page. The words were perfect, neat, as always:

You look like you have an idea. Also, I sense that you’re worried.

Andy felt his jaw clench. He didn’t like being that readable, even by people who loved him. But he nodded, and said, “I do. I… think I can help Katherine. With the Coauthor Capstone. Maybe even get her out of the painting, at least for a while. But it might not work, or it might be worse. I need to try, though.”

Both of Laura turned to look at Claire, as if seeking confirmation. Claire only nodded, earnest and brisk, then scribbled:

Do you want help?

He shook his head. “Not unless you can do magic. But maybe… maybe just be ready in case something goes wrong.”

Laura’s mouth twisted. “Are you sure you want to do this right now? There’s a whole harem up here, and it’s not like you’re short on urgent issues.”

Andy shrugged. “I don’t know how many chances I’ll get. I keep thinking about what Katherine said—about being trapped there, watching cycle after cycle, never getting to be part of it. She deserves better.”

For a second, neither woman spoke. Claire only watched him, blue eyes intent; Laura, too, let the silence do its work. Then Claire, with the tiniest hesitation, scribbled:

You are a good man, Andy Cooper. Even if you rarely believe it.

He swallowed hard, then said, “Thanks. I’ll need you both to stay downstairs while I try this. The Capstone says that The HH can modify edits made to transformations. So, just in case the edit has range, or—” he trailed off, unwilling to name what might go wrong.

Laura made a face—equal parts “you’re an idiot” and “I love you, idiot”—but relented. Claire closed her notebook and tucked it under her arm, already in agreement.

---

Andy left them on the main floor, then took the elevator up to the Master’s Suite alone.

The Suite felt different now. Maybe it was just the post-ceremony energy, or maybe it was the way the sun hit the windows in this hour, but he couldn’t shake the sense that everything inside was waiting for him. He’d never been superstitious before, but today, the air had a charge to it.

He walked straight through the living room, past the red sectional and the dining nook and the gleaming kitchen, and into the bedroom.

There she was.

Katherine stood, as always, inside her painted world: the flowered meadow, the sunlight, the too-perfect stillness that made everything around her seem artificial by comparison. She was naked, as always, unable to hide her body or even turn away. The constraints were subtle, but they worked on a metaphysical level, forever presenting, forever on display.

She saw him instantly, and her face broke into the familiar, heartbreaking smile: longing and hunger and infinite patience, all at once.

Andy stepped to the easel, so close that he could have reached through the painting if it were only a matter of physics. “Hey, Katherine,” he said.

She waved. Then she pointed to the door, made a magic gesture with her hand, and tilted her head in silent question. He huffed a laugh. “Seems everyone’s onto me today.”

Katherine shrugged, then made a motion that could have been “out with it” or “tell me everything.”

Andy looked at her, and let the idea take hold in his mind. “I want to try something. I don’t know if it will work. But if it does, it could get you out of there. Probably not permanently. But maybe for a while.”

Katherine’s painted eyes went wide. She made a heart with her hands, then mimed something like a door opening.

“No,” he said, “not like the Comfort Gift. This… if it works, it would be real.”

She looked at him with an intensity that discomfited him, then, almost trembling, pointed at the space beside him.

He nodded. “That’s the idea. But… I need your permission. And if it works, it wouldn’t affect the other transformations you are under. I just don’t know. Do you want to try?”

The speed and certainty with which Katherine nodded was almost comical. She pressed both palms to the glass that separated them—her version of “yes, yes, god, yes.”

Andy swallowed, then took a breath. He called up the memory of how Coauthor felt, the way the description of her elimination transformation lived in the system: Katherine's body is trapped within the painting. She cannot sleep. She is unable to move beyond the frame, unable to touch, always visible to the viewer, and cannot hide her breasts or groin… There was more. He had read the lines enough times to have it burned into his brain.

This time, he called up the language in his mind and spoke the change aloud, just to give it ****:

Katherine can sleep at will. Sleeping projects her as a living body outside the painting.

He felt the words settle, then a strange, subtle shift in the room. The painting shimmered—just a touch, like heat haze. Katherine’s eyes darted, confusion mixing with anticipation.

Andy looked at her. “I think… I think it’s live now. You just have to will yourself to sleep.”

Katherine frowned, puzzled, but then nodded, closed her painted eyes, and, after a few seconds, her body inside the painting slumped, still upright but now obviously ****. Her head lolled against the frame, her arms hung at her sides, and the effect was instant: the painting became just a painting, beautiful but inert.

Then the air in the room thickened, and Andy saw it: a blur, then a clarity, and suddenly Katherine was standing beside him, alive and breathing and as physically real as any woman on the island. She was still naked—her body flawless, the hair flowing past her waist, the breasts as prominent and impossible as the day she’d been trapped in the painting. But her skin shivered, goosebumps rising in the cold blast of the suite’s A/C, and her eyes were liquid green and very much alive.

She stared at her hands, then flexed her fingers, almost like she expected them to dissolve. She pressed a palm to her cheek, then to Andy’s face, her thumb stroking the stubble there as if checking for inconsistencies in the world’s rendering.

Andy stood very still, afraid that any wrong move would break the spell. Katherine circled him once, still touching his face, then moved to his chest, his arms, his hair. It was half-examination, half-worship. She mouthed something, then tried to laugh, shock and disbelief vivid on her face, but so full of life it made Andy’s skin burn.

He checked the painting. The description had updated:

Katherine can sleep at will. Sleeping projects her as a living body outside the painting for up to twelve hours per day, though the strain becomes more pronounced, the longer the projection. When the time expires, she returns to her body in the painting and resumes her prior state. She is unable to move beyond the frame, unable to touch, always visible to the viewer, and cannot hide her breasts or groin...

Andy read it out loud, just to make it real. Twelve hours per day. It would give her half her life back. It was more than he had hoped for, when Arabella had explained the Capstone’s limitations. Katherine nodded, her eyes shining, then reached for him. She touched his hands, then pulled him down by the lapels of his shirt, and kissed him.

