El Requeson, Episode Two- Buddies

 

Story 2- Buddies

Chapter 1

Public Ocean Recreational Node (P.O.R.N.), District 8

The patrol cart rolled slowly along the packed sand path, its tires crunching over grit, bottlecaps, and windblown snack wrappers. Officer Nipâwihkân “Nippy” Chibougamau drove with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses on, looking more like a man out for fresh air than a municipal officer on active patrol. Beside him sat Officer Karen McMurdo, upright as ever, clipboard balanced on her knee and her expression already suggesting that the day had disappointed her before it had properly begun.

They passed the large wooden sign at the beach entrance.

THE PUBLIC OCEAN RECREATIONAL NODE
Providing wholesome family entertainment since 1988

Karen looked at the sign, then at the beach beyond it, then back to the sign again.

“Wholesome,” Karen McMurdo said flatly.

Below them, the beach was already alive.

Clusters of sunburned tourists lay on towels. College kids tossed a football badly. A shirtless man played bongos to no rhythm anyone else could identify. A woman in roller skates glided by holding a smoothie the color of antifreeze.

…and everywhere- everywhere- people were smoking weed.

Some sat in circles passing joints. Others stared lovingly at the ocean as if it had just confessed feelings for them. One man was building a sandcastle with incredible concentration while wearing ski goggles.

Karen flipped open her clipboard.

“You know,” she said, “under El Requeson municipal ordinance fourteen-point-two, open recreational substance use on public shoreline property is subject to citation.”

Nippy nodded.

“Mm-hm.”

“…and under Rosario criminal statutes, dealing without proper licensing can result in charges.”

“Sure can.”

“…and the beach literally has a cannabis club where they can legally buy and smoke.”

“Convenient setup.”

Karen turned toward him. “So why are we doing absolutely nothing?”

Nippy steered around a sleeping man half-buried in sand.

“Because look at ‘em.”

Karen looked.

A group of three young men were trying to determine whether seagulls understood sarcasm.

A middle-aged woman was applauding the waves.

Someone nearby was eating nachos with the intensity of a religious experience.

“They’re peaceful,” Nippy said. “They don’t fight. They don’t smash bottles. They don’t yell at strangers. They mostly sit around, laugh too hard, and forget where they put things.”

“That is not a legal standard.”

“It should be.”

Karen sighed. “If they’re dealing-”

“If they’re dealing badly, maybe.”

She stared at him. “That sentence alone is why I need blood pressure medication.”

Nippy grinned.

“Karen, the worst thing most of these folks are guilty of is sounding ridiculous in public.”

As if summoned by fate, a barefoot woman in a floral print bikini hurried toward them clutching a small seashell in both hands.

Her eyes were wide with revelation.

“Officers,” she whispered dramatically, “you need to feel this.”

Karen took one step back.

Nippy remained seated. “Morning, ma’am.”

The woman held up the shell.

“It’s vibrating.”

“It is?” Nippy asked.

“Yes. Not physically. Spiritually.”

Karen pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I found it by the tide,” the woman continued, “and when I held it to the sun, I felt this...beam. This energy. Like something ancient was trying to contact me.”

“Ancient?” Nippy said.

“Aliens.”

“Of course.”

“They’re speaking through the shell.” She lowered her voice. “I just don’t know what they’re saying.”

Nippy nodded solemnly.

“Could be poor reception.”

The woman gasped. “You understand.”

Before Karen could intervene, the woman suddenly leaned in and wrapped her arms around Nippy.

“You are such a marvelous man,” she cried into his shoulder. “You do such a good job as a cop. Keep doing what you do. The world needs protectors like you.”

Nippy awkwardly patted her back.

“Well... thank you kindly.”

Karen stared straight ahead, expressionless.

After a long emotional moment, the woman released him, wiped her eyes, and spun away.

She immediately approached another beach group.

“You need to feel this shell!” she shouted.

Nippy adjusted his sunglasses.

“You were saying?”

Karen muttered, “One day I am transferring inland.”

They continued down the boardwalk path.

The smell hit before the noise.

Alcohol.

Then shouting.

Near a cluster of picnic tables, six men in tank tops and swim trunks were chest-to-chest, red-faced and slurring. One shoved another. A cooler tipped over, spilling beer cans into the sand.

“Oh good,” Karen said. “Actual crime.”

Nippy parked the cart.

“See? Different species.”

They approached quickly.

“Break it up!” Karen barked.

No one listened.

One man swung wildly. Another grabbed a folding chair.

Nippy stepped in fast, hooked the chair away, and shoved two men apart with practiced force.

Karen had one against the railing in seconds.

“Hands where I can see them!”

The rest froze as the reality of uniforms, cuffs, and consequences finally pierced the haze.

Minutes later, wrists were zip-tied, IDs collected, citations issued.

Karen wrote efficiently.

“Alcohol possession. Public intoxication. Causing a disturbance.”

Nippy loaded two men into the patrol cart’s rear bench.

One of them protested weakly.

“What about all the weed smokers?”

Nippy shut the gate.

“They weren’t ruining everyone else’s day.”

He climbed back into the driver’s seat.

Karen smirked despite herself.

The cart rolled onward beneath the sign promising wholesome family entertainment.

P.O.R.N. Parking Lot

The silver Triumph Wayfarer rolled proudly into the beach parking lot, engine humming with slightly more enthusiasm than any minivan had a right to possess.

Its commercials called it The Dadmobile.

More zip for the family trip.

Behind the wheel sat Zasaramel, who drove with the alert calm of a man who had once survived battlefields but now feared scratching a side panel more than death itself.

Inside the van was organized chaos.

Joanna was half turned in her seat trying to keep baby Souren entertained.

Ruby Lee was passing snacks back to Arel-Sin, who had already asked if the beach sold swords.

Kyren was making happy baby noises.

Watcher, the large dog, occupied enough space to count as an additional passenger.

In the back row, Raven sat with the relaxed posture of someone who expected nonsense from the world and was rarely disappointed.

Beside her, Roxy Corvina was already filming short clips for social media.

“Beach day with the weirdest family alive,” she narrated.

Zas found the final open spot near the entrance and parked cleanly.

He pointed proudly at the sign.

“See? Family parking.”

Everyone looked out the window.

It was a handicapped parking sign.

