The Loosening of the Tide

Andy and Laura walked the path from the Inner Gardens up toward the Main Lobby, their hands entwined like they'd never let go. The sky had barely shifted from blue to bruised dusk, and the air buzzed with something Andy had never felt so cleanly before: expectation, not dread. For the first time since the start of the game, the ground felt steady under his feet. No more eliminations, not until the end. Now, his goal was no longer just to save the girls: it was to make them succeed.

Or maybe, he thought, to stop letting silence do the damage for him.

The lights of the Main Lobby shimmered, a beacon against the early night, and the glass doors drew closer with every step. Andy caught Laura looking at them, her grip tightening and relaxing with a pulse that matched her stride. He wanted to ask if she was nervous, but the answer lived in the motion of her fingers and the careful set of her jaw.

If I do this wrong, he realized, they’ll hear what they’re already afraid of. And if I don’t do it at all, they’ll invent something worse.

Inside, the women had gathered as if they'd been waiting for a sign, and the sign was apparently him. The group was clustered near the center pillar, lit up in every shade of personality and transformation. Andy's heart kicked at the sight—he'd never seen so many strong, weird, brilliant women in one space, each staking out territory with micro-gestures: Claire perched on a settee, tail curled like a comma; Erin standing with her arms crossed, nipples somehow defiant; Riley pretending to ignore Chloe, who couldn't stop fussing with the hem of her cardigan as she argued with Emi about something on the screen of the Commissary. Liesa lounged against the wall, her dress slipping off one shoulder as she whispered something that made Sam laugh, the sound cutting through the room's tension. Emily hovered nearby, her hair strategically draped to maintain some semblance of modesty. Marissa and Myra stood a little off to one side, the older woman's posture impossible and controlled, the blind woman's tail swaying like a metronome as she drank in the noise and emotion of the room.

They all looked up, briefly, at the approach of Andy and Laura. Then, with a practiced, collective coolness, most of them looked away—except for Dawn, whose ears had swiveled and stayed locked, and Norah, who gave Andy a sharp little nod as if to say, This is your show now, don’t fuck it up.

Laura let go of his hand at the last possible moment, angling herself toward the group with the grace of someone trying to prove she could exist in a crowd without owning it. She moved to the edge of the circle, arms folded, chin high, the old stubbornness back but softened now with a visible effort. Erin watched her, eyes narrowed, then shifted over a few inches to make room on the settee. The invitation was silent but unmistakable.

Andy felt something in his chest unclench.

He moved to the center of the group, thinking he'd have to be the ringmaster, and for half a second he considered defaulting to humor, to deflection. But before he could say anything, Norah cut the air with, "If you're waiting for an engraved invitation, you're out of luck. We're all ready to go, Captain. Take the lead."

He should have felt put on the spot. Instead, Andy just smiled—bigger than he meant to. He looked around at the circle of thirteen women, each one transformed by their time here, each one carrying a piece of his heart.

If I don’t say this now, he realized, they’ll each hear something different. And Laura will think she’s the variable. I can’t let that happen. Sam had warned him about that. Laura, too, in her own way. He couldn’t stop every fear. But he could stop this one.

“I need to say something,” he began, and his voice wavered just enough to be human. “And I need to say it with Laura here.” Laura’s head snapped up—not startled, but alert. She didn’t interrupt. She just watched him more closely. “Because I don’t want any of you wondering what I told someone else when you weren’t in the room.”

The air shifted.

“Laura being here,” Andy went on, slower now, “doesn’t rewrite what the last weeks meant,” he went on. “It doesn’t erase anyone. And it doesn’t make any of you disposable, or smaller.”

A beat. Enough time for the words to land.

“What we have here—what you each bring into this place—doesn’t exist on a single scale.” His hands opened, palms up, an **** gesture. “Some of you challenge me. Some of you steady me. Some of you remind me how to laugh, or how to stop pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”

His gaze moved naturally through the room, never lingering too long on any one person, never skipping anyone either.

“I don’t feel the same thing for all of you,” he said plainly. “But I care about all of you. And I’m not confused about that. I don’t want anyone wondering if they’ve been quietly replaced, or if they only matter until someone else walks back into the room.”

His jaw tightened—not with doubt, but with conviction.