It was not a gentle kiss. She crushed their mouths together, clumsy at first, then so ferocious that he had to pull her closer just to keep his balance. Her hands mapped every part of his face, his neck, his arms. Then she leaned back, breathing hard, and stared at him like he was the only thing on earth worth seeing.

She pressed both palms to his chest, pushing him back until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He tumbled, and she followed, straddling him with a confidence that bordered on ****.

He tried to speak, but she shut him up with her mouth, her hair a curtain of black silk around them. She was crying now, tears slicking their faces, but the smile was real and wild.

Andy held her, ran his hands along her back and waist, and felt her shudder at every touch. The hunger was immense—years of touch starvation poured into every second. Even the last time they had touched, via the Comfort Gift, it had been a dreamscape, dream bodies. This… this was real. He could feel her body heat, the heart that beat inside her body, however temporary the body was. When he squeezed her hips, she moaned—a sound so primal it seemed to shake the room.

He broke the kiss, gasped, “Are you okay?”

She nodded, then gripped his hand and pressed it to her breast, showing him exactly how okay she was. Her nipple hardened instantly under his palm, and she arched into his touch like a cat. He stroked lower, and she bucked, nearly launching him off the mattress.

She tugged at his clothes, frantic, and in a minute had him naked under her. She touched him everywhere, as if mapping him for future generations. Andy couldn’t tell if her fever was for him, or for being alive, or just the rush of finally being able to feel another person.

He let her set the pace. She lowered herself onto him, and the sensation nearly broke him. She was tight, impossibly wet, and every inch seemed to spark electricity through her body. She rode him with abandon, her breasts bouncing and her mouth locked in a rictus of effort and joy. She didn’t make a sound, but her whole body screamed her pleasure.

He lost it first—his control shot to pieces by the urgency and intensity of her touch. He tried to slow down, to make it last, but Katherine’s hands dug into his shoulders, and her hips demanded more. When he came, it was a wave that threatened to drown them both. She clung to him, trembling, and then—finally—she came herself.

It was visible. Every muscle in her body locked, then shivered. Her face broke open with a joy so intense it bordered on madness, and she gasped without a sound, her breath coming in silent, wracked sobs.

She collapsed on top of him, her hair and skin slicked with sweat and tears. For a long time, she didn’t move. Andy just held her, heart hammering, and wondered if he’d broken something in her, or in himself.

After a few minutes, she rolled off him, then propped herself up on an elbow, staring at the ceiling with a look of pure, dumbfounded awe.

Andy reached for her hand, squeezed it. “You okay?”

She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. She tried to laugh, and the sound that came out was part giggle, part sob. She was crying, trembling.

He wiped her eyes. “You want to meet the rest of them?” he asked. “You don’t have to, but I think they’d want to see you.”

Katherine looked at him, then at the painting across the room, where her painted image slumbered, then at her own hand, flexing the fingers as if making sure it was all still there. She grinned, pure mischief in the shape of a smile, and nodded: yes.

Andy got up, gathered his clothes, and watched as she stood and followed him. Still naked, still unable to cover herself, but now—finally—free to move, to touch, to be in the world.

She paused in the doorway, turned, and looked back at the painting. She waved at her own sleeping self, then gave Andy a thank-you hug.

Andy swallowed, then said, “Thank you, too.”

She grinned, then took his hand, and they walked out together. As they did, he saw her laugh—voiceless but real and bright and wild.

---

Erin had always liked heights. She liked being at the top of things, the edge of things, even before her body had gone full mint-green and superhuman. Today, the terrace above the main pool wasn’t enough: she’d perched herself on the glass-and-steel railing itself, balancing on the narrow top rail, arms out, the wind threatening to strip her of dignity if she’d had any left to lose.

From this angle she could see all the way to the sea, and most of the grounds: the faint blur of the other Contestants heading off to do their post-ceremony rituals, the gardeners prepping for tomorrow’s event, even the golf cart winding down the jungle path toward the Main Beach. Up here, the world went quiet.

She closed her eyes, let the sun soak into her skin, and felt the gentle hum of arousal that never quite left her now. Being nude in public no longer registered as a big deal. It was just another data point in a day full of them.

The peace didn’t last. The sliding door banged open behind her, and the air filled with the scent of pistachios and expensive perfume.

“I get why they call it a ‘Terrace,’ but I didn’t think it meant ‘where Erin goes to be a human billboard,’” Norah said, voice as sharp as the click of her new heels.

Erin didn’t look back. “I’m working on my vitamin D. Also, pretty sure I’m not human anymore. Want to join? Or is this a social call?”

Norah was in a pencil skirt today, teal and black, with a filmy blouse and a silk scarf that probably cost more than most people’s cars. The wind caught her hair and whipped it across her face, but she didn’t even flinch. “You heard what Arabella did with the rooms, right?”

Erin finally looked over her shoulder. “Yeah. You and Dawn. Should be fun.”

Norah snorted. “You know she bounces out of the bed at six in the morning, right? All that cheerfulness, first thing in the morning. I’m going to **** her by Thursday.”

“Try not to get caught,” Erin said. “I’d have to testify.”

Norah ignored her. “Why did you get paired with Riley? Is it some kind of chemistry test?”

“Maybe. Or maybe Arabella likes it when we keep the sexual tension over one hundred percent at all times.”

“Speaking of tension,” Erin said, “you want to arm-wrestle or something? You look like you need to break something that isn’t Dawn’s feelings.”

Norah grinned, or bared her teeth—hard to tell, with her. “What, right here? I thought you only did Crossfit in front of an audience.”

Erin dropped from the rail, stuck the landing, and padded over to one of the standing tables by the bar. “You scared?” she said, not because she thought Norah would flinch, but because there was no other way to start the game.

Norah clacked over, her skirt riding up so much that if Andy had been present, he’d have caught an eyeful. She planted her elbow and, in true Norah fashion, said, “Winner calls the loser’s dare. You in?”