The blue wheelchair symbol had, from a distance, apparently resembled a baby stroller.

As they got out of the car, no one said anything for three full seconds.

Then Ruby looked at the sign again and said, “...That is not a stroller.”

Before Zas could respond, a patrol cart approached.

Driving it was Officer Nipâwihkân “Nippy” Chibougamau. Beside him sat Officer Karen McMurdo, already writing.

Karen stepped out first.

“Sir, you are parked in a designated accessible space.”

Zas got out of the van.

“I thought it was for families with babies.”

Karen blinked once.

“It is not.”

“I have two babies,” Zas said, gesturing into the van, “and a dog. That should count for something.”

“It does not,” Karen replied.

Nippy nodded sympathetically.

“Common mistake,” he said. “Not common enough that we ignore it, though.”

Karen tore the ticket from her pad and handed it over.

Zas looked at it like a betrayal.

“I can pay now.”

“You cannot,” said Karen.

“I have cash.”

“You must pay at the municipal clerk’s office.”

“I am offering money now.”

“It must be processed.”

“Then process it.”

Karen inhaled through her nose.

“The ticket is processed there so records reflect compliance when licenses are renewed.”

Zas stared.

“In my homeland, this would take nine seconds.”

“In El Requeson,” Karen said, “it takes a form.”

Nippy leaned in helpfully.

“Also you need to move the van or it’ll be towed.”

The officers drove off.

The whole family slowly re-entered the Wayfarer in silence.

Raven took the ticket from Zas and examined it.

“They wrote your plate number wrong.”

Zas looked over instantly.

“What does that mean?”

Ruby clapped her hands.

“It means bureaucracy has been defeated.”

Zas smiled for the first time in minutes and started the van.

The Dadmobile lurched forward in search of another spot.

Nicky McCrain’s apartment, Communal Unity Mosaic District 8

The apartment in Communal Unity Mosaic District 8 had the tired look of a place that was meant to be temporary five years ago.

The blinds were half-bent. One cupboard door in the kitchenette never fully shut. A fan rotated with a clicking noise nobody had fixed. Somewhere in the building, someone was arguing loudly in two languages.

On the couch, Nicky McCrain lay sideways in sweatpants and an old shirt, one sock on, one sock missing. The television played a daytime panel show he was not truly watching. He held the remote on his chest like a man preserving authority he no longer used.

He heard footsteps on the stairs.

Then he looked up.

Standing there was Hailey McCrain.

She wore a bikini top under a cropped vest, a skirt, sandals, sunglasses resting on the crown of her head, bracelets on both wrists, and carried a towel and purse over one shoulder.

Nicky sat upright immediately.

“What the hell is this?”

Hailey frowned.

“It’s clothes.”

“It’s... selective clothes.”

“It’s hot out.”

Nicky looked toward the window as if verifying weather conditions himself.

“It’s warm,” he corrected. “Warm and hot are different.”

“I’m going to the beach.”

“Dressed like that?”

Hailey looked down at herself.

“Like someone going to the beach, yes.”

Nicky rubbed his face.

“You couldn’t ease into this? Start with cargo shorts? A T-shirt? Make me feel included in the transition?”

Hailey smiled despite herself.

“I was gonna walk, but I thought maybe you’d come.”

That landed harder than she intended.

Nicky shifted on the couch.

“With you?”

“Yes, Dad. To the beach.”

He scratched his chin, buying time.

“Bit sudden.”

“You’ve been lying there since noon.”

“I’m recovering.”

“From what?”

He gestured vaguely.

“Civilization.”

Hailey came farther into the room.

“Are you worried about your interview with Peace?”

Nicky snorted.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

He grabbed the remote and muted the TV though nobody had asked.

“Peace is either gonna place me somewhere stupid or lay me off. If they lay me off, beautiful. Then I collect unemployment, maybe welfare, maybe both if they stop asking questions.”

Hailey stared.

“That’s your plan?”

“My plan is to finally be appreciated.”

“By who?”

“The taxpayer.”

Hailey folded her arms.

“Maybe you just need a break.”

Nicky straightened slightly, suddenly defensive.

“I do not need a break.”

“Then what do you need?”

He paused.

Then, with forced confidence:

“I’ve accepted reality and I don’t care.”

Hailey gave him the look daughters reserve for fathers who are transparently full of it.

“You care a lot.”

“Not true.”

“You care enough to argue about how much you don’t care.”

“That’s philosophy.”

“That’s depression with wordplay.”

Nicky pointed at her.

“Cheap shot.”

She softened.

“Come on. Just the beach.”

He exhaled long and dramatic.

“Fine. I’ll drive you.”

Later

Nicky’s battered car pulled up near the entrance to the Public Ocean Recreational Node.

Hailey gathered her towel.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?”

“I’m good.”

“You love the beach.”

“I loved many things once.”

“Dad.”

“I’ll pick you up later. Text me if you need anything.”

Hailey leaned in, kissed his cheek, then got out.

“Try not to spiral while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

She shut the door and walked toward the sand, bracelets jingling.

Nicky watched until she disappeared into the crowd.

Then he checked his mirrors.

Instead of turning back toward District 8, he gripped the wheel and headed south.

Toward the port.

Echo Bay, Mar de Los Auras

The road to Echo Bay, along the Mar de Los Auras, curved past warehouses, repair yards, bait shops, and stretches of shoreline that looked beautiful from a distance and suspicious up close.

Nicky McCrain drove it like a man following instinct more than direction.

The farther he got from El Requeson proper, the lighter he seemed.

By the time he reached the old gravel pull-in near the water, he was already smirking.

There they were.

A half-collapsed patio behind a weathered bungalow. Plastic chairs. A barbecue that had clearly survived several legal disputes. Coolers. Tools. Rope. A boat engine with no visible boat.

…and the men and women themselves.

Julian MacNeil, standing upright with the same calm, self-assured posture that made him look like he was either in charge or pretending convincingly.

Zaurika Tleuzhuko, sharp-eyed and athletic, leaning against the railing with the alert stillness of someone who noticed everything and trusted little.

Marnus “Marnie” McRuben, broader than ever, shirt straining heroically.

…and Randy McRuben, cheerful, loose-limbed, and already eating something out of a foil tray.

Nicky rolled down the window.

“Sup, bitches!”

All four heads turned instantly.

Then chaos.

“Nicky!”

