Not Betting Against You

VP and BP Standings
Claire - 154 VP - 3100 BP - 3 Achievs
Chloe - 146 VP - 6250 BP - 3 Achievs
Sam - 139 VP - 5900 BP - 3 Achievs
Erin - 134 VP - 8100 BP - 3 Achievs
Emi - 125 VP - 9250 BP - 3 Achievs
Emily - 122 VP - 7600 BP - 3 Achievs (2 used)
Myra - 121 VP - 4000 BP - 3 Achievs
Marissa - 111 VP - 3000 BP - 3 Achievs
Riley - 110 VP - 8800 BP - 3 Achievs
Liesa - 104 VP - 4400 BP - 3 Achievs
Norah - 103 VP - 0 BP - 3 Achievs
Dawn - 102 VP - 7000 BP - 3 Achievs
Laura - 0 BP - 2 Achievs

At first, there was only the hush of the waves and the slatted blue light on the floor, and the faint warmth of three bodies pressed close enough to let you pretend the world had ended and nothing else would be required for the next ten hours. But reality, having the sense of humor it did, sent its herald with a thin, two-second wail.

Andy heard it in his dream before his ears made sense of it in the room—a baby’s cry, not yet committed to the full catastrophe, but building. Riley was the first to move, breaking the spiral of limbs and heat by propelling herself upright, sheet flung off with more force than necessary. She was halfway to the connecting door before Andy had fully separated dream from muscle memory.

He watched her in the watery light, hair a red and black halo, hand flat to the door. She didn’t knock. “Laura?” Her voice sounded like a challenge and a prayer, both. A pause. “Laura?” Higher, urgent. She lifted a hand to knock. “Laura?!”

The door opened from the other side, fast enough to make Riley flinch and step back. Laura stood there in duplicate, both bodies present—one holding the baby on her shoulder, the other already reaching for a stack of cloths on the dresser behind her. JJ was red-faced, squirming, too young to coordinate his distress into a single point, so his arms windmilled and his feet bicycled against Laura’s bicep.

“Is he okay?” Riley asked, not waiting to be invited in, already crossing the threshold, reaching out for the boy.

Laura shifted JJ to the crook of her arm and said, “He’s fine.” It was so calm and flat it didn’t even sound like Laura’s voice; more like some auto-pilot that had filed away every possible cause of distress and now ran down the checklist by reflex. The other Laura, standing near the dresser, had a folded stack of white cloths in hand and was scanning the room for somewhere clean to lay them.

Riley hovered, fists balled, stuck halfway between relief and the animal panic that comes from hearing your own child cry. She looked at JJ, then at Laura, then again at JJ, as if expecting him to vanish if she blinked the wrong way.

“He’s hungry,” Laura continued, softer now. “He woke up twice before but went back to sleep after five minutes each time. Now I think he means it.”

Riley’s whole body exhaled, her posture unspooling by half. She didn’t say thank you—she just stepped in, side by side with Laura, and inspected JJ for herself. Checked his breathing, checked the color in his face, the little fists that flexed open and closed like startled anemones. It was a ritual, and she performed it with the brisk certainty of someone who needed the evidence more than the explanation.

Andy, leaning in the doorway, watched both of them. He felt like a foreign object: helpful only if needed, but acutely aware that every instinct in him was to fix the thing, not to witness it. There was nothing to fix, so he witnessed.

The other Laura, the one not holding the baby, caught Andy’s eye and lifted the cloths—an offer, or a question. He nodded. She set them on the edge of the bed and moved back to where the baby and Riley and other-her stood. The two bodies were so perfectly in sync, so practiced at not stepping on each other’s toes, that it was only obvious in moments like this, when Laura wanted both to be part of the solution.

“I wasn’t sure if I should wake you, or if I should just take him to the kitchen and find something to give him,” Laura said, and this time it was the second body talking. She didn’t finish the thought, just held JJ out slightly, an offering.

Riley stepped in and took him without a word. She pulled him against her shoulder, one palm spread wide across his back, and stood there a moment with her eyes shut, like she was listening for something only she could hear. JJ’s windmilling slowed. His fists unclenched and reclenched against the fabric of her shirt. She began to sway, barely perceptible, the way people do when they don’t know they’re doing it.

Chloe, from behind them, made a sound like a small animal being unwrapped from a blanket. She sat up in the bed, blinked at the room, and asked, “Is everything okay?” Her voice was ragged, somewhere between awake and fully unplugged from the world.

“He’s just hungry,” Riley said over her shoulder, still swaying. “Nothing wrong. Sorry to wake everyone.”