“No one here is a consolation prize. No one here is a placeholder. And no one is being measured against anyone else.”

A breath. Softer now.

“I’m still figuring out what some of this means. We all are. But I’d rather be honest about that than let silence do damage.”

His eyes found Erin—not pleading, not apologizing. Just honest. “You taught me how to stop lying to myself. So that’s what I’m doing now.” Erin blinked hard and looked away, jaw flexing—like someone accepting a truth she fully intended to test.

Laura felt it then, Andy protecting the room, Andy protecting all of them. Her shoulders eased, just a fraction. Not because she doubted her place—but because she understood, now, the cost of it. It still hurt, it still felt like a mountain she had to climb. But looking at Andy, knowing him better than anyone, she knew that to do otherwise would break him. If this was what Andy’s leadership looked like here, she could stand beside it without flinching.

The silence that followed felt sacred. Claire's tail curled tightly around her ankle. Erin's eyes glistened suspiciously before she blinked hard. Chloe pressed her fingers to her mouth. Riley looked away but nodded once, sharply. Liesa's smile bloomed slow and genuine, while Sam gave a small salute. Emily's hair shifted, revealing her face fully. Marissa's posture softened imperceptibly. Myra's hands trembled. Dawn's ears flattened in pleased embarrassment, and Norah—tough, unbreakable Norah—cleared her throat twice before managing, "Well. That's... that's enough of that. Let's go before we all start crying and ruin our makeup."

"Okay," Andy said, his voice steadier now. "Let's go."

The group fell in behind him, with a shuffling, chattering energy that was almost giddy. Emily took two quick steps to catch up to him, and when Andy glanced over he saw her hair was perfectly draped, every lock covering what it needed to, but she was so utterly, obviously naked underneath that it was hard not to grin. She noticed, blushed, and then—shocking both of them—tied her hair into a loose ponytail, exposing her breasts and the pale curve of her hip.

“I’m getting used to everyone,” Emily whispered, not quite to herself, and when Andy smiled at her, she flushed deeper but didn’t look away.

Behind them, Sam and Liesa walked arm in arm, Liesa’s hips moving with a sensuality that made even the artificial lighting seem softer. “You know what I enjoy the most here?” Sam said, voice pitched for Andy but loud enough for the whole crowd. “Beach parties. There’s no better way to fix a bad week than burning something and getting drunk with your friends.”

Liesa rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “Or we could just dance. I haven’t done that in years.”

“I thought Belgians were all about techno,” Riley said, coming up behind with a tray of drinks she’d snaked from the Banquet Hall. “Or is that just a stereotype?”

“Techno is for clubs,” Liesa said, “and for people with too much time. The beach is for… I don’t know, for being alive, I guess.” She shrugged, which in her case meant her dress slipped down a little further off her shoulder. “You don’t need a reason.”

Andy felt the rhythm of the group as they wound out onto the terrace, down the stone steps, and onto the darkening sand. The moon was just a fingernail tonight, but Mildred had outdone herself: the main beach was draped with glowing lanterns strung on nearly invisible lines, the light caught and refracted in the haze of ocean spray. Closer to the water, torches flanked a semicircle of low tables, each one loaded with trays of food, ice buckets, and bowls of punch that steamed or fizzed in the night air. Around the perimeter, pillows and woven mats made for an instant party, while music—a loping, dreamy version of something Andy almost recognized—spilled from hidden speakers, soft enough to allow conversation but insistent enough to set the tone.

The women broke like a school of fish, each drawn to whatever felt most like home: Chloe and Norah immediately made for the food, with Chloe “accidentally” losing her cardigan to a gust of wind as she reached for a muffin, revealing a thin white camisole stretched to its limit by her breasts. Norah, standing next to her, pretended not to notice but still offered her a napkin, which Chloe took with a grateful smile.

Emily sidled up to Andy, offering him a drink. “Try this,” she said, “it’s supposed to be a mojito, but I think Riley spiked it with something else.” She licked her lips as she sipped, then made a face—delighted and horrified. “Definitely not just rum. But… good?”

Andy took a sip. It tasted like mint, citrus, and the feeling of being exactly where he wanted to be.

