Day 6 - Morning

Van woke with his face against gray cotton and one arm trapped under a blanket.

For several seconds, he did not remember enough to panic.

There was warmth at his side. A steady breath against his hair. An arm over his shoulders, heavier than the blanket and more deliberate. The bed beneath him had shifted during the night from negotiated territory into something lived-in. Pillows had migrated. The top blanket had twisted around his knees. The barrier he had built with such anxious care lay collapsed near the foot of the mattress, defeated by sleep and Mara Ellison's refusal to let furniture make moral arguments for either of them.

Mara was still holding him.

Not tightly. Not in the same firm, practical hug she had used the night before when he had finally run out of ways to pretend he was fine. Sleep had taken the intention out of it and left the result. One of her arms rested across his back. Her other hand lay open near his shoulder, fingers curled against the sheet. Her borrowed shirt had wrinkled under his cheek. Her hair, dry now but still slightly uneven from going to bed damp, had fallen across the pillow in loose waves.

Van had never woken up like this.

He had never woken up holding a beautiful woman. He had never woken up being held by one either. There had been no half-remembered girlfriend in college, no awkward morning after, no sleepy weight at his side that meant somebody had chosen to stay close after the lights went out. For a moment, before the rest of him assembled itself, he let the simple fact exist.

Mara was warm. She smelled faintly of soap and the tea he had ruined. Her breathing was calm. The room was quiet.

He liked it.

Guilt arrived so fast it almost felt rehearsed.

She had not chosen the Hotel. She had not chosen the bond assignment. She had not chosen a bed that turned sleep into a public policy issue. The fact that she had chosen the hug did not give him permission to enjoy waking beside her like a man granted a normal life.

Van eased his hand away from her side, trying not to wake her. The movement was small, but the guilt had already done its work. His body had become careful again.

Then a pale pulse of light moved across the ceiling.

He stopped.

It came again, softer than the notification screens. Not blue. Not gold. A warm, pearly shimmer that moved and faded, moved and faded, like candlelight through water. Mara slept through it. Her breath did not change. The light touched the curve of her cheek, dissolved, then returned.

Van turned his head a few inches.

Near the window, where the suite had placed a reading chair the night before, an illusion sat in the morning dimness.

It was him.

Not exactly. Dream‑logic had improved him, or simplified him. The illusion of Van sat shirtless in the chair with his head tipped back and one arm loose on the armrest. He looked older in exhaustion rather than years. His eyes were closed. His shoulders carried the kind of heaviness that came after labor instead of failure.

Mara knelt between his legs.

The illusion of her had her lips wrapped around the thick shaft of his cock, her tongue swirling slowly around the crown as she drew him in, inch by inch. Her head moved with a steady, unhurried rhythm, each descent taking her deeper until the tip brushed the back of her throat, then a gentle retreat that left a glistening trail of saliva along his length. Her hands rested lightly on his thighs, fingers tracing lazy circles that teased the skin without rushing the pace.

Her hair fell forward over one shoulder, strands catching the soft lamplight and casting faint shadows across her cheeks. She was not dressed for company, but the image did not present her like a performance. It had the private comfort of people who had stopped putting up false walls between themselves.

The illusion‑Van's hand lowered, slow and blind, until his fingers brushed through her hair, tangling gently in the strands as he felt the rise and fall of her head. A low, satisfied sigh escaped his lips, his chest rising with each breath as the sensation built.

Mara's dream‑self smiled without looking up, her eyes half‑closed in concentration. The act felt less like a service and more like a shared quietude—a slow, deliberate giving that focused on the pleasure she could draw from his body. She lingered, savoring the weight of him in her mouth, the way his hips twitched ever so slightly with each suck.

She varied the pressure, sometimes tightening her lips around the base, sometimes letting her tongue flick along the underside, teasing the sensitive ridge before drawing him back in. Each motion was unhurried, each breath she took through her nose a quiet affirmation that she was exactly where she wanted to be—giving him this intimate, unhurried moment because she loved the feeling of his cock filling her mouth, loved the way his body responded to her slow, attentive touch.