Chloe nodded, then slumped back, face pressed to the pillow, already letting herself fade out. “Let me know if you need help,” she mumbled.

Emily was next, rising like an uncoiling fern from the covers. Her hair was everywhere, a pastel fog, and she squinted through it at the light in the next room. “What’s going on?” she asked, voice so gentle it barely creased the air.

“Nothing bad,” Chloe said, face still to the pillow. “Just a baby being a baby.”

Emily’s eyes darted, not quite registering the words. Then, as her brain did the math, she perked up, blinked hard, and pushed herself upright. “Wait—baby?” She looked past Chloe to the doorway, where Laura stood with JJ in her arms. “Is that a—”

“Yeah,” Andy said. He didn’t know what else to add.

Emily stared, mouth slightly open, not even blinking. “Whose is it?” she said. It was so literal and clean it made everyone else pause.

Nobody answered at first.

Riley cleared her throat. “His name is JJ,” she said. It came out shaky, like it might be the first time she’d dared to speak the name in full light.

Emily nodded, but the answer didn’t fit the question. She looked from the baby to Andy, then back, then again to the baby. “No, I mean—” she started, then trailed off, unsure if it was polite to finish. “He’s yours?” she finally asked, soft and careful.

Riley looked at the baby, then at Emily, then away. “He is,” she said. “He’s mine. He…” She stopped, searching for the words that might make it real. “He died two months ago. And then last night, in the cemetery, he just… came back. Andy brought him back.” She spoke it like a confession—or a dare—hugging JJ tighter as if a single wrong syllable would snatch him away again.

Emily froze, but this was different from before. She stared at Andy, as if expecting him to laugh and say it was all a joke, or at least to offer some explanation that made sense.

He just shook his head. “I didn’t do it consciously,” he said softly, because it was the closest thing to the truth. “It happened. Like with Marissa’s parents, or the other times. I didn’t get to choose.”

Emily blinked. “But he’s—” She looked at the baby, wonder shifting to fear, as though the universe itself had suddenly tipped over. “He’s real?”

Riley’s whole body softened. “He’s real. He’s—” Her voice broke off and she simply cradled JJ closer, kissing his forehead over and over each time the words failed her.

For a moment the room was silent, broken only by JJ’s small, hungry whimpers and the distant crash of waves outside.

Andy waited for the reality to hit like a thunderclap, but instead it was more like watching a glass fill drop by drop until it finally overflowed.

Emily covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

Riley nodded, attempting a laugh that came out strained. “Yeah. That’s pretty much where I am.”

“I don’t—” Emily started, then faltered. “I’m sorry, I’m so happy for you, but I don’t even know how to process this. Is that… stupid?”

“No,” Andy said. “I don’t either.”

Emily glanced from him to Riley and back to the baby. “Can I… see him?” she asked quietly, as though she feared Riley might say no.

Riley shifted on her feet, angling JJ so the morning light fell across his face. The baby blinked at the brightness, pulled a disgruntled expression—and then, with perfect calm, found his thumb and began to suck.

Emily watched in awed silence, then lifted her head, eyes shining. “He’s perfect,” she said.

Riley smiled, teeth bared against a new round of tears. “I know.”

Without asking, Emily wrapped both arms around Riley and the baby, a delicate, trembling hug that lasted until it felt like everyone in the room was breathing at the same time.

Riley barely let go of Emily before she said, “I need to feed him. Oh God, what do you feed a baby who—” She broke off, half laughing, half on the edge of panic. “I don’t even know if I should try formula, or find a goat, or—”

Chloe was already out of bed, scooping last night’s shirt off the floor and shoving her arms through it on the way to the hallway. “No goats. He’s not Zeus,” she said, yanking her shirt over her head as she bee-lined for the kitchen. The sunrise caught her in profile, making her hair a smolder of honey, her eyes brighter than they had any right to be at this hour.

Riley, baby clutched to her chest, hesitated on the carpet like she didn’t know how to move forward from there. “He needs… something. Milk, formula, maybe… water?” The last word sounded like an accusation against the universe.