Erin set herself up in a ring of pillows near the firepit. She lay back, hands behind her head, utterly unselfconscious. Claire perched next to her, silent but radiating a kind of analytical joy, her notebook in her lap and her pencil already sketching out a scene that probably had nothing to do with the actual event but everything to do with how it felt.

Andy drifted from group to group, refusing to anchor himself anywhere, just letting the mood carry him. Every so often, he looked for Laura, who kept to the edge, picking at a bowl of fruit or sipping at a glass of water, always watching but never intruding. When she caught him looking, she’d smile—small but real—then turn away, as if she didn’t want to draw a line of sight between them and make anyone else feel left out.

The music shifted, picking up tempo. Liesa and Sam were the first to break into dance, with Sam taking a big, showy step and nearly toppling Liesa, who caught herself with an expert swerve of hips and a delighted yelp.

“Is illegal,” Liesa said, wagging a finger. “If you want to lead, you have to ask first.”

Sam grinned. “It’s a democracy, babe. Nobody leads for long.”

They spun together, then broke apart, Sam dragging a **** Riley into the orbit. At first Riley scowled, but when Liesa whispered something in her ear, the protest faded and she let herself be swung around, her boots digging into the sand, hair whipping behind her like a pennant. Marissa, who had been content to hold the role of judge and jury at the edge of the party, let herself smile—just barely—at the display.

Andy found a spot near the firepit, sipping the mutant mojito, and let the heat sink into his bones. The beach was alive with voices. For once, he didn’t need to worry about the next challenge. He just watched.

At the far edge of the circle, Dawn had cornered Laura with a tray of desserts. “You have to try the tarts,” Dawn said, her voice gentle but insistent. “They’re the best thing here, I swear. Emi and I baked them ourselves.”

Laura hesitated, then took one, biting into it with the caution of a bomb defuser. Her eyes widened at the taste, and for a moment the old, impossible sadness dropped away. “That’s… actually amazing,” she said, sounding like she’d been surprised by delight.

Dawn blushed with pride, her own mouth full of pastry. “She’s kind of a genius. Sometimes I just stare at her hands and wonder how she doesn’t screw up everything, with all those arms.”

Emi, overhearing this from three meters away, yelled, “Rude! They’re perfectly coordinated, thank you.” She waggled her arms in a wave, forgot she was holding punch and dropped her glass, splashing her drink all over the sand.

Dawn dissolved into laughter, and even Laura let herself giggle, the sound brittle at first but growing more sure. Andy watched her, watched the women as they drew Laura among them, and felt a happiness so sharp it left him blinking into the dark.

He remembered, just then, how Arabella had described the point of all this—not survival, not even love, but building a world where no one was left behind. He thought of the weeks before this, of all the hours he’d spent pretending he didn’t want this, that he was just playing along for the game. And now, here it was. He could make it real.

The night gathered around the firepit, folding the world into pockets of light and shadow. The lanterns threw glowing circles across the sand, making every gesture brighter, every laugh more golden. The harem fractured into smaller, denser constellations, each one drawing its own gravity.

Emily and Riley had claimed the drinks table, a repurposed surfboard propped on cinder blocks and covered with what looked like half the resort’s bar stock. Riley lined up plastic cups with military precision while Emily, in nothing but her hair and an air of focus, uncorked bottles in a rapid, almost reckless succession. Norah, already a drink deep, hovered nearby, pointing out each disaster with the satisfaction of a critic who’d never actually stepped behind the bar.

“Pretty sure that’s not how you make a Sex on the Beach,” Norah said, watching as Emily poured a full inch of amaretto into a coconut shell, then filled it to the brim with Mountain Dew.

Emily stuck her tongue out, then offered the cup to Andy, who had drifted close enough to catch the exchange. “Taste test?”

He took a careful sip. “It’s—” He tried to find a word that wasn’t an insult. “Memorable.”

Riley grinned, her heterochromic eyes bright in the firelight. “Don’t let her trick you. I watched her chug a margarita yesterday.”

Norah shrugged, unashamed. “That was Dawn’s. You can’t say no to the bunny ears.”

As if on cue, Dawn appeared with a tray of actual, well-mixed drinks. She set them down, then leaned against the table, ears perked. “What’s the verdict?”

“Unanimous: never let Emily open a tiki bar,” Riley said, but there was only fondness in her tone.