“No way!”

“Holy hell!”

“You greasy bastard!”

Nicky got out of the car grinning as they came toward him.

They slapped his shoulders, hugged him, shoved him, laughed at him, and talked over each other with the efficiency only old friends possessed.

Julian hugged him once, firm and quick.

“Thought you were dead.”

“Emotionally maybe,” Nicky said.

Randy grabbed both his arms.

“You look terrible.”

“That means I still look like me.”

Marnie pointed at the car.

“You drove that thing all the way here?”

“She wanted to see the ocean.”

Zaurika smirked.

“What are you doing in Rosario?”

Nicky spread his hands.

“Lucy kicked me out.”

Nobody reacted with surprise.

Julian only nodded.

“Fair.”

Nicky continued.

“So now I’m living with Hailey, Tasha, and Jonah.”

“Jonah?” Randy asked.

“My son.”

“You have a son?”

“Yeah. I call him Stink Bomb.”

“Why?”

“He knows why.”

They all laughed.

“Where you staying?” asked Marnie.

“Communal Unity Mosaic, District 8.”

Randy whistled.

“The Mosaic? Tough break.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Nicky,” Julian said gently, “you once complained about staying in a hotel because the towels felt judgmental.”

“That was different.”

They settled into chairs like no time had passed at all.

Someone handed Nicky a drink. Someone else moved a toolbox so he could sit. Randy offered him grilled meat of uncertain origin.

Conversation rolled instantly into old rhythm.

Stories interrupted stories.

Arguments restarted mid-sentence from years earlier.

Nobody explained references.

Nobody needed to.

They spoke like men and women who had been together yesterday instead of over a decade ago.

At one point Zaurika asked, “Still with Peace?”

“Technically.”

“What does technically mean?”

“It means they haven’t figured out I’m not useful.”

Julian laughed quietly.

“That’s the most stable employment you’ve ever had.”

Nicky leaned back, looking out at the water.

For the first time all day, he looked calm.

Then he turned to the group.

“You bitches still got your stash?”

A silence fell- not awkward, just attentive.

Julian raised an eyebrow.

“You asking seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“I thought you quit.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Peace. Family. Responsibility. Image management.”

“…and now?”

Nicky looked down, then shrugged.

“My life fell apart.”

Randy nodded sympathetically.

“Valid reason.”

Marnie was already grinning.

“Man wants to reconnect with tradition.”

Zaurika studied him.

“You sure this is what you want?”

Nicky looked around at them all.

“At this exact moment?”

He smiled.

“Yeah.”

Peace Command Office- Rosario, San Padres

The Peace Command Office – Rosario Sector occupied a polished government complex in San Padres, where glass walls, manicured palms, and carefully chosen stone were meant to suggest calm competence.

Inside the executive conference room, the atmosphere was noticeably less decorative.

At the head of the table sat Commanding Officer Hollace McBride, regional head of Peace operations in Rosario. Broad-shouldered, formal, and usually unflappable, Hollace now carried the look of a man aware that this meeting mattered more than the agenda claimed.

To his right sat Senior Investigator Alisa “Ally” MacBeth, posture relaxed, eyes alert, file already open.

Across from them were two of the most senior figures Peace could send.

Norah Anam, Operations & Investigations Commanding Officer, whose authority stretched across field investigations, command standards, and interregional readiness.

Beside her sat Roy Fowler, Officers Division Director, responsible for officer deployment, standards, conduct, and practical force management.

They had come to Rosario for an official sector review.

Staffing.

Budget efficiency.

Tourism-season readiness.

Cross-border coordination.

Case clearance metrics.

Vehicle fleet replacement.

The conversation had been professional, direct, and largely positive.

Then Norah closed one folder and opened another.

“Final item,” she said.

No one needed the name spoken first.

Roy spoke it anyway.

“McCrain.”

Hollace exhaled once through his nose.

Ally almost smiled.

Norah looked to Hollace.

“Your recommendation?”

Hollace answered immediately.

“Release.”

No hesitation.

“He is inconsistent, procedurally loose, distractible, and invites avoidable complaints. He creates unnecessary side issues. He tests supervisory patience. He treats structure as optional.”

Roy made a note.

“That aligns with portions of his file.”

Ally leaned forward.

“His file also says he resolves volatile encounters, reads deception instinctively, and gets cooperation from people who shut down around conventional officers.”

Hollace did not look at her.

“It also says he once misplaced an evidence envelope in a lunch cooler.”

“It was recovered.”

“From inside a sandwich bag.”

“It was dry.”

Roy suppressed what may have been amusement.

Norah turned to Ally.

“You are advocating retention?”

“I am advocating correct use.”

Ally slid a report across the table.

“Do not make him a desk officer. Do not make him records control. Do not make him public-facing protocol staff. Put him where instincts matter.”

She tapped the page.

“Low-trust communities. Informal intelligence. Fraud tells. Street mediation. Grey-zone civilian contact.”

Roy read silently.

“…and supervision?”

“I’ll supervise him.”

Hollace finally looked at her.

“You say that as if it solves the matter.”

“It helps.”

“It chains one of my best investigators to one of my worst personnel risks.”

“It converts risk into output.”

Norah watched both without interrupting.

Roy closed the file.

“My concern is simpler than either of yours.”

Everyone looked to him.

“Can he function as part of an officer body without corroding standards around him?”

Ally answered first.

“Yes, if boundaries are explicit.”

Hollace answered second.

“No, because he treats boundaries like dares.”

Roy nodded.

“Both answers may be true.”

That quieted the room.

Norah folded her hands.

“Then the issue is not whether McCrain is good or bad. It is whether Rosario can extract value from a difficult asset at acceptable cost.”

She looked to Hollace.

“Can your command absorb him if retained?”

Hollace took a moment.

“Yes.”

Then more honestly:

“I would prefer not to.”

She looked to Ally.

“Can you manage him without romanticizing his potential?”

Ally held her gaze.

“Yes.”

Then, after a beat:

“I can try.”

Roy spoke next.

“If retained, he receives a structured placement, named supervision, measurable expectations, and rapid review if he destabilizes a unit.”

Norah nodded.

“Reasonable.”

She turned to both Rosario officials.

“You will interview McCrain.”

Neither objected.

“You will do so without prejudice, nostalgia, irritation, or rescue instinct.”