“Formula’s probably best if you’re not sure,” said Andy, but the words didn’t sound convincing even as he heard them out loud. “Or you could see what the kitchen delivers if you call Mildred. They usually know what’s needed. Or—” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Laura, in the meantime, had already gone into full pediatrician mode. She spoke over everyone without apology, talking fast, efficient, and weirdly soothing: “If the kitchen sends up formula, test the temp on your wrist before it goes near his mouth. I’d judge he’s about a month old, and babies this young usually want less than people expect, so don’t force him—eighty, maybe ninety milliliters at first, just see what he does with it, up to one hundred and twenty if he needs more.” She absent-mindedly stroked JJ’s cheek with a finger. “If he doesn’t take to it, don’t panic, but let me know and we’ll try a different—”

Chloe, already in the hallway by the kitchen, cut in. “Uh, there might be an easier way,” she said, and for once her voice didn’t sound like she was auditioning for lead in a musical. She raised a hand before anyone could misread the intent. “My… thing, since the fourth challenge, is that I’m always producing, you know. Milk.” She said it without looking at anyone, eyes down and face so red it could have lit up the suite on its own. “It’s never been a problem, just a… background setting, but if Riley wants, I’m happy to—”

Emily, blinking sleep from her eyes, said, “That’s kind of amazing. It’s almost like Arabella knew this was going to happen.”

Andy blinked. “Yeah, almost.” The words rang hollower than he meant, a little too close to the theory he’d lost half a night’s sleep over: that the world, or something in it, was starting to bend around the curve of their needs before they even had them. He glanced at Laura, as if expecting her to weigh in with some logical explanation or a joke about destiny, but she just gave him a look like she’d already considered it and didn’t have a verdict.

Chloe, still half turned from the fridge, risked a glance at Riley, then looked away again. “If it’s too weird, or if you’d rather try something else, that’s fine. But I figure there’s not much more natural, right?”

Laura answered before anyone else could. “There’s no medical reason it wouldn’t work. It doesn’t have to be from a biological mother—what matters is the nutrition, and anything Chloe produces will be closer to ideal than formula. Especially with JJ being so young.” She was totally matter-of-fact, but the words landed with more force than if she’d said them in an exam room. She looked at Riley, waited for a reaction.

Riley didn’t answer for a second. She looked down at JJ, his whole world reduced to the slow opening and closing of his fists. Something flickered on her face, there and gone: a pinched tightness in her eyes, a twist at the edge of her mouth. Andy thought he recognized it as grief, or maybe the more complicated cousin of grief—the kind you get when something comes back, but you were not prepared, and you struggle to process it.

But then she squared up, met Chloe’s eyes for the first time that morning. “I’d be grateful,” she said, and the way she said it, plain and level, made it clear it wasn’t a request for charity or comfort. It was permission, nothing more, nothing less.

Chloe let out a breath. “Okay. I’d rather not do it in the kitchen, if that’s—” She trailed off, realizing the audience.

Emily said, “We can use the living room, or, I mean, any of the bedrooms.” She looked at Andy, who nodded, then at Laura, who just made a go-ahead gesture.

Riley gathered JJ a little higher on her chest, his face half-buried in the crook of her arm. “I’d rather do it somewhere quiet, too.” She looked at Chloe, then at Emily. “You want to come?”

Emily looked startled, then genuinely happy. “Yeah. If you’re okay with that. I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never seen this happen before. Not outside a YouTube video.”

Chloe smiled at her, a small, sheepish thing. “It’s not that exciting, but you can help if you want. I’ll probably need an extra hand.”

They moved as a unit, the three of them. Chloe led, holding the door open with her hip; Riley followed, JJ cradled so tight to her chest that Andy’s own sternum ached in sympathy; Emily trailed, her hair still catching the early light, the tips bouncing just above her knees. They didn’t look back, not even once, and Andy watched the three of them go with a feeling that was mostly pride and only a little bit like the world had just shuffled one chair further from his reach.

He looked over at Laura, who was already wiping down the surface where she’d set the muslin cloths. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, not really as a request. “Will you tell them I’ll be in the kitchen when they’re done?”

Laura nodded, a small, dry smile on both faces. “Of course,” she said, already moving toward her own room. “Take your time.”

Andy did, watching her go, thinking about the way every problem in this place—no matter how weird, or hard, or vertical—found a solution that was always the work of someone in the room. Even when the game changed all the rules, they kept making new ones. Even when the world fell apart, they built a new one right out of the mess.

He told himself that was a comfort, but he also knew it was the reason he’d barely slept the night before.

---

The bathroom was fogged so thick it looked like a magician’s stage between acts: steam smeared the mirrors, softened the angular white tile into cloud, and left everything that wasn’t immediately in front of you guessed at rather than seen. Andy stepped inside, shedding the last of his shirt and any expectation that he’d have the place to himself. The shower was already running—a low, heavy hiss, full-tilt rather than morning-groggy, and the faint outlines of not one but two bodies moved behind the frosted glass.

He paused, maybe expecting embarrassment or some reflexive stammer, but when he looked closer he saw that Laura’s two bodies were facing away from the door. One stood near the spray, head bowed, hands pressed flat to the wall. The other stood just behind, not quite mirroring, arms crossed at her ribs, hair soaking down her back in two heavy black ropes. For a second he just watched, half an observer in his own space, and then he tapped on the glass, gentle, a signal rather than a question.