Erin sat, one leg cocked under her, the other foot still balanced on the railing. “You’ll lose,” she said. “These arms were made in a lab.”

Norah’s look said, Please. “On three?”

“Why not.” Erin laced fingers with her, and even with Norah’s delicate, manicure-perfect hands, there was more strength than most people would expect. They both flexed. Muscles bunched. Then, after a second, neither moved.

It was always like this: not about the actual strength, but the will to not be the first to go all-in. A test of whose pride broke first. Erin watched Norah’s face for micro-reactions: the way her eyes narrowed, the faint glint of sweat on her brow, the way her mouth set in a flat line like she was ready to cross-examine God.

Norah tried to fake her out with a sudden push, but Erin didn’t even budge. She returned with exactly as much ****, locking Norah’s wrist vertical, neither side gaining ground.

They held the pose, locked in, for an entire minute. Not talking, not posturing. Just breathing. The wind came up, whipped Norah’s scarf over her shoulder and nearly smacked her in the eye; she didn’t blink.

Finally, Erin decided to push the conversation further. “You know what’s great about being naked all the time?” she said, voice casual. “You never get pit stains. Also, Andy can’t take his eyes off you. He gave me a kiss on the way up the beach earlier that nearly knocked me off my feet.”

She watched the effect on Norah. The Sibling Rivalry compulsion was visible: the flush rising up her neck, the subtle dilation of pupils, the way her left foot pressed into the ground, as if bracing for impact.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” Norah said. Her tone was flat, but her grip got tighter.

Erin grinned. “What, talking about Andy kissing me? You’re not jealous, are you?”

Norah snorted. “Please. I’m just surprised you can get through a sentence without mentioning how big his—”

“—hands are?” Erin finished, dry. “Yeah. They’re huge. You should see what he does with them.”

She watched Norah’s eyes, saw the snap of rivalry fire, the almost **** need to one-up, or at least not to lose. For a second, it looked like Norah might just start humping the table to win. Instead, she doubled down on the match.

Erin let her take a centimeter, then muscled it back. “You should know,” Erin said, “the real trick is to relax your shoulder. See? Like this.” She rolled her own, the motion pulling her chest forward—her breasts pressed into the table like a pair of overfilled balloons, the nipples hard and mint-green in the afternoon light.

Norah’s gaze flicked down for a microsecond. She looked, then looked away, but the point was made.

They were both sweating now. Erin felt her own body humming, every muscle alive. The arousal that lived in her now was a background noise, like static, but it turned electric when she got competitive. Norah’s body chemistry was doing the same thing: there was a flush in her skin, a fine sheen at her hairline, and Erin could smell the faintest hint of arousal, sweet and sharp, under the perfume.

Erin decided to finish it. “You’re good,” she said. “But you’re thinking too much.”

Then she slammed Norah’s hand down to the table. Not hard, not mean. Just decisive.

Norah winced, but didn’t let go right away. “I demand a rematch. Best of three.”

“Sure,” Erin said, relacing instantly.

Norah said nothing, just reset her arm, and they went again. This time, she tried a different tactic: instead of matching strength, she went limp for a second, then used the recoil to get a jump. It almost worked. Erin grinned, let her think she had it, then just sat there, rock solid, while Norah strained.

They hit a stalemate, and it was clear Norah’s pride wouldn’t let her quit. She started narrating, “You know, I bet if he were here, he’d want to see us do this naked in the pool. Or maybe in front of the whole harem. You think you could beat me if we were both wet and slippery, or would you get distracted by your own reflection?”

Erin snorted. “You’re projecting. But if that’s your fantasy, I’m game.”

They locked for another half-minute. Erin let Norah have the win, just barely, by tensing at the last second and making it look like a struggle. Norah’s face split in a brief, victorious smile, and she rolled her wrist in the universal sign for “winner.”

“Congratulations,” Erin said. “You get your dare.”

Norah let out a long breath. “Take off your shoes and walk the glass like you did before. If you fall, you have to make out with the first person you see at the bottom.”

Erin didn’t even hesitate. She peeled off her sneakers, set them on the table, and climbed onto the railing. This time, she didn’t balance with arms out, but hands behind her back, show-off style. The wind was stronger up here, enough to threaten a topple. She walked the rail end to end, bare feet gripping, ass flexed for days, and at the far end she did a perfect arabesque—one leg out, arms up, and then dropped to the deck in a gymnast’s dismount.

Norah whistled, low and appreciative. “You were made for this,” she said, and there was no bite in it. For a second, Erin thought she saw real admiration there.

Erin shrugged. For a few minutes, they didn’t say anything. The wind whipped at their hair, the sun burned their skin, and the world felt suspended.

Finally, Norah said, “I don’t hate you, you know.”

Erin glanced over. “I know. You just hate losing.”

“Yeah.”

They sat a while longer. Erin let the moment be what it was. Eventually, Norah straightened her skirt. She said, “See you at dinner,” and didn’t look back.

Erin watched her go, then lay back on the deck, arms behind her head, and grinned at the sky.

---

The sun was going down, so the waterline was all gold, slashed with blue and violet where the wind chopped the surface. Riley liked this part of the day best, especially on the days where she needed her head clear. Out here, you could almost forget the whole island was a game board, or a stage, or whatever metaphor the Hosts liked to run with.

She walked the line where sand met ocean, bare feet cool in the foam, and tuned into the Dead Reckoning sense. She’d already mapped the grounds in her head—Chloe was somewhere in the Inner Gardens, Andy was in the Master’s Suite, Myra was, for once, actually in her room—but the point wasn’t just knowing where everyone was. It was the way the sense painted every person in a color, like a stained-glass map in her brain.

She’d expected a trick, or a price. Instead, it was just there, like the ability to snap your fingers or breathe. A slow, steady pulse for the people she cared about. Weak for some. A siren-blare for others.