Emily bowed, her hair nearly sweeping the table. “I accept my fate.” Andy could barely contain his laughter, considering he knew Emily had been a bartender before being dragged onto the show. She looked at him, evidently realized what he was thinking, and winked.

Behind them, Chloe stood with her hands clasped behind her back, watching the whole exchange like she was at the world’s best aquarium exhibit.

On the far side of the fire, Marissa and Claire sat together, not quite apart from the others but clearly staking out their own territory. Marissa wore a black dress cut to showcase her cleavage, her posture ramrod straight even as she relaxed into the low beach chair. Claire sat cross-legged at her feet, notebook in hand, scribbling quick lines and occasionally glancing up at Marissa with a look of open, almost predatory curiosity.

“So, how do you feel?” Marissa asked, her voice pitched low but carrying, as always. She drew the words out, letting them ride the air. Andy felt the prickle of arousal from across the firepit—the transformation doing its work not just on him, but on anyone within earshot.

Claire considered, then wrote: Better than expected. The group held up. You seemed pleased with the outcome.

Marissa smiled. “I’m pleased no one lost. But I’m more interested in how you’re handling all this.” She gestured, subtly, to the entire beach.

Claire wrote: It’s not as loud in my head as I thought it would be.

Marissa cocked an eyebrow. “You were expecting more drama?”

Claire hesitated, then wrote: I was expecting to feel left out. I don’t.

Marissa read the note, then met Claire’s eyes. “That’s because you’re not,” she said, and the words fell over them both like a blanket. Claire’s tail twitched, the tip curling in a spiral of pleasure. If she’d been able to speak, Andy was certain she would have said thank you. Instead, she just leaned back, notebook in her lap, and let the firelight paint her face with warmth.

Andy made a circuit of the beach, stopping to trade jokes with Sam and Liesa, who were taking turns trying to teach Emi a slow waltz on the uneven sand. Emi, with her six arms and zero coordination, kept tripping over herself, but Sam refused to give up, anchoring her with firm, steady hands. Liesa watched, laughing so hard she had to lean against the torch post to keep from falling over.

“Your center of gravity is all wrong,” Liesa said, and Andy realized she was right—Emi’s arms seemed to move independently of her legs, creating a kind of beautiful chaos.

Sam, ever the fixer, guided Emi with exaggerated patience. “One-two-three, one-two-three. You’re fighting the music, Emi.”

Emi giggled, then pulled Sam into a clumsy spin, nearly knocking them both into the fire. Sam caught herself, then, without warning, dipped Emi low, holding her there with a showy flourish.

“See? We could be on Dancing with the Stars,” Sam announced, straightening with Emi in tow.

Liesa clapped, then rewarded Sam with a quick, bright kiss that sent Emi into another fit of giggles. The sight warmed Andy from the inside out.

Across the way, Chloe had drifted toward Riley, who was sitting cross-legged in the sand, fiddling with a bottle opener and watching the flames. Chloe lowered herself to sit next to Riley, tucking her skirt under her legs with deliberate care. For a moment, neither said anything—just watched the fire, listened to the low pulse of music, the hush of the tide.

After a minute, Riley said, “You ever think about just running away from all of this?”

Chloe blinked. “From the hotel?”

“From everything,” Riley clarified. “Sometimes I just want to get in a car and drive until the map runs out.”

Chloe considered. “I used to. Now… I think I’d miss it too much.” She looked down at her own lap, then, impulsively, reached over and took Riley’s hand. “Is that weird?”

Riley shook her head. “No. I think it’s brave, actually.”

Chloe smiled, her body visibly relaxing. “I always thought I was the opposite of brave.”

“Then maybe you’re becoming something new,” Riley said, squeezing Chloe’s hand.

Andy watched them, the two women illuminated in flicker and shadow, and felt an ache of gratitude so fierce it almost made him dizzy.

The rest of the night was snapshots: Norah tripping over a pillow and faceplanting into the sand, only to laugh louder than anyone as she dusted herself off; Marissa, challenged by Emi to an arm-wrestling match, letting herself be beat with only the faintest show of resistance; Claire catching Andy’s eye from across the fire, then giving a small, sly salute with her pencil before scribbling something secret in her notebook.