The Laura closest to him reached for the handle, cracked the door. The steam rolled out and caught him in the chest, as warm and dense as breath. She didn’t speak. She just looked at him, the way you look at the person you’ve been waiting for all night and have run out of reasons to say so.

Andy stepped inside. The tile was cold, the air almost painfully hot where it met his skin. The shower was big enough to fit a dozen people, but the second he was in, the two Lauras moved as one: the first pressed herself back against his chest, the other circled behind and locked her arms around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

He stood there, arms down at his sides, still dripping sweat and confusion from the morning. For a full minute, none of them spoke. The water streamed over them, pounding the tension out of his shoulders and hers and hers, running clean and then cloudy and then clear again down the drain. He felt the heat, the softness of her skin, the familiar shape of her shoulder blades, the way she curved her whole body into his even though she didn’t need to. He pressed his face into her wet hair, and the other Laura pressed hers into the nape of his.

He exhaled. The breath came out shaky. He let himself hold the one in front, hands around her stomach, then let his head fall back onto the shoulder of the one behind him. That was the whole conversation for another minute: water, warmth, the two of them standing still inside it.

After a while, the Laura in front reached up and touched his jaw, gentle and awkward. He bent down, kissed the line between her neck and shoulder. The one behind him tried to do the same, lips on his own neck, but even on her tiptoes, she barely reached his shoulder, the pressure oddly familiar and not-familiar all at once.

He breathed in and said, “Is this weird?”

Both of her said, in absolute unison, “No.” It was so perfectly timed it made him laugh, a short, grateful sound.

The water hammered down, making the world small and loud and safe. They didn’t need to talk, but he wanted to. He wanted to name the thing that was blooming in his chest, even if he didn’t know what to call it.

He said, “You feel different this morning.”

Laura didn’t answer right away. He waited, feeling her heartbeat under the palm of his hand. “You do too,” she said. “Not different bad. Just… lighter, maybe.” She shifted in his grip, not to break it but to get a better angle. “I can’t tell if it’s the bond, or just the day. It’s still there, but it’s fuzzy. Like somebody reset the dial and forgot to plug it back in all the way.”

He thought about that. “Is that scary, or just annoying?”

She shrugged. “It’s a bit scary. I was getting used to sensing all of you.”

He let the silence ride out. Then, because it was the thing running laps in his head, he said, “Did you sleep at all?”

She nodded, both of her. “Eventually. I kept looking at JJ.” The words hung in the shower, like there was more to it, and there probably was, but she didn’t add them.

He said, “I couldn’t sleep either. I just… kept thinking about the note.”

She tensed, a fraction. “What note?”

Andy blinked, realized she had gone to her room and crashed before that part of the story even happened. He explained, quickly: “A strange Mildred gave Myra a note for Riley. Four days ago. In my handwriting. Telling her she’d get more hours this time. Riley received it just after telling Myra she had only had twenty-three hours with JJ before he died. I don’t remember writing it. At all.”

Laura’s bodies turned to look at him, the same expression on both faces: a knot of confusion that, second by second, twisted into something sharper. “You didn’t?” they asked, together.

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been over every possible way it could be a trick. Arabella, Sam, even Myra, but it’s none of them. It’s my writing, but I never wrote it. Not with my own hand, anyway.”

The Laura behind him let go, only to turn him around so she could look him dead in the face. The move startled him, considering she was also on the other side, but he let her do it, let her study him. “Andy,” she said, the name less a word and more an invocation. “Who do you think did it?”

He shrugged, a gesture that felt flimsy even to him. “I think… I think I did write it.” He ran his hands through his hair, water sluicing down his arms. “But not now. Not the me standing here. A version of me that already knows how this ends. One who could reach back through time just to give Riley a little more hope.” He let out a shaky breath. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Laura’s two selves went still, the only movement the slow drip of water from their hair. The one in front tilted her head, her expression sharpening with dawning comprehension. “You’re talking about crossing the First Gate,” she said, her voice low. “Becoming something that can bend time. You think you’re going to become a god.”

“I don’t know,” he said, quieter this time. “But the possibility… it changes the weight of everything. Realizing it was me—some version of me—who sent that note… It didn’t scare me. It felt like confirmation. Like a loophole exists. And if it exists for me, it exists for all of us.”

Laura’s two selves stood quiet, one behind, one in front, both bracketing him in the same stubborn, loving perimeter they always had. He waited for one to call him dramatic, or to joke it off, but neither did.