She swept the scan, left to right: Sam and Liesa, together as always, by the pool; Marissa in the lounge, probably reading; Norah and Erin, together on the terrace. Dawn, alone, in her room, possibly asleep. She got to Chloe’s signal, and it was so clear it nearly rang in her ears. She could pinpoint Chloe’s location to an inch. Riley tried to focus on that, to savor it, but there was a shadow at the edge of the field, and she had to will herself not to look.

She looked, anyway.

Andy. Not just a sense of where he was, but a piercing, surgical vector that told her, if she really focused, she could describe his location down to the inch too. It was invasive, and Riley hated it.

She let her scan slide off of him. Past him, even. Instead, she tracked the next strongest: Myra.

That was the one she really didn’t get. She didn’t know Myra, not well, but the signal for her was only a hair fainter than Chloe’s, and sharper than most of the others. She circled the connection, examined it like a bruise, trying to see what it meant. Was it just that Myra and Chloe were roommates, now? Was it the harem effect, the way everyone here got entangled, whether you liked it or not?

Riley walked, and the world blurred out behind the scan. She barely registered the steps until she hit the end of the point, where black volcanic rocks studded the sand and the water ran cold over her feet.

She sat, let the tide soak the hem of her jeans, and tried to see how long she could keep the scan running before her brain melted.

She lost track of time. Eventually, a shadow fell across the sand.

Emi arrived like she always did: two hands pressed together, a faint smile, a gentle bow as if apologizing for showing up at all. The other four arms hung easy at her sides, two of them holding a sketchbook and a stub of charcoal. She didn’t say anything. She just sat beside Riley, scooched her skirt to cover her legs, and started to draw in the wet sand.

They sat that way for a long time.

Riley pretended she was too deep in the scan to care, but Emi’s presence was hard to ignore. There was a stillness to her, a way of holding herself like she was both entirely present and a million miles away. She’d sketch for a bit, then brush it away with her palm, then start again. Always the same: a curve, a flower, the hint of a fox tail. Sometimes a profile that looked a lot like Chloe, sometimes not.

Riley didn’t ask what she was doing. Emi didn’t ask what Riley was doing.

The silence made it okay, somehow.

Eventually, Emi spoke, but she kept her eyes on the sand. “You keep going quiet in the same direction. Is it Andy, or something else?”

Riley was not prepared for the question. She coughed, shifted, then said, “Is it that obvious?”

Emi shrugged, but the gesture meant more, with six arms. “It’s okay. I do the same thing with my dreams. Sometimes I run from them, but they find me anyway.”

Riley stared at her. Emi kept drawing, tracing little swirls that the tide ate up before they could finish.

“You want to talk about it?” Emi said, voice so light it could have blown away on the wind.

Riley almost said no. But Emi wasn’t like the others—she didn’t analyze, or fix, or offer solutions. She just sat, and sometimes that was what Riley needed.

She sighed, then said, “It’s… Andy. And Chloe. They’re both strong. I expected Chloe, but not Andy.” She looked at her hands. “It’s like, every time I do the scan, he’s there, even when I try to avoid it. Sometimes I loop it, skip over him, but it doesn’t help. It just gets sharper.”

Emi nodded, made a spiral in the sand, then erased it. “You can’t always control what sticks.”

Riley snorted. “You sound like Marissa.”

Emi smiled, but it was sad. “Marissa is probably right. But I think it’s okay to not want it, even if you have it.”

They watched the waves for a while.

Riley broke the silence again. “There’s another thing. Myra. Her signal’s almost as strong as Chloe’s, which is crazy, because I barely know her. I barely even like her. But when I try to focus on the scan, it’s like she’s right next to me. I don’t get it.”

Emi hummed, low and wordless. “Maybe it’s not about liking or knowing. Maybe it’s something else. Like, you both lost something, and the system just… noticed.”

Riley looked at her, then back at the ocean.

“I guess.” She scuffed her heel in the sand, drew a line with her toe.

Emi drew something with the charcoal, then held it up for Riley to see. It was a perfect sketch of the horizon, the place where sky met sea, the color bands so precise that Riley could feel the edge of day tipping into night.

“Sometimes,” Emi said, “when I don’t understand a dream, I just try to draw it until it makes sense. Or until I don’t care anymore. Maybe you can just let it be, and not have to figure it out.”

Riley barked a laugh, then immediately felt bad. But Emi didn’t seem to mind.

She tried the scan again. This time, she didn’t skip Andy. She let herself notice how sharp the signal was, how it pierced through every other sense. She let herself feel the surprise, and the anger, and the old sadness that came with it.

She scanned to Myra, and this time, she didn’t try to minimize it. She just let it be strong. Let it sting a little.

It was easier.

“Thanks,” she said, softly, to Emi.

Emi smiled, and for the first time, looked directly at her. “Anytime.”

They sat in the dusk, the tide rising and falling. Emi started drawing again, and this time, Riley watched her do it.

---

Sam had been planning to spend the whole afternoon floating in the pool, soaking up the last hour of sun before dinner. She’d even made herself a lowball of cold brew with coconut milk, and convinced Liesa to do a matching mocktail, which was more effort than it sounded given Liesa’s opinion of American iced coffee.

They’d talked about nothing for almost an hour—art, the metaphysics of Sam’s new transformation, which of the other girls would survive longest in a zombie apocalypse—when the sensation hit.

It was like someone had flipped a switch inside Sam’s body, then punched her in the gut with it. One moment, she was explaining to Liesa how clutch mechanisms in old Subarus worked; the next, her vision went white, her muscles liquefied, and a jolt of arousal snapped her out of the world for a good three seconds.

When she came back, Liesa was watching her with a little smile.

“Did you bore yourself?” Liesa asked.

Sam blinked, found her own voice, and said, “No, sorry. I just got hit with something. Pretty sure someone in the hotel just had a full-body orgasm, or at least got very close.”