Van watched long enough to realize the man in the chair wasn’t him. Not really, the face and details shifted from moment to moment. The illusion was not a spectacle or a confession. He had been too distracted by seeing Mara in that moment to realize it. It was a private thought that crept into Mara’s dream just like anyone else’s intrusive thought.

Then shame closed around his ribs.

"Mara," he whispered.

She didn’t stir.

He swallowed and tried again, louder but still gentle. "Mara."

Her hand tightened briefly on his shoulder. Her eyes opened, unfocused at first, then sharpened on his face. She was close enough that he felt the small shift of her waking before she spoke.

"Van?"

"Sorry." He kept his voice low. "I didn't mean to wake you, but I had to."

Her gaze moved over his face, then toward the light pulsing at the edge of the room. She closed her eyes for a second.

"There was a dream, I can barely remember it."

"Yeah,” he said but couldn’t meet her eyes.

Mara released him carefully and sat up. The loss of her arm across his back felt more noticeable than he wanted it to. She pushed her hair behind one ear and turned toward the chair.

The illusion was already gone by the time Mara focused on it, only a few threads of warm light remained near the floor.

"What was I doing?" she asked.

Van sat up as well, keeping the blanket between them because it gave his hands something to manage. "You were…taking care of someone."

"God, Van.” Her eyes widened. “Was it embarrassing?"

"It was pretty private, so yeah."

That made her look at him. It was only a glance, something instinctive and fast. The blankets and flannel could only do so much to hide his erection from her.

He forced himself not to dress the answer in comedy. "It was you and a man. Or versions of it, the man seemed to change. You were kneeling. You looked..." He stopped before the word eager could get out. "You looked like it…"

Mara tore her eyes away from his crotch. Her face warmed, and she tried meeting his gaze. There was nowhere safe to look. "Just stop, Van. You don’t have to describe it. How long did you watch?"

"Too long," he admitted when he realized what she had been looking at.

"Van." Her tone was exasperated but understanding.

"I woke up because of the light. I looked. I needed a few seconds to understand what I was seeing, and then I woke you. I am sorry."

Mara drew her knees closer under the shirt and turned her back on him to give him the illusion of privacy while he attempted to tuck himself away. "Thank you for waking me."

She rubbed one hand over her face. "I’m not angry, really. I warned you this could happen. You said you didn’t... linger. I mean, you didn’t have to wake me."

"No, Mara," he sputtered. “ I mean, I was shocked. But I wouldn’t just watch it like that.”

"Then I forgive you."

The words settled into the sheets between them. Simple and unadorned, they were the result of two people trying to walk around the fact that their bodies were making demands of them they weren’t ready to process just yet.

Van nodded once. "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a few breaths, seated in the middle of the ruined pillow barrier. The domestic bedroom around them had survived the night. The mismatched nightstands remained. The picture on the dresser still showed a kitchen doorway and a life the Hotel had no right to sketch. Morning light had begun to gray the windows, softening the room's stolen argument until it looked almost ordinary.

Mara touched the sleeve of his shirt, not quite holding it. "I feel better. I’m deeply embarrassed, but I slept well. You?"

He looked at her questioningly.

"I do," she said. "It’s not like I’m now a devotee of the system after one good night’s sleep. But, I do feel better."

Van let himself answer honestly. "Me too."

She smiled, small and tired. "Good. Then we should get dressed before we embarrass ourselves further." She sighed, “She might make this into a power point presentation anyway.”

"That sounds like something she would consider ‘an efficient use of resources’." He did his best to imitate her officiousness.

They rose with a new awkwardness that was lighter than the old one, even if it wasn’t easier. They took turns in the bathroom without apologies. Mara changed into clothes apparently delivered from her unlocked wardrobe, choosing a cream sweater and a skirt in a deep green. Van dressed in the plain clothes he always favored and tried not to glance at the chair by the window.

Neither of them mentioned the dream again.

Both of them knew they would remember it.

—---------------------------

Naomi woke with her cheek tucked against black cotton. Her first thought was that the pillow was far warmer than usual. Her second thought was that pillows didn’t breathe.