Her eyes moved from Hollace to Ally in sequence.

“You will assess the officer in front of you, not the story surrounding him.”

The room stayed silent.

“Submit a joint recommendation after interview.”

She stood.

“If the recommendation is reasoned, I will support it.”

Roy rose beside her.

“I concur…but if he stays, he works. We are not running a sanctuary for charismatic underperformers.”

Ally smirked.

“That sentence could be framed.”

Hollace muttered:

“It could be engraved over the entrance.”

Folders closed. Chairs moved.

The meeting was over.

As Norah and Roy reached the door, Hollace asked one last question.

“When is he scheduled?”

Ally checked her tablet.

“Tomorrow morning.”

Hollace closed his eyes briefly.

Somewhere in Rosario, he suspected, Nicky McCrain was already reducing their options.

Florida Union of City Colleges- Siesta Key

The sun hung bright over Siesta Key, bleaching the sidewalks white and turning the palms into postcards.

Move-in day at the Florida Union of City Colleges had not officially begun yet, which was exactly why Cory Boland and Trevor Edwards had arrived early.

Beat the rush.

Get settled.

Learn the city.

Maybe claim social territory before everyone else figured out where the good spots were.

Their dorm building sat only a short walk from the water, a modern mid-rise with open-air hallways and the faint smell of sunscreen already embedded into the walls.

Inside Room 314, chaos reigned.

Boxes everywhere.

Beds half assembled.

Mini-fridge unplugged.

A poster tube rolling loose across the floor.

Cory stood in the middle of it wearing sunglasses indoors.

“This,” he announced, arms wide, “is where the next chapter begins.”

Trevor carried in another crate from the hallway.

“The next chapter of what?”

“Our legend.”

Trevor set the box down.

“You have not attended one class.”

“That’s what makes it pure potential.”

Cory grinned and looked around the room like a king inspecting new lands.

“Buddy... four years in Siesta Key.”

He pointed dramatically toward the window.

“Beach.”

Then toward the hallway.

“Women.”

Then toward the mini-fridge.

“Booze.”

Then toward Trevor.

“Brotherhood.”

Trevor nodded.

“One of those is useful.”

Cory ignored him.

“I’m telling you now—college is gonna be like Van Wilder mixed with American Pie.”

Trevor continued unpacking books.

“That should worry you more than it excites you.”

“Parties every night. Wild stories. Random road trips. Girls knocking on the door.”

“You’ve confused school with a DVD menu.”

Cory smirked.

“You’ll see.”

Trevor straightened up.

“I’d actually like to learn things.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I mean it. New city, no parents hovering, no old labels. We can become whoever we want.”

Cory considered this.

“I want to become the guy women describe later as ‘fun but irresponsible.’”

Trevor laughed despite himself.

“I’d like to become financially stable.”

“You’re aiming too low.”

There was a knock at the open door.

Both men turned.

Two women stood there.

Beautiful, first-year age, effortlessly self-possessed in the way some people arrive places already knowing they belong.

One was tall, athletic, dark-haired, wearing a headband, a crop top and denim shorts. The other had curly blonde hair, bracelets stacked up both arms, a floral hairpin, a cropped halter top, a navel ring and a flowing low-rise skirt, and a smile that could start trouble accidentally.

Cory immediately adjusted his posture.

Trevor simply leaned on the desk and stayed relaxed.

“Hey,” said the dark-haired one. “We’re introducing ourselves to everyone on the floor.”

“Building community,” said the blonde one.

“Room 314,” Cory said smoothly. “You found the right place.”

Trevor glanced at him.

The dark-haired woman ignored the line.

“I’m Sienna.”

“Maya,” said the blonde.

“Cory,” he said, extending a hand he hoped looked casual.

“Trevor,” said Trevor, nodding.

Maya van Rooyen peeked into the room.

“You guys moved in early too?”

“We’re strategic,” Cory said.

“We hate lines,” Trevor corrected.

Sienna Watson smiled.

“We’re doing a movie night in the common room tonight. Wanted to invite everyone.”

“What movie?” Trevor asked.

“We haven’t decided,” Maya said. “Something bad enough to be fun.”

Cory leaned on the bedframe.

“That sounds like my specialty.”

Again, nobody rewarded the line except Trevor, who coughed to hide a laugh.

Then Sienna added:

“We’re bringing Dino Tea.”

Both young men paused.

Trevor blinked.

“The legal Lizardfolk stuff?”

Maya nodded.

“Yep.”

Cory looked at Trevor.

Trevor looked at Cory.

A full silent conference occurred.

Then both answered at once.

“We’ll be there.”

Sienna laughed.

“Thought so.”

“We’re in the common room at eight.”

The women moved on to the next door.

Cory stood frozen for a second after they left.

Then he slowly turned to Trevor.

“Brother.”

“Yes?”

“We live here now.”

Trevor looked around the messy room, the sunlight, the ocean beyond the window.

For the first time all day, it felt real.

“Yeah,” he said.

“We do.”

Later that afternoon, the dorm floor had settled into that strange first-day rhythm where everyone was unpacking, wandering, or pretending not to be nervous.

Doors stood half open.

Music drifted from somewhere down the hall.

Someone had already gotten locked out of their room.

In the shared common room, Trevor Edwards entered carrying a bottle of water and looking for a quiet minute away from Cory’s fifth speech about “prime freshman social positioning.”

Instead, he found someone cooking.

At the stove stood a young woman with dark hair tied back loosely, stirring something in a skillet with calm concentration. Vegetables sizzled beside strips of chicken, garlic and onion filling the room with an aroma so far above dorm expectations that Trevor stopped walking.

“You can do that?” he asked.

She glanced over.

“Cook?”

“No, I mean... here.”

She looked back to the pan.

“They put stoves in the room. I assumed it was a clue.”

Trevor laughed.

“I just thought everyone had meal plans.”

“We do.”

“…and they cost a fortune.”

“They do that too.”

She lowered the heat and added seasoning with the efficiency of someone who had done this before.

Trevor leaned on the counter.

“Then why cook?”

She gave him a look that suggested the answer should be obvious.

“Because I’d like to eat something recognizable every now and then.”

Trevor smiled.

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s not poison,” she said, “but the food options on campus are mostly burgers, fried things, pizza, and concepts built from cheese.”

“That sounds kind of good.”