Liesa propped her chin on her hand, obviously amused. “Is this a new thing, or…?”

“Watchtower.” Sam gripped the edge of her float, trying to get her balance back. “Any time someone is super aroused or distressed, I get a ping.”

“Is good,” Liesa said. “You are the lifeguard now, yes? Only for orgasms.”

Sam considered. “I mean, I always did want to be the backbone of the team.”

Another wave rolled through her, not as strong, but insistent. Sam swore under her breath. “Okay, now it’s two at once. Either it’s contagious, or someone’s having a marathon.”

Liesa made a lazy circuit of the pool, trailing her fingers through the water. “You will need to be strong, Sam. Very strong.”

Sam snorted, tried to focus. She ran the names in her head, like she was reading out a police lineup.

“It’s not Chloe, she’s too shy for public stuff. Not Marissa, she never shows her cards. Erin’s up on the terrace, but she’s probably just basking. Myra—maybe, but I don’t think she’s the source.”

Liesa watched her process. “Maybe it is Andy? Or you?”

Sam shook her head. “No, I’d know. Also, I don’t think this works on Andy. And this is definitely coming from the Main Lobby, or nearby.” She closed her eyes, tried to triangulate. “It’s… Laura. It’s got to be Laura.”

Liesa clapped, delighted. “You solved the puzzle.”

Sam said, “I wish I could turn it off. It’s like being on the receiving end of a spam text, but the spam is someone’s orgasm. Not even my own. It’s weirdly disappointing.”

Liesa smirked. “Maybe it will be useful if there is ever a real emergency.”

Sam grunted. “Like what, someone orgasms so hard they pass out and fall into the volcano?”

Liesa considered. “It could happen. This is Harem Hotel.”

They floated a bit, letting the ripples fade.

Sam finally said, “You think it’ll ever get less weird? Or am I just doomed to be the designated responder forever?”

Liesa gave her a sidelong look. “You like being needed. Even when it is for something ridiculous.”

Sam made a face. “You know me too well.”

“I do,” Liesa said, and the words were warmer than the water.

Sam let her head fall back onto the float. “Okay. I’m not going to investigate. If Laura wants to practice her new thing, that’s her business. I just hope she doesn’t make a habit of it during meal times.”

Liesa laughed. “Maybe we put sign up sheet in kitchen. For scheduling.”

Sam snorted, then surrendered to the moment. “Only if you’re in charge of the calendar.”

They let the conversation drift away, the sun dipping lower, the sky going orange.

Liesa said, “You could try ignoring it.”

Sam said, “That’s not going to happen.”

But her smile gave away that she’d already accepted her fate.

---

The banquet hall was supposed to be the calmest room in the hotel—a place for eating, not conniving—but right now, it felt like a submarine full of nervous energy. Laura sat at a round table, both bodies in mirror poses, hands cupped around mugs of tea that steamed in perfect synchrony. Across from her, Marissa occupied one chair, upright and watchful; Emily was curled in another, hair a swath of pink over her bare shoulders; and Claire, sitting beside Laura’s left body, scribbled into her notebook with silent ferocity, pausing every so often to look at Laura, or maybe through her.

It was Marissa who broke the silence first. “You’ve got that look,” she said. “The one that means you’re counting seconds.”

Laura tried for a smile, but it landed somewhere between sheepish and haunted. “Andy’s up in the Suite,” she said, “trying to get Katherine out of the painting. He asked me and Claire to stay away while he used the Capstone. Just in case it misfires.” She shrugged, the gesture rippling in both bodies. “He wouldn’t say why.”

Emily’s face lit up, genuine and a little starstruck. “That’s so cool. Is she going to be, like, real? Or will she be a painting girl who walks around? Or both?”

“Not sure,” Laura said. “He didn’t want me near the room until it’s safe. I think he’s worried about—well, something happening if there’s overlap.”

Marissa nodded, digesting the information. “Is your bond pinging distress? Or anything else?”

Laura shook her heads. “No. Nothing. But…” She left it hanging, because the absence of feeling wasn’t always a comfort, especially when you’d lived with absence before.

Claire’s notebook appeared in Laura’s peripheral. It read: He feels focused. Determined. No anxiety.

Laura smiled at the script, even as both bodies’ jaws clenched. “See? Catgirl senses are better than mine.”

Claire underlined “determined,” then closed the notebook and placed it on the table, but kept her hand atop it. It was a subtle way of telling everyone she might need to write something again soon.

Emily sipped her tea, then asked, “Is it possible that my new aura is… softening everything?” She gestured to herself. “I wonder if it’s muting what you or Claire get from him. Or each other.”

Laura considered this, then tried to speak, but a shockwave of sensation crashed through her, sharp as the snap of a live wire.

Both bodies went rigid at once. It was like being touched by a phantom limb—impossible, electric, and instantly unmistakable. Her skin prickled, every hair standing on end, nipples tightening to an ache, heat blossoming between her thighs in a way that felt wholly external and yet, somehow, more intimate than anything she’d ever chosen for herself. Both faces flushed, high and hot. She gripped the edge of the table hard enough that the porcelain mug rattled.

Marissa noticed in a split second. “Laura?” she asked, voice going low and even. “What’s wrong?”

Emily inched closer, hair falling forward, and Claire snapped her notebook shut, all attention on Laura.

She tried to answer, but the words twisted up. “It’s—” Both bodies’ voices choked, then came out together, a harmony of surprise and want. “He’s… oh, God, it worked. He’s with her. It’s like—like I’m there. Both of me. And it’s everywhere.”

For a second, neither Marissa nor Emily moved. Then Marissa got up, circled the table, and pressed her hand to Laura’s shoulder, grounding her. “Breathe through it,” Marissa said, her tone not clinical, but careful, like she was talking someone down from a ledge. “What’s the sensation?”

Laura, reeling, managed: “It’s his hands. On my skin. No—not mine. Katherine’s. But it’s—” Both bodies trembled. “It’s like I can feel him holding her, kissing her, but it’s my body. Both of them. It’s like we’re…” She trailed off, both pairs of hands white-knuckling the table.