After a while, Laura said, “I can feel it. Through the bond.” She touched his wrist, thumb tracing the blue vein. “Whatever you’re carrying, it’s steadier than yesterday.” She smiled, a little crooked. “I had some hope already—JJ gave me that. But it was small. Careful. I was trying not to lean on it too hard.” She tilted her head back into the spray, let it run over her face for a second, then looked at him again. “And now you’re doing this. Whatever this is. It’s hard to stay careful around it.”

He laughed, soft and helpless. “Sorry.”

She shrugged. “I’ll adjust.” She leaned into him, let the water pool in the hollow of her neck, and said, “Next time you do something impossible, though, can you give me a heads-up first? Just so I have time to brace for it?”

He grinned. “I’ll try.” Both of them knew it wasn’t a promise.

She kissed him, her hands cold on his chest from where the spray had missed her, and for a few seconds he let himself stop thinking about the future or the note or the Law or the Gate. It was just this: the heat of her, the press of her hands, the way her bodies moved in perfect mirror even when they didn’t touch.

He said, “I love you.”

Both of her smiled. “I love you too.”

Eventually the water started to run cool. Laura was the one who pulled back first, wringing the ends of her hair in both fists before stepping out of the spray. She said, “We should probably get dressed before Chloe sends someone looking for us.”

He laughed, reached past her to shut off the tap, and watched the last curtain of steam rise into the ceiling vent.

He liked the thought that no matter how weird the day got, they’d found the one place in the Hotel where all the chaos washed off clean.

---

By the time Andy and Laura made it out of the bedroom—dressed, still a little damp at the collar, moving in the loose orbit of people who’d spent the last hour hiding from their feelings—JJ was already fed, changed, and drowsy, a warm comma on Emily’s shoulder. The kitchen was in the throes of a gentle morning riot. Riley was digging through a diaper bag, now on the counter, working the folding mechanism of a diaper with the same focus she might have brought to bomb disarmament. Emily leaned against the island, baby nestled under her chin, humming a tune that sounded like it belonged to the seventies and never quite made it out of the decade. Chloe, barefoot and not even trying to hide her pajamas, stood by the teapot with her hands in her pockets, watching the baby like he might start reciting Shakespeare if she blinked.

Andy slid into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower, and took in the scene with something close to disbelief. Laura followed, her movements perfectly in sync—two bodies, a single shared look of amusement as she surveyed the chaos.

He pointed at a conspicuous diaper bag, which was industrial and somehow retro, like a Cold War spy kit, sitting on the kitchen island. “Where did that come from?” he asked.

Emily answered first, not looking up. “It was sitting by the couch when we came into the room. Stocked, labeled, everything.” She patted the baby’s back for emphasis.

Riley, never breaking her grip on the mangled diaper, said, “I stopped being surprised by anything showing up in this place about five weeks ago. It’s like the Hotel knows what we need before we do.”

Laura, clearly amused, watched Riley attempt to fold the diaper into a shape that looked vaguely non-Euclidean. “Want help?” she offered, both bodies already moving toward the counter.

Riley hesitated, bristled on principle, then yielded. “I had it handled.”

“You had it upside down,” Laura corrected, nudging her out of the way. In about three seconds, she had the diaper flat, squared, and ready for duty. She even demonstrated the leg holes, which made Riley snort, half-annoyed and half-relieved.

Chloe, arms now crossed over her chest, watched the exchange with undisguised enjoyment. “I’m just glad it’s not me doing that part. I would probably have put it on his head by accident.”

Andy, curious, lifted the edge of the diaper bag. It was heavy, packed with wipes, powders, creams, and a small envelope labeled “First Day, Only Open in Emergency.” He set it back down. “Did anyone go out to get this, or did it just materialize?”

Chloe shrugged. “It was waiting in the living room while you two were in the shower. No note, no explanation, just there.” She paused, then said, “Honestly, if I were you, I’d be a little worried about what’s in that envelope. ‘First Day’ is never a good sign.”

Riley, feeding on the unease, said, “I have a guess who’s behind it, and it isn’t a comforting one.”

Chloe nodded. “Mildred?”

“Definitely Mildred.”

Emily, cradling JJ and gently bouncing on her heels, made a face like she’d just bitten into something sour. “Nothing about that woman is normal.”

Chloe added, “Just be careful about showing the baby around her. When Mildred found out Liesa and I were pregnant, she brought us gifts that took both of us about a week to stop having nightmares about.”

Riley, curiosity piqued, asked, “What kind of gift?”