“For three days.”

She stirred again.

“After that, it becomes a negotiation with your organs.”

Trevor laughed harder this time.

“I’m Trevor, by the way.”

She nodded once.

“Isolde Ellison.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

He watched the pan a moment.

“So you’re just paying for the meal plan and ignoring it?”

“I resent it in principle and tolerate it in practice.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“My mother usually gives me grocery money.”

“That helps.”

“It does.”

She moved the finished food onto a plate with precise economy.

Trevor hesitated, then said what had clearly been sitting on him all day.

“I’m kind of worried about university.”

Isolde didn’t react dramatically or offer fake surprise.

“Good.”

Trevor blinked.

“Good?”

“It means you understand it matters.”

She set the plate down and leaned against the counter.

“People who arrive certain they’ve mastered everything by day one are usually idiots.”

“That describes my roommate.”

“Then you have useful data already.”

Trevor laughed.

“I just don’t know how to do all of it. Classes. Money. Friends. Future. Not screwing up.”

Isolde considered him.

“You don’t do all of it at once.”

She pointed lightly with her fork.

“You just have to find the right balance.”

“Easy for you to say. You seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“I know how to make stir fry.”

“That’s more than I’ve got.”

She smiled faintly for the first time.

“Then start there. Learn one thing. Then another.”

From the hallway came Cory’s voice.

“Trevor! Emergency! I need a second opinion on two shirts!”

Trevor closed his eyes.

Isolde took a bite.

“Your balance may require boundaries.”

He sighed.

“Nice meeting you.”

“You too,” she said, “and Trevor?”

“Yeah?”

“Never trust anyone who calls shirt selection an emergency.”

He nodded solemnly.

“Wisdom accepted.”

The Sicario Apartment, Bow Wow Way, Cuyahoga Castles

The Sicario apartment was unusually quiet.

No television humming in the background. No half-folded laundry spread across the couch. No warehouse radio station playing from Stacy’s phone while she cooked tomorrow’s lunch in advance.

Instead, Stacy Sicario stood in front of the hallway mirror in a dark evening gown she had not worn in years, turning sideways and adjusting the fabric at the waist with visible suspicion.

Her phone was wedged between shoulder and ear.

“I’m telling you, Simon is twenty-three and still says he’s ‘figuring things out,’” Carina’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Figuring what out? Gravity?”

Stacy smirked despite herself.

“He’s young.”

“He’s lazy.”

“He’s confused.”

“He’s horizontal,” Carina shot back. “That boy has become one with my couch.”

Stacy checked the neckline again.

“You said last month he was starting a podcast.”

“He started naming the podcast.”

“That’s still progress.”

“It is not.”

Stacy laughed softly, then glanced again at herself in the mirror.

Carina’s tone shifted into that casual way Stacy knew usually meant trouble.

“You know… if your warehouse needs people, Simon could work there.”

Stacy’s face tightened a little.

“I don’t hire people.”

“You supervise.”

“I supervise people who already got hired.”

“You could put in a word.”

Stacy hesitated.

“I don’t know, Rina. They’re cutting shifts right now.”

A pause.

“Cutting shifts?”

“Some departments. Slower orders. Management says temporary.”

“You think your hours are safe?”

“I said some departments.”

“Stacy.”

Stacy exhaled through her nose.

“I think I’m fine.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then Carina lightened deliberately.

“Well. If they fire you, at least you’re dressed for revenge.”

Stacy snorted.

“Goodnight, Rina.”

“Call me tomorrow. And if this man is ugly, leave immediately.”

“He’s not ugly.”

“Oh? Listen to you.”

“Goodnight.”

She ended the call before Carina could enjoy herself further.

At that exact moment, footsteps came down the stairs.

Evie entered the living room, saw her mother, and stopped dead.

“…Whoa.”

Stacy looked over, suddenly self-conscious.

“What?”

Evie blinked twice.

“I almost apologized for being in the wrong apartment.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, seriously.” Evie stepped closer, looking her up and down with theatrical disbelief. “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”

Stacy tried not to smile.

“I think maybe I overdid it.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“This dress might be too much.”

“It’s not.”

Stacy glanced back at the mirror.

“I just don’t usually do this anymore.”

Evie softened.

“You look amazing.”

Stacy waved a dismissive hand, then grinned with a flash of the younger woman she once was.

“I’m trying to get John Wick to arrest me for looking this good.”

Evie burst out laughing.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You cannot say that to him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he might actually smile, and then society collapses.”

Stacy laughed too.

Evie placed a hand dramatically over her chest.

“For the record, you will be convicted.”

“Convicted?”

“Of being a bombshell.”

Stacy shook her head.

“You are ridiculous.”

“I learned from the best.”

The laughter settled.

Then Evie’s expression changed.

She looked toward the kitchen table, where a stack of unopened envelopes sat beside a grocery flyer.

“Mom…”

Stacy knew the tone immediately.

“What?”

“The warehouse stuff.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You said they’re cutting shifts.”

“In some areas.”

“…but still.”

Stacy crossed her arms lightly.

“My job should be fine.”

“Should?”

“Evie.”

“I’m just asking.”

Stacy’s voice gentled.

“I’ve been there a long time. They need supervisors who know what they’re doing.”

Evie nodded, but not fully convinced.

“…and the apartment?”

Stacy shrugged, trying for casual.

“Thiago’s payments still go through.”

Still.

The word hung there even though neither said it.

Evie looked down.

“What if they stop?”

Stacy’s eyes flicked briefly toward the envelopes, then back to her daughter.

“Then we deal with it.”

That was how Stacy always answered uncertainty: by treating it like a box that could be lifted later.

Evie stepped forward and hugged her.

Stacy stiffened for half a second in surprise, then hugged back.

“You’ll be okay,” Evie said quietly.

Stacy smiled into her hair.

“I know.”

The doorbell rang.

Both women separated.

Evie grinned.

“John Wick.”

Stacy rolled her eyes, suddenly nervous again.

“Go upstairs.”

“No chance.”

“Evie.”

“I’m observing for safety reasons.”

Stacy pointed toward the stairs.

“Move.”

Evie retreated laughing as Stacy took one breath, straightened the dress, and walked to the door.

Stacy opened the door.

There stood Elian Reyes, dressed in a dark evening suit that fit him well but carried the unmistakable energy of a man reacquainting himself with formalwear in real time.