Naomi opened her eyes to find Katherine laying on her side facing away from her. She had slipped into bed sometime last night without waking her bedmate.

Naomi was curled against her back, one arm over Katherine's waist. She had tucked her forehead close to Katherine's shoulder blade, her knees drawn in behind Katherine's legs beneath the sheet. At some point in the night, her body had instinctively sought comfort in her new freedom of touch.

Naomi's whole body went rigid. She knew she should move, but in that moment she simply couldn’t abandon the warmth of human contact.

Then a chime sounded above the bed and Naomi made a small, strangled noise. A pale blue system window unfolded in the air over the nightstand.

NAOMI HALE GAINED 2 VP

Hugging Another Contestant +2 VP

Katherine's eyes opened without jerking awake. One moment she was asleep; the next she was awake and reading the screen with flat displeasure.

Naomi jerked back as if the screen was a fire. "I am so sorry."

Katherine rolled onto her back and looked from Naomi to the notification. "For hugging me? Don’t be absurd." Her tone was level and even, “We’re sharing a bed, contact was inevitable. At least this time, I don’t need an I.V.”

Naomi clutched the sheet to her chest and sat up, trying to gather enough fabric to cover all of herself at once. "I didn’t know we could get points with each other?"

"Apparently." Katherine sat up. She avoided looking at Naomi's body, giving her time to arrange the covers. "This points thing will require some discussion."

Naomi glared at her over the sheet.

Katherine swung her feet to the floor and stood. "The system rewarded you, not me. That implies instigation matters. Or vulnerability. Or need. Possibly all three. The distinction is important."

"I was asleep at first and there was no notification." She focused on the memory. “After I woke up and realized what was happening, I should have let go and didn’t. That’s when the notification appeared.”

"Then perhaps it rewarded your decision to stay rather than your movements while asleep."

“Maybe,” Naomi looked distracted. “I don’t know. I hate to say we should experiment, but we need more information eventually.”

The notification faded, leaving Naomi with the knowledge that somewhere in the Hotel, everyone else had probably received the same announcement. She pulled the sheet higher until only her shoulders and head remained visible.

Katherine crossed to the wardrobe with no visible concern for her own state of dress. She stripped off the tank top while talking, her back to Naomi but not in the hurried, embarrassed way Naomi would have used. The motion was practical. A change of clothing. Nothing more. Katherine had the indifference of a woman who had spent too long treating her body as equipment to be embarrassed by exposure.

Naomi, who was still gathering the courage to put one foot on the floor, felt a strange and heavy envy.

"You should dress," Katherine said. "We need to get to breakfast on time, and then we need to make sure Verena defines this rule publicly before someone stumbles into a harsh lesson."

Naomi reached for her robe with one hand while keeping the sheet pinned with the other. "Could you perhaps not make my sleep-cuddling sound like a strategic incident?"

Naomi managed to get the robe around herself without dragging the covers off of the bed in the process. Once somewhat dressed, she breathed more easily. Katherine finished dressing in clean base clothes, then paused with one hand on the wardrobe door.

"For what it is worth," Katherine said, "I don’t mind."

Naomi looked up.

Katherine didn’t turn around immediately. "You slept soundly, so did I. That is more than either of us had reason to expect from this place. If you need comfort, don’t be ashamed of it."

The words burrowed into Naomi and echoed in something hollow behind her heart.

Naomi tied the robe closed. "Thank you."

Katherine nodded once and turned back. "Now dress. Preferably before the system finds a way to dock points for tardiness."

"Don’t even joke about that."

—--------------------

Fiona was brushing her teeth when the notification appeared.

She had toothpaste in her mouth, one hand on the sink, and bags under her eyes from a fitful night’s sleep. The issued tank and cotton pants from the night before had been exchanged for another set of the same insulting neutrality. The Hotel’s ridiculous rules surrounding wardrobe felt like being reminded of her score every time she saw a mirror.

The chime sounded and Fiona looked up.

NAOMI HALE GAINED 2 VP

Hugging Another Contestant +2 VP

She stared at the window, toothpaste foam sliding toward the corner of her mouth.