Chloe considered, then shook her head. “You don’t want the full version. The short one is: she called the babies ‘the spawn you are nourishing with the flesh of your own bodies,’ and handed over two little carved figures that… moved on their own. Like, actually moved. I keep mine in a box under the bed.”

Emily shivered. “I’m officially not asking any more questions about Mildred today.”

Andy said, “That’s probably wise.”

Laura, toweling her hair, interjected, “So, you still have the figures?”

Chloe gave her a look. “Of course I do. I’m not an idiot. They’re pretty. And you don’t say no to a gift from a being like that.”

The conversation slowed as everyone went through their private calculations of what else Mildred might have left lying around the Hotel, waiting for its moment.

Andy sat down at the counter, watched as Riley took the refolded diaper, gave it a spin, and then got to work fitting it onto JJ with a cautious, nurse-like precision. Emily handed the baby over, careful but unafraid, and for a moment all the motion in the room stilled except for the small, serious work of keeping a newborn alive.

It was Chloe who broke the silence, as always, with a joke: “Has anyone checked if he’s actually a changeling yet? Or if he has laser eyes?”

Andy, keeping an eye on JJ’s wriggling feet, said, “If he does, it’s a very slow recharge.”

Riley’s hands were steady, but her voice betrayed her: “He’s perfect.” She looked up at the others, like she was asking for confirmation.

Chloe said, “He’s gorgeous.” She gave Andy a playful side eye. “Definitely the best-looking guy in the building.”

Emily, almost whispering, said, “He’s got your nose.”

Riley softened, a tension going out of her that Andy hadn’t realized was there until it left.

With the diaper secured, Riley turned JJ outward and held him up, announcing, “Okay, new plan: meet your family.” She did the introductions in order, her teacher voice coming out. “This is Uncle Andy. He’s a little weird, but he’s stuck with us whether he likes it or not. That’s Auntie Chloe—she’s going to spoil you rotten. That’s Auntie Emily—she’ll probably teach you how to draw. And that’s Auntie Laura. She’s going to teach you pranks, God help us all.”

JJ blinked, unimpressed, then yawned, stretching his hands toward the light. Everyone watched like they were waiting for a verdict. The baby burbled once, then went limp against Riley’s shoulder.

Riley said, “He’s already over us.” The pride in her voice was impossible to hide.

Chloe waited until JJ’s eyes closed again, then leaned in, quieter than before. “I have a question,” she said. “How is everyone, actually?”

Andy blinked. “You mean, like—?”

Chloe nodded. “Today’s the last day of this round. Tomorrow we start the wedding stuff, and then who knows. I just… wanted to see how we’re all holding up.”

The question ran a current through the kitchen, softening the playful edge. Andy watched the others, waited for someone else to go first.

Riley, with nothing to distract her hands, shrugged. “I have no idea how to feel about any of it. I want to be happy. I am happy. But I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, so I don’t get too attached.” She looked at the baby. “But I’d rather take happy over the alternative, every time.”

Emily said, “I’m mostly still catching up. Last night doesn’t feel finished yet.” She looked at Chloe, then at Andy, and managed a smile. “But I’m glad I was here for it.”

Chloe rolled her eyes at the sentiment, but her face was open, vulnerable. “I’m excited,” she said. “About the wedding. About the party. And also nervous, because I don’t want to screw it up, or miss anything, or make anyone uncomfortable.” She looked at Emily. “Especially with the whole dress code situation.”

Emily blushed, but owned it. “I mean, I’m technically one of the brides. Are you sure you don’t care if Erin and I don’t wear dresses?”

Andy, caught off guard, said, “Honestly, I haven’t even thought about it.” Then, after a beat, “That’s a lie. I think it’s very progressive and enlightened.”

Chloe grinned. “That’s a diplomatic way of saying you want to ogle them as they strut down the path.”

Emily turned even pinker. “I wouldn’t mind that, actually.” She looked at Andy, then away. “If it’s you.”

Riley, not looking up from JJ, said, “Some people just want to see the men in this house make an effort for once.”

Andy pointed at himself. “I’m the only man. Unless you want to count JJ.”

Riley said, “Let’s wait until he can walk before we start counting him.”

Chloe turned to Laura, then, both bodies, and asked, “What about you?”

Laura took longer to answer, measuring the words. “I’m fine,” she said, then immediately caught herself and shook her heads. “Actually, I’m not. I’m trying to hold two things at once: whatever hope Andy is radiating today, and the actual, unsolved part of what’s coming for me.” She looked at the counter, then up at Andy, then back at the counter. “It’s hard to be excited about a party if you don’t know if you’ll be there the day after the wedding it’s for.”

Nobody had an answer for that. Not right away.