Emily looked like she was torn between envy and worry. “Are you okay? Should we get Arabella?”

Laura tried to laugh, but it came out a rough sound, half gasp, half groan. “I’m fine. It just… it doesn’t stop. It’s like I’m inside her skin.”

Marissa kept her hand firm, but her other hand traced gentle circles on Laura’s back. “Tell me what’s happening now.”

Laura’s breathing ragged, she gasped, then she said: “He’s… inside her. But it’s me, too. It’s—” Both bodies blushed, then she hid her faces in her hands. “It’s impossible.”

Claire, ever the observer, leaned in, eyes wide and bright with curiosity and concern.

The sensation peaked, then broke like a wave. Both bodies shuddered, almost crying out, but Laura bit it back, her knuckles hard against her lips. Sweat prickled her skin. For a moment, her vision went red at the edges.

Marissa stayed close. “It’s ending. Stay with it. It’s safe. He’s safe. You’re safe.”

Laura **** herself to listen, to ground in the words and not the memory. The heat and pleasure faded, leaving her whole body boneless and humming, like she’d just run a mile, or lived through a hundred years of missing someone.

All three women stared at Laura, and the silence stretched, rippling with the memory of what had just passed through both her bodies.

Marissa was the first to recover. She leaned closer, her hand still on Laura’s back. “You sure you’re all right?” Her voice was a near-whisper, but the undertone was firm. “If you need me to ground you again, just say so.”

Laura—both of her—shook her heads, sending a wave of black hair across her faces. “I’m good. It’s just… a lot.” She reached for the mug with hands that trembled faintly, then laughed when both bodies made the same move and nearly knocked them together. “Arabella really should have included a dial, or a warning label. ‘May induce out-of-body orgasm without notice.’”

Marissa’s composure cracked, and she actually giggled—a sound so uncharacteristic that Laura and Emily both stared at her, then broke down into helpless laughter. Even Claire’s lips twitched at the corners, and she reached over to lightly squeeze Laura’s hand.

Emily, emboldened by the mood, asked, “How strong was it, really? On a scale from, like, date-night makeout to… whatever that was?”

Laura composed herself, both bodies lining up their answers. “It was…” She hesitated, and one body held up both hands. “Indistinguishable from the real thing. I could feel every touch, every—” She broke off, embarrassed, and just gestured at herself, both bodies flushing again. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that if I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t have known it wasn’t my own body being touched.”

The weight of the statement hung in the air. Marissa, always the therapist, considered the implications and then said, “That’s actually… kind of amazing. Disturbing, yes, but also incredible. I’m not sure I’d want it, but I’m also not sure I’d turn it down.”

Claire, ever precise, opened her notebook and scribbled rapidly for a few seconds. She tore off the page and angled it so only Laura could see, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

Laura leaned in to read. Both bodies’ eyes went wide, then narrowed in mock outrage. For a split second, both faces looked ready to scold, but then she dissolved into a helpless, wheezing laugh. “That is not what I was thinking, but thank you. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Emily, too curious to resist, asked, “What’s it say? Spill!”

Laura, still smiling, said, “It’s just a reminder that I should keep hydrated. And maybe not sit directly on anything made of glass.” She flipped the note toward Marissa, who read it and raised an eyebrow, then laughed and handed it to Emily, who turned red and then covered her mouth, barely able to speak.

“Claire!” Emily squeaked. “That’s so… practical.”

Claire, looking satisfied, folded her hands and regarded Laura with a look that was equal parts pride and mischief.

The tension had bled out of the room, replaced by the kind of warmth that only comes from having survived something together, even if the something was a harem-induced feedback loop of pleasure.

Marissa patted Laura’s shoulder and said, “If this is what the Bond of Marriage does with every encounter, you’re going to have a very interesting life.”

Laura, dry, said, “I think I’ll just never sleep again. Problem solved.”

Emily, still laughing, leaned in. “I think you’ll get used to it. You might even like it.”

Laura looked at her—one face amused, the other thoughtful. “I’m starting to think that’s the point.” She traced the rim of her mug, then looked up at the others. “Thanks, all of you. For not making it weird. Or, well, for making it exactly the right kind of weird.”

Marissa gave a gentle squeeze. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Claire nodded, then wrote in her notebook and showed it: But hydrate.

Laura laughed.

---

Andy entered the Banquet Hall with Katherine at his side, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. The room was bright with evening light and thick with the smells of new bread, roasted meat, and a ridiculous array of sweets. Laura, Marissa, Emily, and Claire were already there—Claire’s ears at full mast, Marissa alert, Emily sitting cross-legged and perfectly nude with her hair draped as always to shield (just barely) the things it could.

The moment Andy crossed the threshold, both of Laura turned to him. One set of blue eyes went to his, searching, while the other looked straight at Katherine. Andy saw the recognition in Laura’s face—the knowledge, the connection, the aftershock of the bond’s raw channel—and he didn’t try to cover it. Instead, he just nodded, the smallest acknowledgment.

Marissa noticed the glance and arched a brow, but made no comment. Emily, instantly aware that something important had happened, bounced up to greet them. “Katherine!” she said, unable to help herself, and stared for a moment before remembering to step back so she wouldn’t barrel into the new arrival.

Katherine’s arrival in the world of the living had taken, by Andy’s count, about seven minutes to really hit. Well, after she had jumped his bones. In that time, she had relearned how to walk with legs that were no longer virtual, how to breathe, how to look at herself in a mirror and not expect to see brush strokes. Her hair, long and black, trailed behind her like a cape, and her skin was dusted with goosebumps from the air conditioning. The only thing she wore was the cool composure of someone who knew her own nudity was not optional, and didn’t see the point of apologizing for it.