Cassie was in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to pull her own shirt into submission. The fabric had done what Cassie's clothes now did when the system got involved: tightened where it had no business tightening, riding into a version of fit that technically covered her. Her otherwise modest tank riding up to the middle of her ribs and the cut deepening the cleavage shown. Her loose cotton pants likewise tightened and shortened, more resembling stretch capri pants two sizes two small.

Her dark muttering about being the “Mayor of Camel-toe village” was interrupted by the screen.

"Are you seeing this?" Cassie called.

Fiona stepped out of the bathroom with the toothbrush in one hand. She pointed the toothbrush at the floating screen as if wielding a sword. "Thith plathe," she said, then stopped because trying to talk around the toothpaste gave her a lisp.

Cassie's eyebrows shot up and she fought against a cruel smile.

Fiona swallowed hard, because dignity had not abandoned her completely, and tried again around the foam. "Thith ith a new level of—"

A trail of white bubbles slipped from the corner of her mouth, dripping onto the top of her breasts, darkening the cotton of her shirt.

Cassie stared at the spreading stain, pressing her lips together.

"Do not," Fiona warned. It came out as, "Do noff."

Cassie broke. The laughter burst out of her before she could guard herself from it. It was bright and helpless and immediately made worse by the way Fiona stood there with a toothbrush raised like a weapon and toothpaste dripping down her chin.

Fiona's fury lasted two more seconds on discipline alone, then she saw herself in the mirror across the room.

The sound that came out of her was half growl, half laugh, and wholly unwilling. She clapped a hand over her mouth, which only smeared foam across her face and squeezed it out from between her knuckles. Cassie bent forward with both arms around her stomach.

"You look," Cassie wheezed, "so stupid right now."

Fiona retreated into the bathroom with what remained of her pride. Water ran. Spitting followed. More water. When she came back, her mouth was clean and her expression had recovered most of its usual threat.

Cassie was still smiling.

Fiona pointed the toothbrush at her again, clean this time. "You aren’t telling anyone about this."

"I’m telling absolutely everyone about this."

Fiona looked at the fading notification, and the annoyance that should have returned full force found less room than expected.

"Finish getting dressed," Fiona said. “You look like a tramp.”

Cassie threw a pillow at her then tugged at the hem of her shirt. "I’m trying. My clothes have a vendetta."

Fiona caught the pillow one-handed, then tossed it back without heat.

‐------------

Lizzy hid under a pillow and considered remaining there until the Hotel dragged her out by the ankles.

Naomi had tried to miss a meal and the Hotel had answered with Short Leash, private terror made visible because the system did not like being ignored. Missing breakfast was not a plan. It was an invitation for disaster.

Lizzy kept the pillow over her face anyway.

Her sheets were tangled around her legs. Her clothes lay somewhere beneath the blanket because her phasing had obeyed panic and desire and shame with its usual terrible generosity. She had woken sweaty, exhausted, and arranged on top of the bed as if fabric had given up trying to negotiate with her.

She didn’t want to think about last night. Thinking about not thinking about it was already too close.

The notification from Mara's room had cut into that moment like a blade. Hugging. The word had been so harmless that it had become impossible to defend against.

Mara hugging Van. Mara had done something kind and tender and real while Lizzy's imagination had been busy turning kindness into need, need into fantasy, fantasy into something that had left her clutching the sheets with both hands and whispering her own name like an apology.

She pressed the pillow harder over her face.

A chime sounded causing Lizzy to panic. Light brightened through the edge of the pillow. Pale blue. When had they changed, from gold and black? DId that matter?

She pulled the pillow down just enough to peek.

NAOMI HALE GAINED 2 VP

Hugging Another Contestant +2 VP

Lizzy stared until the words blurred. Hugging another contestant. Naomi and Katherine.

A strange, hysterical little laugh tried to climb out of her throat and died there.

The system gave points for contestants touching each other now. It displayed it to everyone. It named and scored even that much.

Had there been a screen last night?