Andy reached across the counter, found Laura’s hand, and squeezed it once, firm and steady. He didn’t try to say it was going to be okay. He didn’t even try to out-logic her fear. He just held on, and let her answer be the last word.

JJ, having slept through the existential uncertainty, let out a gentle snore, the whole of his body rising and falling like a tide.

Chloe, satisfied with the round of honesty, said, “Okay. That’s all I wanted to know.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, added too much sugar, and leaned back against the counter with a face that said, at least for now, she could handle whatever came next.

The kitchen went quiet again, but this time it was a good quiet—people at rest, with no more questions to answer, and nothing left to do but wait for the day to start.

---

Chloe and Emily didn’t linger much after that. Chloe announced she had “twelve things to check on before tomorrow”—party things, guest-list things, “color-coded schedule hell,” and “possibly a meeting with Arabella herself.” She hoisted her coffee, offered a toast to “the best baby on the island,” and then made a big show of ruffling JJ’s hair, which was still just fuzz, but she made it look like a full head anyway. JJ judged her impartially, then gave her a gurgle.

“Be good, little man,” she said, planting a quick, theatrical kiss on the forehead. She grinned at Riley, then at Andy, and added, “If you need anything, don’t call me. I’ll probably be having a breakdown.” She said it like a joke, but Andy heard the truth under the armor.

Emily looked at Riley for permission before she reached out. “Is it okay if I…?” Her hand hovered, almost vibrating with nerves.

“Go for it,” Riley said. Her voice was gentler than usual, like she was handling a piece of glass she didn’t trust herself to own.

Emily touched the baby’s foot, slow and reverent, as if she was still expecting to get zapped by magic or rebuked by a hidden rule. When JJ wiggled, unfazed, Emily blinked twice and smiled so hard it looked like she might pop. “Hi, JJ,” she whispered. “You can call me Auntie Em, if you want.” Then, satisfied, she stepped back, tucking her hands behind her own back.

Chloe grinned but didn’t say a word.

The goodbye was efficient. Chloe beelined for the door, Emily trailing, and as soon as they’d rounded the corner the kitchen seemed to re-inflate with quiet. Andy listened to the silence, and for a second he let himself believe it was just an ordinary day: baby in the kitchen, the smell of coffee, two women beside him each quietly negotiating the day.

It lasted maybe fifteen seconds before Laura said, “I need to get going.”

Her voice, never loud, carried anyway. Both bodies moved as one: shirts tucked, sleeves rolled, hair damp and freshly braided. She looked at Andy, then at Riley. “I don’t want to be late to see my Mom.”

Riley nodded, but there was a storm building in her face, like she’d just remembered something important and couldn’t decide whether to let it out. Andy saw her squeeze JJ a little tighter, as if it might anchor her to the present moment.

Laura glanced at her again, softer this time. “I won’t be gone long.”

“I—” Riley stopped, then looked at the baby, then at Andy, and then back at Laura. “I’m coming,” she said. The words dropped into the room and didn’t even make a ripple.

Laura blinked, once, twice. “With me? To the Hollow Garden?”

“Yeah.” Riley’s voice had lost its bark, but not its edge. “If that’s okay.” She waited for Laura to object, but Laura just stood there, not moving, one hand braced on the back of a kitchen chair.

Andy saw what was happening before anyone said it out loud. Riley’s face was telegraphing something she wouldn’t say directly, and Laura was reading the code like a cipher. Riley, after a pause, added, “I want to bring JJ.” She said it like a dare—like she was ready to defend the point with fists if needed.

Laura’s eyebrows went up. “You want to bring him with?”

Riley nodded, eyes steady. “He deserves to meet his grandmother.” She said it like she’d practiced, or maybe just imagined it enough times in the night to make it real.

Laura said, “I don’t know if it’ll work. I mean, I don’t know if she’ll want—” She broke off, searched for a better word, and said, “You know.”

Riley’s jaw set. “She doesn’t have to come out. I just want her to know.” She was holding the baby tighter now, but JJ didn’t seem to mind; he burbled, then nestled more comfortably in the crook of her arm, and promptly fell asleep.

Laura nodded, not looking away. “Okay. But it’s possible she won’t even speak.”

“I don’t care,” Riley said. “It’s not about the conversation. It’s just—” She exhaled, then said, “I just want her to know, that’s all. I’m not trying to make her fix anything, or—” She glanced at Andy, as if to check if she’d lost her own thread. “I’m not looking for a scene. I just want her to know he’s alive, and that she did something right, somewhere down the line.”