He adjusted one cufflink.

Then the jacket sleeve.

Then the boutonniere.

Then the cufflink again.

In one hand he held a large bouquet of flowers that looked expensive enough to cause commentary.

He looked up.

…and forgot every prepared word.

Stacy stood framed in the doorway, poised, confident, and far more radiant than he had expected- even after expecting plenty.

Elian blinked once.

Then again.

“…Well.”

Stacy smiled slowly.

“That bad?”

“It is,” he said truthfully. “For my concentration.”

She laughed.

Only then did he realize he was still holding the flowers like evidence.

He cleared his throat and handed them over.

“These are for you.”

She accepted them, inhaled the scent, and softened.

“They’re beautiful.”

“You’re making them look underdressed.”

“That line was rehearsed.”

“It was not. I had better ones until the door opened.”

From halfway up the staircase, a shadow leaned farther through the railing.

Evie.

Trying to be invisible with the confidence only teenagers possess.

Elian didn’t turn his head.

“You have school tomorrow.”

Evie froze.

“…How did you know I was there?”

“I work for Peace.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s enough of one.”

Stacy laughed into the bouquet.

“Go upstairs.”

“I’m just checking vibe integrity.”

“Upstairs.”

Evie retreated with exaggerated annoyance.

Elian finally looked fully at Stacy again.

“You really do look…”

He searched.

“Dangerous.”

She stepped closer.

“I appreciate the flowers.”

“I’m glad.”

“…but later, I’d prefer handcuffs.”

Elian’s eyebrows rose.

That got through the veteran composure faster than the dress had.

“…You don’t play around.”

Stacy tilted her head.

“I play as hard as I work.”

A beat.

“Hope you do too.”

Elian smiled- a rare, genuine one.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“It sounds like dinner if you don’t keep me waiting.”

He offered his arm.

She took it.

They stepped out together into the evening.

As the door closed behind them, Evie’s head reappeared over the stair rail.

“…Damn,” she whispered to no one.

Chapter 2

Public Ocean Recreational Node, District 8

At the Public Ocean Recreational Node, finding a patch of sand had proven easier than finding parking.

Finding one acceptable to Zasaramel was another matter entirely.

He stood at the edge of the open space with feet planted shoulder-width apart, eyes narrowed toward the sea.

Then toward the dunes.

Then toward a family playing frisbee.

Then toward a man carrying six hot dogs.

Then back to the water.

Roxy Corvina, seated in a folding chair, watched him over her sunglasses.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Threats.”

“It’s a beach.”

“Yes.”

“…and what threats do you expect here?”

Zasaramel counted on his fingers.

“Sharks. Tigers. Bandits. Hidden sinkholes. Rogue machinery. Opportunists.”

Roxy blinked.

“One of those is maybe possible.”

“One is enough.”

He crouched and tested the sand with his hand.

Satisfied, he nodded.

“This ground is acceptable.”

The family began unloading.

Towels spread.

Cooler opened.

Umbrella raised after a brief struggle with physics.

Watcher circled three times before dropping heavily into the shade.

Joanna and Ruby Lee settled with the babies, feeding Kyren and Souren with the synchronized efficiency of people who had done this sleep-deprived and half-conscious many times before.

Nearby, Raven knelt in the sand helping the babies pat uneven towers into what she diplomatically called a castle.

“It needs walls,” she told them.

“It needs snacks,” Ruby replied.

Once the babies were content, Joanna stretched out on one towel while Ruby reached into a beach bag.

Roxy noticed immediately.

“Oh?”

Ruby grinned and produced a neatly rolled joint.

“Legal strain,” she said. “Bought from the club.”

Joanna raised a hand lazily.

“Very civic-minded.”

Ruby lit it, took a slow draw, then passed it over.

The two of them settled into the sun like women deeply committed to a leisurely afternoon.

Zasaramel, after one final scan of the horizon, lay down between them.

Hands folded over his chest.

Eyes closed.

At peace.

For approximately forty seconds.

Then Joanna placed a hand on his shoulder.

Ruby traced circles on his arm.

Joanna looked up at the sky.

“Do you ever think clouds are just mountains that learned forgiveness?”

Ruby inhaled thoughtfully.

“All beaches are temporary kingdoms.”

Joanna nodded.

“The tide is taxation.”

Roxy doubled over laughing.

Zasaramel did not move.

He only smiled faintly behind closed eyes.

Ruby leaned closer to him.

“You are radiant today.”

Joanna kissed the side of his neck.

“You feel like destiny with shoulders.”

Zasaramel’s smile widened.

Across the towel, Arel-Sin watched in mounting confusion.

He tugged lightly at his father’s arm.

“Father?”

“Mmm?”

“Are my mommies doing the Mary Iguana again?”

Roxy made a choking sound, then fell sideways out of her beach chair laughing into the sand.

Raven covered her face.

Even Joanna and Ruby burst into giggles.

Zasaramel opened one eye.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It helps them relax.”

Arel-Sin considered this.

“It seems to make them speak badly.”

“That is also true.”

Roxy was still laughing helplessly.

Arel-Sin turned to her.

“Do you wish to go for a walk?”

Roxy pushed herself upright, wiping tears from her eyes.

She shrugged.

“Yeah.”

He nodded seriously.

“Good. I need to understand this country.”

They walked off together along the shoreline while behind them Joanna declared the ocean was “basically a giant breathing mirror,” and Zasaramel, still smiling, seemed in no hurry to challenge the theory.

Roxy and Arel-Sin walked along the shoreline where the tide lapped in soft bursts against the sand.

Above them, a pterodactyl glided in a slow circle, then angled inland toward the cliffs.

Arel-Sin pointed upward.

“Sky hunter.”

Roxy glanced up.

“Yeah. They steal fries if you let them.”

Arel-Sin nodded seriously.

“A capable beast.”

They kept walking.

Roxy was still laughing under her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, failing to recover. “Mary Iguana. Where did you even get that?”

Arel-Sin looked mildly offended.

“It is not my phrase.”

“Then whose is it?”

“I read it on a blog.”

That only made her laugh again.

“What blog?”

He answered with solemn certainty.

“Sister Agatha Christine.”

Roxy stopped walking.

“No way.”

“She warned that Mary Iguana was the devil’s smoke and that youths who inhale it become servants of confusion.”