Had one opened while she was too lost in the heat of her own thoughts to see it? Had it said her name? Had everyone seen it hovering over their beds while she lay there, touching herself and imagining Van and Mara and a version of herself she could barely admit existed?

Lizzy sat up too fast. The sheet slipped. She grabbed it to her chest and missed once because her fingers passed halfway through the fabric.

"No," she whispered. "No, please."

She looked around the room frantically but there was no second notification. That didn’t prove anything. Maybe she had missed it. Maybe everyone knew what she had been doing on her first night alone. Maybe Verena was saving it for the breakfast announcements because humiliation had better flavor in groups.

Lizzy slid out of bed on unsteady legs. She tried to focus on tasks. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast.

Those were the steps. She could do steps. She could move from one task to another and avoid thinking about anything with edges. She showered quickly, scrubbing her face twice and refusing to make eye contact with the mirror. The issued clothes waiting for her were the same base set as always, simple tank top and cotton pants, clean and personality-free. She put them on with shaking hands, checked three times to make sure she was fully solid, and left before she could focus on her growing anxiety.

—--------------------

The breakfast room was fully occupied when Lizzy arrived.

She stopped just inside the doorway and took inventory without wanting to. Van sat near the head of the table, looking rested in a way that did something complicated to her stomach and guilty in a way that did something worse. Mara was beside him, calm and composed in cream and green, her hair pinned loosely at one side. They didn’t touch, but the space between them had changed. They seemed less guarded.

Naomi sat with both hands around a mug, dressed carefully enough that Lizzy understood she was hiding from her own morning. Katherine sat beside her, plain clothes neat, posture untouched by embarrassment. Fiona and Cassie were across from them. Cassie looked like she had been laughing recently.

Claire saw Lizzy first. Her hair shifted across one shoulder, a small red movement that made Lizzy feel noticed and protected at the same time. Evelyn sat next to her, composed in the way that made Lizzy feel like the system didn’t have them completely at its mercy.

Cassie turned as Lizzy approached. "Can you believe this place gives points away for that?"

Lizzy's hands went cold. The room narrowed as her vision darkened at the edges.

"I didn't mean—" she said, then stopped because she had no idea what confession she had nearly started making. Her face heated so fast it hurt. "I mean, I'm sorry. I didn't know there would be a— I wasn't trying to—"

Cassie's smile vanished. "Lizzy?"

Claire's chair scraped back a fraction. "Give her room," Claire said, voice light enough to pass as casual if no one listened too closely. "Everyone was surprised by the hugging thing. We are not making a tribunal out of breakfast."

The hugging thing.

Naomi made a strangled sound into her mug. Katherine's eyes moved to Claire, then to Lizzy, but didn’t linger.

Lizzy’s breath resumed. No one was talking about her. No one knew.

"I know," Lizzy said quickly. "Sorry. I slept badly."

Mara's eyes softened, but she didn’t reach across the table or ask the obvious question. Lizzy could have cried from gratitude and had no idea whether that was better or worse than everything else she was trying not to feel.

Van looked as if he wanted to ask whether she was okay and had remembered in time that public concern was another kind of spotlight.

Breakfast began when Pixie had mercy on them and interrupted with the appearance of her trolley. Plates appeared, warm and generous. Toast, fruit, eggs, small pastries, oatmeal, tea, coffee, juice.

Naomi didn’t look up from her mug. "For clarity," she said, voice thin, "I was asleep."

Cassie blinked, then nodded with theatrical seriousness. "That’s an important distinction."

Fiona, who had been buttering toast with more force than bread required, made a sound that was dangerously close to amusement.

Katherine set her cup down. "The relevant point is not whether Naomi intended it. The relevant point is that the system has expanded intimacy scoring beyond Van."

Lizzy managed to sit. Claire passed her a plate without comment. Evelyn poured tea as the kettle made the rounds.

The door opened before the table could become either comfortable or openly hostile.

Verena entered with her usual immaculate timing. Pixie, who had been near the sideboard, sighed under her breath and moved out of the center of the room.

"Good morning," Verena said.