She greeted Emily with a full-body hug that seemed to shock both of them; after a beat, they separated, blinking, and then immediately started giggling. Emily’s hair shifted and pooled around their bodies as if it wanted to join in, then fell back into its default modesty configuration.

“Is this—” Emily started, gesturing to the body, “—are you…?”

Katherine nodded, with a grin.

Emily said, “If you want to borrow some hair, just ask,” and they both dissolved into laughter again.

Katherine turned to the table, and when Laura stood up, both bodies, it was with a kind of ceremonial gravity. There was nothing showy about it, but Andy could see the calculation—Laura wanted to say something first, and also to signal to everyone else what this meeting meant. She met Katherine’s gaze, smiled, then just said, “Welcome home.”

Katherine reached out to take both of Laura’s hands. It was awkward with four hands between two people, but somehow it made sense. For a moment, nothing else moved in the room. The painted woman and the resurrected girl just stood there, and Andy realized how bizarre, yet strangely right, it all felt.

Marissa, voice soft, said, “That’s a first.” She meant the hug, but also everything else.

Claire, not to be outdone, got up and sidled closer, her notebook open to a page that read, in tidy script: Is it strange to touch things after so long?

Katherine, reading it, nodded with an emphatic, almost comic, exaggeration. Then she picked up the nearest piece of fruit—a rambutan, spiky and wild—and examined it like it was an alien artifact. She pressed her finger into the skin and made a face of pure delight at the resistance. With a flourish, she peeled it, tasted it, and then mimed an explosion over her head.

Laura’s two bodies snorted in perfect stereo, and even Andy found himself smiling wider than he meant to.

Then the rest of the harem began to arrive.

Chloe was first. She stepped into the hall, saw the cluster around Katherine, and stopped cold. For a heartbeat, her face cycled through a dozen emotions—uncertainty, awe, something like fear, then a swelling joy that Andy hadn’t seen in her since her first week here. She crossed the room in a rush, chest bouncing, arms open, and threw them around Katherine in a hug so sudden and overwhelming it nearly knocked them both over. “I’m so glad you’re really here,” Chloe said, breathless. “You are so nice. Even when you were just, um, watching.”

Katherine, surprised, looked to Andy for a cue, and when he nodded, she hugged Chloe back, arms tight. When they parted, Chloe stepped back, blushing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, um, invade your space.”

Katherine just shook her head, made a little heart with her hands, and Chloe nearly started crying.

Erin came in next. She was, as always, gloriously and intentionally nude, her skin glowing with a subtle plant-girl radiance. She took in Katherine’s form in a single, slow up-and-down, then grinned. “You’re officially in Team Skin now. Population: us and Emily. Congratulations.”

Emily, already at Katherine’s side, shot a finger gun in solidarity. “I mean, not everyone can pull it off, but you look amazing. I want tips on posture.”

Katherine curtsied, then did an exaggerated catwalk strut down the aisle between tables. The sight of her—totally naked, but moving with the self-assurance of someone who’d been sculpted to be looked at—was so on-the-nose that even Erin had to laugh.

Riley arrived next, shoulders hunched, but eyes sharp and observant. She didn’t say anything at first; she just stood in the doorway, studying Katherine with the same intensity she gave everything else. After a few seconds, she nodded once—something between acceptance and approval—and said, “Welcome to the madhouse. You want coffee? Or bourbon? Or both?”

Katherine mimed a toast, and Riley actually smiled.

Sam entered with Liesa, the two of them a study in contrasts—Sam with her casual energy, Liesa with a grace that was somehow both effortless and almost too intentional. Sam beelined for Katherine and, with no preamble, blurted, “I see the big guy got you out. How’s it feel to have legs again? Is the floor weird? Do you want coffee? Or is it too much caffeine for a first day alive?”

Liesa laid a hand on Sam’s arm, as if to steady her. “Let her breathe, Sam.”

Katherine made a zipping gesture across her lips, then hugged Sam, who whooped in delight.

Dawn came in quietly, her bunny ears drooping at the sight of so many people in one room. But when she spotted Katherine, she went still, then approached with a deliberate, careful dignity. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Dawn. I just wanted to say… I’m glad you’re here.” She offered her hand, and Katherine shook it, then covered both of Dawn’s hands with hers, squeezing gently. Dawn blushed so hard her freckles vanished.

Myra arrived next, her twin tails moving slow behind her, ears tuned to the sound of every voice. She walked the room by emotional heat map, so it took her just a moment to zero in on Katherine’s new presence. But when she did, she went straight for her, and Andy saw the shiver that ran through both of them when they touched. Myra, whisper-soft, said, “I can see how happy you are. It’s like a bonfire. Don’t ever lose it.”

Katherine, eyes wide, nodded, then hugged Myra and did not let go until Myra started giggling.

Emi slipped in sometime during this, quiet enough that Andy wasn’t sure when exactly she’d arrived. She stood at the edge of the group, watching Katherine with an expression he couldn’t quite name—not awe, exactly, more like the careful stillness of someone trying not to disturb something fragile. When Katherine finally noticed her and turned, Emi didn’t move for a moment. Then she crossed the room slowly, reached out, and touched Katherine’s arm with two fingers, as if confirming something. Whatever she found there made her exhale in a long, slow breath. She didn’t say anything. She just nodded, once, and stepped back into the group.

Norah, fashionably late, strolled in with a glass of something expensive. She eyed Katherine, looked her up and down, then raised her glass. “Welcome back to reality. I have about six hundred questions, and you’ll answer all of them, but for now—enjoy dinner. You’re going to need the calories.” She grinned, tossed back the drink, and poured herself another.

With everyone assembled, Andy cleared his throat. “Okay, quick announcement: Katherine’s fix is still a work in progress. Here’s what you need to know. She’s here—real, alive—but it only lasts twelve hours a day for now. When the time is up, she returns to the painting to recharge. If she pushes too long, she’ll get tired or maybe worse, so we have to be careful. Other than that… she’s free. There’s no distance cap. She can go anywhere with anyone.”