Laura was silent for a long moment. Andy wondered if she was considering every permutation, or if she just needed the time to align her own heads. Finally, she said, “We can try.” Her voice was lighter, but with a new gravity in it. “Dinah will be happy to meet the new guest.”

Riley looked like she wanted to say thank you but couldn’t quite get it out. Instead, she rocked the baby, staring at the middle distance until JJ’s breath slowed and he went limp again.

Andy watched all of it, felt the edges of guilt and pride, and decided to say nothing. He knew there was nothing to add that would make this easier for either of them.

Laura paused, one hand still on the ceramic. “He’s really perfect,” she said, quietly. “You’re doing great, you know.” She didn’t say it as a compliment, just as fact.

Riley swallowed. “Yeah. Well, he’s still alive, so I guess I’m batting above average for once.”

---

Laura made for the elevator. Andy could tell—by the way she hesitated in the threshold, by the way her hands flexed once and then stilled at her sides—that it was really to give him and Riley a moment without her hovering. She waited there, giving Andy and Riley space.

Riley didn’t move. She held the baby, his weight anchored high on her shoulder, and watched the closed door for a count of ten, maybe twenty, before she let out a breath. “Andy,” she said, “I keep thinking it’s going to get easier.” She bounced JJ just enough to keep him sleeping. “But every time I try to make sense of last night, I get nowhere. It just keeps breaking me in half.”

Andy stood a few feet away, his own hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He tried to say, “You don’t have to—”

But she cut him off, soft but direct: “No, listen.” She turned, so he could see the side of her face not hidden by hair. “Every time I start to explain it, I end up crying. And I’m really, really tired of crying.”

He nodded, but she hadn't finished. She looked down at JJ instead of at him, like she needed the weight of him to get through what came next.

“At that lunch, I said I wasn't leaving Myra and Laura behind. That's still true. I haven't stopped being scared for either of them.” Her voice caught, low and rough. “But I can't hide inside their no anymore. Not after this.” She pressed her mouth to JJ's temple and breathed him in, like she still expected him not to be there when she pulled back. “You gave me my best friend back. And now you gave me my son back. Two people I thought I'd buried, both of them breathing, both of them mine again, and one of those times Arabella had to build a whole ritual around it and the harem had to carry a piece of the weight. This one was just you. You heard me falling apart over a headstone and you didn't let him stay gone.”

She looked up at him, eyes wet, voice steady. “I can't hide from it anymore. It's not fair. I didn't expect it, wasn't looking for it, but... I love you. I'm not ready to get married again, not even close, but I want what we have. It works for me. So if you're asking me today—if it's my answer you want, not Laura's, not Myra's—it's yes. Whatever it costs. Wherever that Gate goes. I know that's not what I told you at that table, and I know what it means that I'm the one saying it and not them.” She scrubbed at her face with the back of her wrist, quick, almost angry at herself for how much she meant it. “I believe you'll bring all of us out the other side, the same way you brought him back. I have to. I've seen what you do when you refuse to lose someone.” A breath. “I just can't bet against you anymore.”

Andy didn't know what to do with it, so he nodded and left his hand on JJ's back, just behind Riley's. He watched her breathe, saw the struggle not to collapse again, and let himself actually feel, for one second, what she'd just handed him.

This was Riley. The same woman who used to look at him like something she'd scrape off her shoe, who'd needed a full round of The HH and Andy baring his soul to her to stop blaming him for Laura.

And she'd just told him, plainly, with her son alive and warm against her shoulder, that she believed in him more than she believed in her own fear. He didn't know what to do with that either, except keep it. Whatever version of him had left the note, it hadn't been wrong, and neither, he thought, had this. He had the distinct, unshakeable sense he was going to need it again before this was over.

A quiet cough from the elevator. Laura hadn't moved from the threshold this whole time, and how long she'd stayed there told him she'd heard all of it. Andy caught her eye. For a half second, neither of them looked away, and he watched her do the thing she always did when a feeling arrived faster than she could file it: go very still, very composed, like she was carrying a full glass across a moving floor.

She let him hold the stare a beat longer than politeness required, then broke it first—not with shame, but with the same practiced courtesy she used whenever she didn't want to upstage someone else's moment, the kind of courtesy that cost her something to perform. Whatever she was doing with what she'd just heard, she wasn't doing it out loud. Not yet.

Riley, oblivious to the byplay, adjusted JJ with one hand and said, “Are we ready?” Her voice had a little of the old steel back in it.

Laura, stepping in just far enough to be seen by both of them, said, “We’re ready.” She gave Riley a look that was almost a smile, then shifted her gazes to Andy, checking to see if he had more to say. He didn’t.

Riley: Romantically Committed to the Master! +7VP