Verena smiled anyway. "Day six begins with an encouraging development. I see you have already discovered that intimacy within the harem may produce Victory Point awards even when the Master is not the direct physical participant."

Naomi sank lower in her chair.

Van's hand curled around his napkin. "That’s not exactly an encouraging development."

"Your objection is noted."

"I didn't object for flavor, Verena. This is getting out of hand." He looked around at the weird extra dimensional game show. “Ok, it’s been out of hand, but this is weird anyway.”

"Ms. Hale was asleep. Then she woke up and chose to continue seeking physical comfort with another member of the harem. Given her current transformation profile, her prior history, and her established difficulty with safe contact, the system assessed meaningful progress."

Van leaned forward. "Then why make a display of it to everyone?"

"In this season, Master Van, all scoring is transparent." Verena’s response was mild and even, like she was reading a menu instead of actively ruining lives.

Evelyn spoke before Van could. “You said the system assessed progress, what does that mean?"

Verena turned to her. "Acts of intimacy that would please the Master were described early in your orientation as a viable source of Victory Points. Physical closeness between harem members can qualify when it improves cohesion, trust, comfort, or relational compatibility."

Van shook his head. "You’ve really misunderstood the assignment then. This really doesn’t please me."

Verena's smile did not change. "It does. Our projections are quite accurate."

"No, it really doesn't," he insisted.

"You are not aroused by Ms. Hale hugging Ms. Wren. That is what you are attempting to deny, and in that denial you are correct. But you were pleased to learn that Ms. Hale was comfortable enough with her roommate to find comfort with her, and that Ms. Wren made choices that reduced Ms. Hale's distress. You prefer your contestants unharmed. You are relieved when they find comfort. That qualifies."

Van's first answer died before it reached his mouth. He hated the way Verena had said “your contestants”. He also hated that Verena was right about the relief.

Naomi looked at him then, just once, and whatever she saw made her look away before either of them had to speak.

Verena lifted one hand. A display unfolded above the table, clean columns in pale gold and blue.

"Current Victory Point and Bond Point totals are as follows."

EVELYN CROSS — 8 VP / 4500 BP

CLAIRE MERCER — 9 VP / 5200 BP

ELIZA QUINN — 4 VP / 2225 BP

NAOMI HALE — 14 VP / 3700 BP

KATHERINE WREN — 2 VP / 100 BP

MARA ELLISON — 9 VP / 4600 BP

FIONA KAVANAGH — 0 VP / 2000 BP

CASSIE LIN — 1 VP / 1800 BP

Lizzy stared at her number because it was safer than looking at anyone else. Four VP. It hadn’t changed last night, there was no bonus from last night’s excitement. Her relief was so sharp it almost hurt.

"Today's morning schedule will separate the group," Verena said. "Ms. Cross, Ms. Mercer, Ms. Quinn, Ms. Hale, Ms. Wren, and Ms. Ellison will attend a Harem Dynamics Lecture with Celia."

Fiona leaned back in her chair. "And us?"

"You, Ms. Lin, and Master Van will attend a practical assessment with Dr. Mirel Dane."

Cassie's frown deepened. "Practical assessment?"

"There are a number of unanswered questions about the Genesis Plague and its origin."

Fiona's eyes flicked to Cassie, then to Van. "Why is he coming?"

"Because Dr. Dane has requested a baseline review."

Verena ignored the stares from the contestants. "You will proceed after breakfast. Tonight's bond assignment is also set."

Lizzy's fork touched her plate with a tiny click.

Verena looked directly at her. "Eliza Quinn. You are assigned to the bond assignment with Master Van tonight at nineteen hundred."

The number four on the display might as well have burned through Lizzy's plate.

She knew this was coming. The schedule had been moving toward her since Mara's name appeared. Knowing didn’t help. Her pulse remembered last night before her mind could stop it. Mara's notification. Her own hands. The thought of Van choosing not to look at her like prey, which somehow made the wanting worse. The possibility that he would look at her at all.

"Understood," she said, though the word came out too quiet.

Van looked over. "Lizzy—"

She smiled quickly. It wasn’t a strong smile, but it counted. "I know."