Roxy bent over laughing.

“She sounds terrifying.”

“She is,” Arel-Sin said. “Her eyes in the portrait were very severe.”

Roxy wiped tears from her eyes.

“Arel-Sin... that’s a parody site.”

He frowned.

“A false scripture?”

“No. A joke.”

“I do not understand.”

“It’s making fun of people who act like that in real life.”

He looked genuinely puzzled.

“…but it looked sincere.”

“That’s the point.”

She resumed walking, still grinning.

“…and ‘Agatha Christine’ is probably a play on Agatha Christie.”

“Who is she?”

“A famous writer.”

“Then why not use her real name?”

“Because the person running the site is doing satire.”

Arel-Sin stared straight ahead as if hoping the ocean might explain.

Roxy sighed.

“Okay. Think of it like this. Sometimes people show an idea in such an extreme, ridiculous form that everyone sees how silly it is.”

He considered.

“So... lying?”

“No.”

“Mock battle?”

“Closer.”

“Poisoned wisdom?”

“Not really.”

She waved her hands.

“It’s called an argument from absurdity,” Roxy said. “You take someone’s idea and push it so far it becomes ridiculous, which helps show the original idea has problems.”

Arel-Sin frowned.

“Demonstrate.”

“Okay. Say someone tells you, ‘Children should always obey their parents.’”

“That is wise.”

“Maybe, but then I say, ‘Fine- then if your parents tell you to jump into the ocean wearing rocks, you must obey forever.’”

Arel-Sin paused.

“That would be stupid.”

“Exactly. I pushed the idea too far so you’d see blind obedience has limits.”

He considered this carefully.

“So it is combat training for thoughts.”

Roxy smiled.

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“This land is exhausting.”

They walked a few more paces.

“…but El Requeson is Catholic,” he said. “Many shrines. Many churches. Many guilt faces.”

“Accurate,” Roxy said.

“Then how can someone mock Christianity and not be jailed?”

Roxy laughed.

“Because that’s not how this works.”

“The mayor allows this?”

“The mayor barely allows potholes.”

Arel-Sin looked alarmed.

“I thought the mayor was like a king.”

Roxy snorted.

“He probably thinks that too.”

“Then he could punish dissent.”

“He can complain. He can posture. He can make speeches…but RUWS doesn’t work like that.”

She pointed around them.

“People can criticize leaders. Institutions. Traditions. The status quo.”

Arel-Sin’s eyes widened.

“I can criticize my Mommies and Daddy?”

Roxy didn’t miss a beat.

“You can.”

He smiled hopefully.

She immediately added:

“Don’t push your luck.”

His smile vanished.

“This freedom is selective.”

“Now you’re learning politics.”

Overhead, the pterodactyl swooped low and stole a hot dog from a distracted tourist.

Arel-Sin pointed.

“Is that also freedom?”

Roxy grinned.

“That’s just El Requeson.”

Roxy and Arel-Sin continued along the shoreline, passing umbrellas, coolers, children digging trenches doomed by the tide, and tourists already too sunburned for the hour.

A man approached from the opposite direction.

He was old enough to be Roxy’s father, tanned in the artificial way of a man committed to image, wearing an open linen shirt, expensive sunglasses, and the relaxed swagger of someone who thought he was making an entrance whenever he arrived anywhere.

He smiled before he reached them.

“Well now,” he said to Roxy. “You brighten the beach.”

Roxy gave the polite half-smile women often develop for situations they do not want but may need to manage.

“Thanks.”

“You local?”

“Sort of.”

“I’ve got a place nearby. Friends coming later. Good music, drinks, nice crowd.”

Arel-Sin studied him like a strange bird.

The man continued.

“You should swing by.”

Roxy remained pleasant.

“That’s kind of you.”

“I’m kind in many ways.”

Arel-Sin frowned.

“That sentence is suspicious.”

The man laughed too hard.

“Who’s your little buddy?”

Before Arel-Sin could answer, Roxy casually slipped an arm through his and said:

“My boyfriend.”

Arel-Sin nearly choked.

“I am n-”

Roxy lightly batted his arm without looking at him.

He stopped talking instantly.

The man’s smile faltered.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well... good for you two.”

He adjusted his sunglasses, dignity partially intact.

“Enjoy the day.”

Then he moved on down the beach in search of easier terrain.

Arel-Sin watched him leave.

Then turned sharply to Roxy.

“I am not your paramour.”

“I know.”

“You said I was.”

“I did.”

“That was false.”

“Yes.”

“My father says lying is bad.”

Roxy nodded.

“In spirit, I agree.”

“In spirit?”

They resumed walking.

“Remember what I said about blind rules?”

“Yes. Thought combat.”

“Right. ‘Lying is bad’ is mostly true. But sometimes reality gets messy.”

She gestured behind them.

“That guy wasn’t dangerous, but he also wasn’t hearing the hints. Some people only back off if they think another man is involved.”

Arel-Sin was visibly disturbed.

“That is foolish.”

“Very.”

“Why not simply say, ‘I am not interested’?”

Roxy laughed once, not because it was funny.

“Because sometimes that works.”

“…and sometimes?”

“Sometimes they argue. Sometimes they push. Sometimes they ask why. Sometimes they treat no like the opening round of negotiations.”

Arel-Sin slowed.

“That is dishonorable.”

“Welcome to Earth.”

She continued.

“Same reason people lie to salespeople.”

“What is a salesperson?”

“Someone who tries to keep you talking until you buy something.”

“Then simply say no.”

“You’d think.”

He looked sincerely puzzled.

Roxy looked at him sideways.

“Has a woman ever told you she’s interested?”

Arel-Sin considered.

“No.”

“Then some of this may take time.”

He nodded solemnly.

“I am learning many discouraging truths today.”

Roxy smiled.

“Look, I’m not saying lying is good. I’m saying life isn’t always clean and simple.”

He was quiet for several steps.

“In my training, things were often clear.”

“Lucky you.”

She nudged his shoulder.

“One day you’ll see things aren’t always black and white.”

Arel-Sin glanced at the crowded beach, the noise, the chaos, the pterodactyl trying to steal another snack, and the adults behaving strangely.

“I already suspect they are mostly beige.”

Roxy burst out laughing.

“Okay,” she said. “That was actually good.”