The exhaustion of the day gave way to a kind of weightless energy. Every so often, someone would start a new round of drinks, or suggest a group game, or simply lie back on the sand and watch the sky. At one point, Dawn and Liesa started singing, their voices joining in a sweet, strange harmony that carried over the beach and into the night.

Andy sat back, watching the women—his women—and felt the old wounds, the doubts and the losses, fade to the barest ache.

There was something perfect here, even if it would only last the night.

At the edge of the party, Laura caught Andy’s gaze, and for a moment, he saw in her face all the years they’d missed, all the life that could still be built from the wreckage. She smiled, then turned back to the group, letting herself be pulled into the orbit of the others. She was trying, for his sake. And it made him love her all the more, for the difficulties she would encounter.

Andy leaned into the warmth, let the music and laughter and firelight fill him.

Claire waited until the party reached its lazy, contented plateau before making her move. Andy was sprawled on a pillow, half-listening to Liesa argue with Emi about Belgian mussels, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned, and Claire was there, notebook already open, pen poised.

She wrote, quick and sharp: Can I borrow you for a minute?

He nodded, rising. She led him away from the noise, through the scatter of lantern-lit pillows, and toward the edge of the firepit, where the flames flickered over a windbreak of driftwood and sand. It was quiet here, except for the distant crash of the tide and the soft hum of party sound behind them.

She sat cross-legged and motioned for him to join her, then set her notebook between them. Claire's eyes were alive, tail swishing in a lazy, contented arc. Her ears, flattened by the wind, gave her a conspiratorial look.

She didn’t write right away. Instead, she watched the fire, as if rehearsing what she wanted to say. Finally, she scribbled: I know everyone is happy, but I have questions. And I want to be honest with you.

Andy laughed. “Shoot. That’s what I want, too.”

She wrote: First—was this the plan? The mass draw? Or was it just a good accident?

Andy considered. “The exploit? It was the only thing I could think of that would actually work. I had a feeling Arabella would try to trap me, but… I also kind of thought she wanted it to happen.”

Claire’s enormous blue eyes studied him for a moment. She wrote: She definitely did. It’s too perfect. She wants you to win, or at least to redefine the game. But that’s not what the Hosts do.

Andy nodded, surprised at how much he agreed. “She said she’ll be **** by the game’s rules to respond, tomorrow. But I think we can handle whatever she throws at us. What do you think happens now?”

Claire chewed her pen, then wrote: That depends. Are we just trying to survive the show, or do you want something else?

He took a beat, watching her face in the lantern light. “What do you mean?”

She flipped a few pages ahead, revealing a neatly drawn chart: three columns, each labeled in a different colored pen—WIVES, GIRLFRIENDS, and FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS. Under each were lists of names, some circled, a few crossed out and replaced. At the bottom was a fourth column: FRIENDS/EMOTIONAL SUPPORT, with three names and a question mark.

Claire tapped the chart, then wrote: This is what I’ve been thinking about. When it’s over, what do you want to be? What do you want us to be?

He stared at the chart, then at her. “Did you really make a spreadsheet for my love life?”

She shrugged, and wrote: You were taking too long to do it yourself.

Andy read the names, noticing immediately that Claire had put herself in the WIVES column, along with Erin and Laura. Under GIRLFRIENDS were Dawn, Emi, Emily, and Marissa. FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS included Riley, Chloe, and Liesa. The emotional support list featured Sam, Norah, and Myra, but with arrows from Myra and Norah towards the GIRLFRIENDS and FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS groups, pointing as if to suggest flexibility.

He raised an eyebrow. “This is kind of… cold?”

Claire’s reply was instant: I can make it color-coded if it helps. Then, softer: I want you to know I don’t mind if you love more than one of us. I’d rather know where I stand than be in the dark.

Andy watched her, the way her hands trembled just a little on the notebook. “You’re not in the dark, Claire. I am sure of you.”

She met his gaze, and for a second he felt the full **** of her wanting, her certainty. She closed her eyes, then scribbled: I think it’s possible to be happy, here or anywhere, as long as you’re honest. You just need to tell people what you actually want.

He considered this, then nodded. “That’s true. But I don’t always know what I want, until it’s already happening.”

Claire scribbled, almost feverishly: That’s why you need a librarian. She knows how to keep track of all the stories.

He laughed, unable to help himself. “You’re a little terrifying, you know that?”