Verena's gaze moved between them with satisfaction sharp enough to cut bread. "Excellent. Breakfast concludes in twenty minutes."

Verena didn’t immediately dismiss the display. Instead, three additional documents unfolded beside the score table.

The first looked as if someone had dragged a sheet of parchment through a tavern, a gaming table, and at least one small explosion before deciding that official notices benefited from character. It was crowded with little drawings: dice, monsters, weapons, and a crowned wolf.

Van read the words Bachelor Party and felt his morning take a step sideways.

The second document was elegant enough to make the first look like a child’s party invitation. Cream paper, dark blue ribbons, gold filigree, orchids and roses, all arranged around a formal invitation to a wedding. The names meant nothing to him, but the presentation did. Whoever had sent it expected ceremony.

The third document was a waiver.

Evelyn read that one first. “Non-interference,” she said.

“Correct,” Verena replied. “Several invitations have been received on behalf of this season. Master Van has been invited to attend a bachelor party hosted by Queen Sam for a man named Andy. Master Van has also been invited to attend the wedding and reception of Andy and his brides, hosted by Arabella.”

Van stared at her. “I don’t know any of those people.”

“No,” Verena said. “You do not. However, that is not disqualifying.”

Claire leaned slightly forward, hair shifting over one shoulder. “The invitation says guests.”

“The wedding invitation allows Master Van to bring three additional attendees.” Verena’s gaze moved over the table with smooth, deliberate precision. “I have selected Ms. Mercer, Ms. Cross, and Ms. Kavanagh.”

Fiona’s chair creaked. “No,” Fiona said.

Verena looked at her. “That was not a request for your, rather predictable, input.”

Fiona’s smile was all teeth. “This is a mistake.”

Cassie glanced between them. “Wait. You’re sending Fiona to a wedding?”

“It is more of an inter-season diplomatic event,” Verena said.

Lizzy had gone very still. Van saw the way her hands folded around the edge of her napkin, too tight to be casual. Naomi looked openly alarmed.

Evelyn’s attention remained on the waiver. “You are showing us that document because you expect us to be afraid of the other hosts.”

“I am showing you that document because some of you have already accessed enough archival material to understand that not every host maintains the same standards of restraint.” Verena’s smile thinned by a degree. “The waiver binds attending hosts, powers, patrons, and comparable entities from interfering with the participating seasons in any meaningful fashion. Your attendance will not give another host permission to alter, claim, punish, transform, bargain for, or otherwise compromise you.”

Fiona tapped one finger against the table. “And why, exactly, am I one of the three?”

“Because I selected you.”

“Try again.”

Verena’s eyes cooled. “Because the invitation permits three guests. Because Ms. Cross’ interpretation of the event will be more readily accepted by her fellow contestants. Because Ms. Mercer would climb the walls out of a misplaced sort of concern that she should have accepted the burden and went in someone else’s place. And because you, Ms. Kavanagh, need a reality check in the worst way.”

Fiona laughed once. “You think I need a field trip.”

“I think you need evidence that this system produces more outcomes than the ones you are currently afraid of.”

Naomi’s voice came carefully. “When is this happening?”

“Each season’s timestream runs distinctly from the others,” Verena said. “The invitation’s internal timing does not translate cleanly into your schedule. I have arranged for the event to occur outside your local sequence. However long the excursion lasts from your perspective, you will return to the moment of departure.”

Claire blinked. “So we could be gone for hours and come back before anyone notices?”

“Correct.”

“That is a horrifying level of power.”

“It is one of the more useful forms of horrifying power.” Verena agreed.

Mara set her cup down. “You said Van was invited to the bachelor party separately.”

“He was.”

Cassie lifted a hand. “I vote we respect that boundary and keep all of us away from the mysterious cross-season party full of strangers, waivers, and mandatory attendance language.”

“Seconded,” Naomi said immediately.

“Third,” Lizzy whispered.

Katherine did not raise her hand. “This is a terrible operational decision.”

“It is an accepted diplomatic courtesy,” Verena replied.

Fiona pushed back from the table. “I’m not going.”