Chloe, ever the nurturer, said, “If you need anything—like, if it’s too much, or if you get hungry, or if you need a bath—just ask. We all want you to be okay.”

Katherine, overwhelmed, nodded. She reached for Andy’s hand under the table and squeezed it, then made a heart sign with her hands and gestured to everyone.

The room erupted into the kind of cheerful chaos that always erupted in the Banquet Hall: Chloe tried to organize a place setting for Katherine; Marissa, who usually played the voice of reason, pointed out that Katherine probably hadn’t eaten real food in a decade and maybe should start with water; Emily was already pouring drinks and offering samples of every dessert on the buffet.

Katherine, for her part, stood there and let it wash over her. For a full minute, she just breathed, hands pressed to her own face, feeling the impossible reality of having a body—of being in a room that didn’t end at the edge of a painted world. She blinked, again and again, as if expecting the scene to flicker and reveal itself as a cruel trick. When nothing changed, she pressed her palms together and laughed. It was soundless, but unmistakably real.

Andy watched from the sidelines, marveling at how quickly the harem enfolded Katherine. There was no awkwardness—no sense that she was an interloper or a guest. Chloe practically danced attendance, offering Katherine samples of every kind of juice and soda and sparkling water. Erin, who had absolutely no filter, called across the room, “You want to sit with the nudists, or the people pretending not to stare?” and Emily, grinning, patted the seat next to her.

Katherine did a little half-bow, then took the spot. Emily, never shy, leaned in close. “Can you eat? Do you taste things?”

Katherine nodded, then pointed to her plate and started piling on fruit, cake, and a miniature sandwich with an almost greedy delight.

Erin called, “If you want, I’ll show you the greenhouses. There’s this aloe you can rub on your skin and it feels like heaven.”

Katherine flexed her arm and gave a double thumbs up.

The dinner itself was a mess of questions, laughter, and food. The first time Katherine bit into a piece of mango, she closed her eyes and moaned so theatrically that half the table burst into applause. Chloe clapped the loudest, and Marissa, shaking her head, muttered, “We’re raising the bar for mealtime reactions, I see.”

After the first round of eating, the conversation shifted to a more serious Q&A. Norah started, as promised: “Do you remember everything? Like, what happened to you, or is it a blank slate?”

Katherine nodded, then spread her hands to indicate: everything.

“Was it boring?” Sam asked. “Or was it more like… lonely?”

Katherine thought, then made a so-so gesture with her hand, then touched her heart, and then Andy’s arm.

Andy said, “She said it was both. But mostly, she watched, and hoped.”

Emily, voice soft, said, “Did you ever think you’d get out?”

Katherine shook her head, then looked around at all of them, her eyes shimmering with tears. She signed a heart, then wiped her eyes.

It was at that moment that Katherine seemed to realize, fully, that she was not a guest or an artifact, but part of the group. She looked around the table, at the faces arrayed in every imaginable state of joy or chaos, and something in her changed. She pressed a hand to her heart, then covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook, and the tears came silent and hard.

She tried to get up from her chair, but Erin and Emily were already at her side. Chloe, too, reached over, taking one of Katherine’s hands in both of hers.

For a moment, everyone stopped. Even Norah. Even Marissa. The only sound was the faint hum of the air system and, impossibly, the ocean outside.

Andy stood, feeling out of place, then crossed the distance and put a hand on Katherine’s back. She leaned into him, eyes streaming, and tried to sign something with her free hand.

“Is she okay?” Chloe asked, panicked.

Katherine nodded, laughed and cried at the same time, then made a grand gesture with both arms, as if to gather them all in.

“She’s happy,” Andy said. “She’s really happy.”

Sam, never missing a beat, said, “Somebody get a camera. This is history.”

Marissa, more quietly, put her hand on Katherine’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay to feel it all at once. We do.”

For a long time, the group just let her cry, every woman finding some way to touch her—a hand, a hug, a brush of hair from her eyes. Katherine sat in the center, overwhelmed, and for the first time since Andy had met her, she seemed completely unafraid.

Andy watched, a little apart, heart in his throat. It was a miracle, or something like it, to see a soul who’d been trapped in a painting for fourteen years get welcomed home with the messiest, wildest, warmest family anyone could dream up.

He didn’t know how long it lasted. Minutes, maybe. When the moment eased, Katherine wiped her face, then signed, awkwardly but with conviction, the little heart sign that Andy knew meant I love you.

Emily repeated it out loud, and the table broke into applause and laughter and, finally, the kind of noise that only a real, living family could make.

Dinner went on for hours. They ate until they couldn’t, talked until they lost track of time, and when the moon came up over the sea, they lingered still. Katherine stayed awake for every minute, unwilling to give up a second of the life she’d been given.

It wasn’t until the others started to drift away—Riley to walk the beach, Myra and Chloe arm-in-arm, Sam and Liesa plotting a night prank—that Andy found himself alone at the table with Katherine. She sat in the candlelight, hair a black sheet over her shoulders, and smiled at him, soft and radiant.

He tried to speak, but she touched his lips with her finger, then just leaned in and pressed her forehead to his.

They stayed that way for a while. The world outside was quiet, but here, in the Hall, the memory of the night pulsed in the air.

Andy realized that there was no way to ever make this make sense. But maybe that was the point.

Looking at her now, happy, Andy remembered the first time he had seen her, not as a painting, but as a person. He remembered the way she had struggled to make herself understood, the furious dignity with which she accepted her constraints. He recalled every coded conversation, every sly wink or sidelong glance, every moment when he’d caught her looking at the world as if she’d already accepted she would never again be part of it.

He remembered the way she’d helped him, time and again, despite the risk to herself. The way she’d revealed secrets to Claire and Emi, the way she’d conspired with him to prank Laura back when that had seemed possible. He remembered the private courage it must have taken to let herself hope again, after so many years of being told not to.

He took her hand in both of his, and she looked at him, her eyes still wet with tears.