She looked at him, then showed him a page with the word YES in huge, block letters.

Andy noticed, then, that several pages in the back of her notebook were covered in numbers—dates, maybe, or scores, or just strings of digits separated by dashes and slashes. It looked almost like a code.

He pointed to the page. “What’s that?”

Claire snatched the notebook away, blushing furiously. She wrote: Just… tracking time. I don’t want to forget when things happened. It helps me feel like I’m not missing anything.

He nodded, letting her have the secret. “You never have to explain yourself to me,” he said, “but if you ever want to, I’ll listen.”

She bit her lip, then nodded, sliding the notebook back so their hands touched over the paper.

They sat together for a few minutes, the fire popping and the sound of music drifting over. Andy found he didn’t need to say anything more—he was content to be in her presence, to let her intelligence and weirdness fill the space between them.

Claire scribbled one more line: I want to marry you. If that’s still okay. But I need to know if that’s something you actually want—or just something you think makes sense.

Andy took her hand. “I don’t know exactly how all of this ends,” Andy said. “But I do know I want you there when it does. As my wife.”

She nodded, but he could feel the joy in her, saw her bright eyes, and for a moment, Andy felt that no matter what Arabella threw at them, or what new hell the next challenge might bring, he’d be okay.

They watched the party together, side by side.

As the night bled into its final hours, the beach mellowed. The last of the wild energy faded, leaving only a warm, stubborn glow: women stretched out on pillows, toes buried in cooling sand, drinks abandoned in half-empty arcs around the fire. The speakers played something slow and wordless, letting the hiss and pop of the firepit fill the spaces in between.

One by one, the clusters dissolved, and the women drifted closer, drawn by the dying heat and the hush that had settled on the world. Chloe curled against Riley, her head resting on Riley’s shoulder as they watched the flames. Emi perched on a pillow next to Sam, six arms folded as if daring the night to find her unprepared. Liesa lay flat on her back, hair spread like a halo, humming along to the music under her breath. Dawn sat near the edge, knees tucked up, the movement of her ears the only sign she was still awake.

Marissa, as always, was at the perimeter—sitting in one of the oversized beach chairs, feet bare, a shawl thrown around her shoulders, but her eyes were on the group, tracking every word, every movement. Myra, at her side, seemed more comfortable here than anywhere else, her tail wrapped around her knees, the mask of reserve dropped for a rare, genuine calm.

Claire and Andy stayed where they were, firelit and silent, the notebook between them now forgotten.

The only one standing was Laura, who paced a slow, nervous line at the edge of the circle. She stopped occasionally to stare at the ocean, arms wrapped tight around her ribs, her face alive with something new and unnameable.

When Andy watched her, she seemed more real than ever—not a ghost, not a memory, but a person caught in the act of becoming.

The firepit was an ember-lit shrine by midnight, ringed with women and pillows and half-emptied glasses. The lanterns overhead had dimmed, most drifting into golden shadows on the sand, their jobs done for the night. The music was now an afterthought: a string of languid, wordless songs that seemed to ripple with the breeze more than the speaker. No one danced, not anymore. Instead, the harem had condensed into a single, loose knot around the fire, every body angled toward the warmth and toward each other.

Andy found himself at the center, but not as a Master—just as the guy with enough body heat to share, should anyone want it. Claire curled up on one side, head pillowed on his shoulder, notebook open in her lap but now forgotten; her tail flicked lazily at the hem of his jeans. Erin had draped herself along the pillows at his feet, legs crossed, arms folded under her green chest, chin propped to watch the flicker of flame. Emily was there, too, hair a gold-pink waterfall that caught every glimmer, her bare thigh pressed to his. It was the sort of comfort he’d never learned to ask for, and now that he had it, he wasn’t sure how he’d lived without.

On the far side, Liesa and Sam were making a careful sport of arranging the remaining snacks into smiley faces, trading commentary in a slurry of Flemish and blue-collar Chicago slang. Riley sat cross-legged beside Chloe, who was wrapped in a hotel blanket, breasts barely contained as always, cardigan long since given up to the night air. Norah, three drinks in, was trying to teach Emi how to whistle with fingers in her mouth. Emi failed every time, and each attempt ended with her arms thrown up in mock despair and a helpless, six-armed shrug.