“You are.” The air sharpened around those two words. Weight and pressure turned sideways in the room and physics gave a sad little hiccup where Verena’s shadow touched the walls.

Verena didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “All scheduled events are final, Ms. Kavanagh.”

Evelyn’s mouth tightened. “And if one of the selected guests refuses?”

“Then I will be forced to make rather unpleasant adjustments to the cast.”

“That is a threat,” Fiona said.

“That is an administrative consequence.” Verena let the three documents fold themselves into neat, hovering packets of light. “You may chance the distinction at your leisure.”

Van looked at the floating invitations, then at Claire, Evelyn, and Fiona. He had entered breakfast worried about Lizzy, Dr. Dane, and whether the Hotel could score a hug without making everyone worse.

Now he apparently had a bachelor party, a wedding, and a legal promise that other monsters would behave politely while he attended.

Verena closed her hand. The documents vanished.

“This matter is not open to further debate,” she said. “Breakfast concludes in twenty minutes. Afterward, you will proceed to your assigned morning sessions.”

She turned and left before anyone could ask another question. For several seconds, silverware and cups remained untouched.

Lizzy ate because missing breakfast had consequences. The toast tasted like nothing. The tea Evelyn had poured for her had cooled to drinkable warmth, and she used it to give her hands something to do. Claire stayed near without crowding. Mara spoke softly to Naomi about whether the Harem Dynamics room was likely to require note-taking.

Van kept glancing at Lizzy.

The group broke apart in the corridor outside the breakfast room.

Celia's lecture hall lay down the east wing. Dr. Dane's assessment suite lay in the opposite direction, closer to the medical rooms where Katherine had recovered after Naomi's accidental drain. The signs appeared on the walls as soon as Verena's schedule took effect, polite arrows in gold and blue.

Lizzy lingered near the doorway because she couldn’t get her mind to stop reeling.

Van approached with his hands visible, like a man trying not to startle a bird. "Lizzy?"

She looked at him and immediately wished she had looked anywhere else. Morning light from the corridor window touched his hair. He looked tired but steadier than he had yesterday, as if Mara had given him something he had managed to keep through sleep.

That was good. She was glad he looked better. She was also jealous.

"Yes?"

"About tonight," he said. "I wanted to ask what you would like to do."

Several answers collided in her head and destroyed each other. I don't know. Please pick something safe. Please pick something where I don’t have to be brave. Please pick something where you look at me. Please don't look at me too much. Please don't let the Hotel choose.

Please don't ask me what I want when wanting things is apparently how this place gets inside of you.

Lizzy gripped the strap of nothing. She didn’t have a bag. Her hand closed on empty air anyway, remembering the schoolgirl version of herself by the window in a world that wasn’t this one. She lowered it before Van could notice.

"I can't," she said.

Van's face tightened with immediate concern. "You don't have to decide right now."

"No, I mean..." She took a breath and made herself continue. Claire was halfway down the hall, moving slowly enough that Lizzy knew she was listening without looking like she was listening. Evelyn stood farther ahead, giving them privacy by force of posture. "I mean I can't think about it properly. If I try, everything gets loud."

Van nodded, too serious to make it easy and too gentle to make it worse.

Lizzy looked down. "You pick."

"Are you sure?"

"No." She gave a small, miserable laugh. "But I think if I pick, I will either choose something so safe that it becomes a punishment, or something the Hotel wants me to choose because I am too embarrassed to tell the difference."

He absorbed that with quiet thought. "I'll choose," he said. "But I will try to choose something you will like."

Lizzy nodded quickly because speaking would have put too much in her voice.

Celia's door chimed down the hall. Claire finally turned. "Lizzy?"

"Coming."

Lizzy hurried after the others, not quite running.

Van watched her go until the door closed behind the harem dynamics group.

Then he stood in the corridor with Fiona and Cassie waiting in the opposite direction, Dr. Dane somewhere ahead, and tonight gathering weight around a question he had not solved.

Cassie called from several steps away, "Hey, Master Planner. Medical doom room is this way."

Fiona didn’t look back, but her pace slowed enough to count.