Marissa and Myra stayed a little back, perched on low chairs, both with a view of the group. Myra’s tail curled around her legs, its movement slow and almost hypnotic in the firelight. Marissa had swapped her dramatic dress for a black t-shirt, but even so, her presence was as formal and compelling as ever, posture perfectly upright, arms folded with intent. She said little, but when she did, her voice cut the air like velvet and left everyone’s nerves a little more alive.

Laura was at the edge, just outside the primary glow. She’d stood most of the night, circling, not quite committing to the crush but never straying far. She moved with her arms folded, as if guarding her new-grown ribs, or the ache that lived inside them. When she thought no one was looking, she watched Andy, sometimes with a small, proud smile, sometimes with nothing at all.

It was Riley who broke the lull. She was the kind to speak only when the silence was thick enough to warrant it. “Okay,” she said, looking dead ahead, “we’re officially out of tequila, and someone needs to tell a story before I start crying over the sappy music.”

Andy snorted. “You have a story about crying over sappy music?”

Riley rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to it. “I’ll start. Since you’re all too chicken.” She looked at the group, then locked eyes with Chloe. “First year teaching. Some jerk in the back row keeps making fart noises during morning circle. Kids are howling. I’m trying to keep order, but the principal walks in right as I lose it and start laughing. He writes me up for unprofessional conduct.” She grinned, teeth white and sharp. “Joke’s on him: the fart kid is now my star lit student.”

Chloe giggled, and even Marissa, who usually abhorred body humor, let herself exhale in what might have been a laugh.

Andy turned to Chloe. “Your turn. Embarrassing story?”

Chloe’s blush was immediate. “I, um. I used to have a pet hamster. In sixth grade.” She paused, mortified already. “I brought him in for show and tell, but he got out of the cage, ran down my sleeve, and crawled into my shirt. I screamed and did this, like, weird dance, trying to get him out, but the hamster bit me and I ended up… peeing my pants in front of the whole class.” She covered her face. “I changed schools a month later.”

There was a beat, and then every woman within earshot burst out laughing. Even Liesa, whose sense of dignity usually survived anything, spat her drink back into her cup. “That is the most Chloe story I have ever heard,” Liesa said, not bothering to hide her affection.

Chloe, face hidden, peeked through her fingers. “Please don’t tell the kids I teach. They think I’m a super-adult.”

“I think you’re a super-adult,” said Emily, squeezing Chloe’s hand. “Just one with really funny pee stories.”

Now it was Emi’s turn. “Okay, um. First grade. There was this boy I liked, and we used to draw together at recess. One day I tried to show off and said I could eat a whole crayon without stopping. I picked purple, because it was his favorite. I ate the crayon, but then I threw up purple all over his new light-up sneakers.” She looked at Andy, six arms raised in abject surrender. “We never talked again.”

“Those are pretty high-stakes moves for a first grader,” Andy said. He was still laughing, and the warmth of it filled his chest in a way that made him want to bottle the feeling.

Erin, who’d been quiet, deadpanned: “Sophomore year, I ate three Pop-Tarts in a row to impress a guy. It backfired, too.” She glanced at Andy, then, with a perfectly straight face: “He married the girl who could eat four.”

Even Claire joined in, writing a single word in block capitals on her notebook: FARTED.

She turned the pad for all to see, and the laughter doubled. Erin choked on her drink, and even Sam, tough as she was, nearly dropped her glass. “No context?” Sam demanded. “You gotta give us the story.”

Claire blinked, then wrote: ANDY WAS THERE.

“Liar!” Andy protested, but the group was already in stitches, and he knew better than to fight it.

As the laughter faded, Myra lifted her head, her blind eyes seeming to seek out the flame. Her tail flicked, a nervous tic. She cleared her throat. "My first week of med school," she said, voice low but audible, "I mixed up the rooms and walked into what I thought was my biochemistry lecture. But it was weird, because I was by far the youngest there." She paused, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "It was actually a senior faculty meeting. I sat down right next to the dean, introduced myself, and asked if he was also struggling with the reading assignment."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then chaos. Liesa collapsed backward on her pillow, Riley howled, and even Marissa broke, her hand pressed to her mouth to stifle the laughter. Myra smiled, the quiet pride of someone who'd finally landed a punchline after years of waiting.

Laura, who had never laughed all night, let out a short, explosive bark. She instantly froze, one hand flying to her lips, as if she could cram the sound back into her body. But the laughter caught anyway, and she doubled over, tears springing to her eyes. It was raw and uncontrollable and so perfect that for a second, every other woman at the fire watched her, just to see if she’d do it again.

She did. A high, hiccuping giggle, so bright it cut through all the rest.

Andy looked at her, stunned by how alive she seemed in that moment. “I haven’t heard that laugh in sixteen years,” he said gently, eyes wet. “Don’t stop.”

Laura wiped her eyes, then straightened, defiant. “Okay,” she said, breathless, half-laughing. “That one got me.” She glanced, almost reflexively, toward Myra—then looked away again, like she’d revealed more than she meant to. “I wasn’t ready.”

Marissa, at the edge, smiled—a real, unguarded thing, as if she'd let the whole world see her for a second. Myra, basking in her victory, relaxed into her chair, her tail sweeping the sand with a slow, contented rhythm.

"Laura's turn!" Chloe called out, her voice carrying over the crackling fire. "You can't just laugh like that and not contribute."

Laura's eyes widened. "I don't have—"

"Yes, you do," Riley insisted. "Everyone does."

Laura tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hesitating. “If this turns into a competition, I’m blaming all of you,” she said, then sighed. “Fine. When I was eleven, I tried to impress Andy by climbing the tallest tree in the park." Her voice grew stronger with each word. "I got stuck, refused to admit it, and stayed up there for three hours until Andy’s dad called the fire department." She looked directly at Andy. "You brought me a sandwich while I waited."

The circle erupted in cheers and laughter. Emi raised her glass. "That beats Myra's story!"

Laura winced, then shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Nope,” she said quickly. “Different category.”

Andy, smiling at the memory, raised his own glass—the one Emily had handed him earlier, now half-full of a neon green concoction with way too much mint. "My turn. When we were nine, Laura and I decided to put on a talent show for our parents. Laura was going to sing, and I'd be her backup dancer."

He glanced at Laura, whose eyes widened in horror. "We practiced for weeks, but when the big moment came, I tripped over the rug and knocked us both into the punch bowl. My mom had to fish us out while we were both crying and covered in red Kool-Aid." Laura's face flushed crimson. "Andy!" she protested, but then caught his mischievous grin and realized he'd chosen this story deliberately. Her mortification dissolved into laughter as Riley and Emi pulled her closer, their arms around her shoulders.

One by one, the women raised their drinks. Some—like Chloe—lifted only water, but the gesture was unanimous. Claire bumped her glass against Andy’s, then, with a private smile, scrawled a new word in her notebook: FAMILY.

Erin lifted hers, nodding. “To found families, and to never having to eat three Pop-Tarts again.”

“To never running away again,” said Riley, locking eyes with Laura. Laura’s smile faltered for half a second at that, something tight passing through her—but she lifted her glass anyway, meeting Riley’s gaze without looking away.

Sam clinked her glass with Liesa’s, and for once, neither tried to outdo the other. Even Norah joined in, holding her drink high, a crooked smile on her lips.

“May we never run out of tequila, or stories,” Liesa said, voice soft and clear.

As the glasses clinked and laughter echoed across the sand, Andy felt it: the fragile, improbable outline of a home. Not the one he’d lost, or the one he’d chased for sixteen years, but something brand new, built of all the jagged edges and strange angles of the people around him. The world had changed. He had changed. And for tonight, that was enough.

They drank, and the fire burned on, and the circle held. No one left the party early—not even the ghosts.

Author's Note: If you would like to suggest TFs for the Contestants, please feel free to do so in the anonymous form here: https://forms.gle/YiAUw4tnM8Frnxi56

Your contact information will not be saved. Ideas submitted here should try to stick to the Paths assigned to the various characters (which are listed next to each character's name for ease of reference), but can otherwise be whatever you wish. There is no guarantee that all ideas will be used, and some may be used with tweaks. Ideas submitted here may apply to the next TF round, or any TF round going forward.

Feel free to give ideas as detailed or as simple as you want, but please do not go for single-word ideas. From simply asking for a character to change their hair color to providing an in-depth, multi-angle transformation, please drop it in!