Roxy and Arel-Sin continued down the shoreline, weaving through towels, umbrellas, coolers, and the endless human confidence that no one else needed walking space.

Eventually Roxy pointed ahead.

“There.”

On a towel near the waterline lay Hailey McCrain, sunbathing with practiced stillness behind oversized sunglasses. She looked entirely at peace, one arm behind her head, bracelets glinting in the sun.

Arel-Sin lowered his voice.

“Is she sleeping?”

“No,” said Roxy. “She’s charging.”

They moved closer.

Hailey tilted her head slightly without opening her eyes.

“You two look like you solved politics.”

“We made it worse,” Roxy replied.

A sudden splash came from the shallows.

They turned.

Farther out, knee-deep in the water, Tasha McCrain was laughing.

Beside her—circling excitedly in the surf—was a baby plesiosaur.

Its long little neck bobbed happily as it nudged her shoulder and chased the water she kicked at it.

Arel-Sin’s eyes widened.

“Water dragon child.”

“It’s adorable,” Hailey admitted, finally sitting up.

Tasha wrapped both arms around the creature’s neck area as best she could.

“You’re my new best friend!”

The plesiosaur chirped.

Then a siren blipped once offshore.

A patrol launch cut across the bay, white hull gleaming.

Large green letters on the side read:

NATURAL OCEANS AND PARKS ENFORCEMENT

NOPE

Roxy laughed immediately.

“They kept that acronym?”

The boat came to a stop near shore.

Two uniformed officers stood aboard with megaphones.

“Young lady in the water,” one called. “Please step away from the juvenile plesiosaur.”

Tasha looked offended.

“We’re bonding!”

“Step away from the juvenile plesiosaur.”

“It likes me!”

“The mother likely likes it more.”

That got everyone’s attention.

The officer continued:

“If the calf is separated, the mother may approach shoreline zones searching for it.”

A beat.

“That would create trouble for the beach.”

Several nearby swimmers began exiting the water immediately.

Tasha looked at the baby creature.

“It got lost?”

“It wandered in with the tide,” the officer said. “We need to escort it back to open water.”

Tasha sighed dramatically.

“This is oppression.”

Roxy cupped her hands and shouted:

“It’s wildlife management!”

Hailey added:

“They’re right!”

Tasha glared toward shore.

“Traitors!”

Arel-Sin nodded to the officers.

“They speak with authority.”

Roxy smirked.

“Careful. You’re relapsing into blind obedience.”

Tasha crouched beside the little plesiosaur.

“Okay,” she said softly. “You gotta go.”

She hugged its head gently.

The baby made a soft honking sound.

Then one of the NOPE officers guided it toward the launch using a floating barrier line. The calf followed curiously, neck bobbing.

As the boat turned back toward deeper water, Tasha trudged toward shore looking heartbroken.

“I was chosen,” she said.

“You were tolerated for six minutes,” Hailey replied.

Tasha dropped onto the towel beside them.

“I could’ve raised it.”

“No,” said everyone at once.

Roxy studied her.

“You know... you might actually like working with dinosaurs.”

Tasha snorted.

“Doing what?”

“Handling them. Rescue work. Park systems. Animal behavior stuff.”

Tasha looked out at the departing boat.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged.

“I like them. I’m not sure I like jobs.”

Hailey laughed.

“That is the most honest thing you’ve said all week.”

Arel-Sin watched the horizon where the NOPE launch disappeared.

“This land has many strange institutions.”

“You mean NOPE?”

“NOPE was reasonable. Parking law was madness.”

Roxy smiled and conceded the point.

Tasha was still sulking over the departure of the baby plesiosaur when she suddenly sat upright as if remembering unfinished business.

“Oh right.”

She reached into her beach bag and pulled out a large plastic bag full of weed.

Hailey nearly jumped.

“Where did that come from?”

Tasha held it up proudly.

“Emergency medicine.”

“That is not medicine,” said Hailey.

“It’s herb. Green. Gas. Loud. Trees. Sticky. Premium botanical therapy.”

Arel-Sin stared.

“What language is this?”

Roxy glanced over once.

“Mary Iguana.”

Arel-Sin nodded immediately.

“Ah.”

Tasha looked at him.

“No one else should ever call it that.”

She flopped back onto the towel dramatically.

“I need to relax after the government kidnapped my sea child.”

Roxy held out a hand.

“Let me see that.”

She inspected the bag, eyebrows rising.

“That’s a lot. Where’d you get it?”

Tasha shrugged.

“Some guy.”

“What guy?”

“Beach guy. Open shirt. Thought he was sexy.”

Roxy slowly turned toward Arel-Sin.

“The linen shirt?”

Arel-Sin pointed downshore.

“The suspicious one.”

Tasha blinked.

“You know him?”

“No,” Roxy said. “He tried talking to us.”

Tasha grinned.

“Then you know he’s generous.”

“How much did you pay?”

Tasha puffed up proudly.

“Twenty.”

Hailey sat up.

“That much should’ve been way more than twenty.”

“It was.”

Roxy narrowed her eyes.

“What happened?”

Tasha smiled like a victorious negotiator.

“He said one hundred.”

“…and?”

“I hugged him, told him he seemed misunderstood, and promised I’d go to his party later.”

Hailey covered her face.

Roxy burst out laughing.

Arel-Sin looked alarmed.

“You are attending this party?”

Tasha recoiled.

“Absolutely not.”

“…but you pledged yourself.”

“I said words.”

“You gave your bond!”

“I gave him optimism.”

“That is deception.”

“That is commerce.”

Roxy was laughing too hard to help.

Arel-Sin turned to her.

“This is manipulation.”

Tasha shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“You admit it?”

“I’m not proud of it,” she said, pausing. “I’m also not sad.”

Arel-Sin folded his arms.

“In my father’s teachings, bargains are sacred.”

Hailey muttered:

“In your father’s teachings, parking signs are for babies.”

That stunned him silent for a moment.

Roxy finally recovered.

“Arel-Sin, remember what we talked about.”

He frowned.

“Thought combat.”

“…and rigid thinking.”

She pointed to the bag.

“Should Tasha lie to kind old grandmothers? No.”

Tasha nodded.

“Correct.”

“…but a pushy beach creep trying to overcharge her because she’s young and cute?”

Tasha nodded harder.

“Also correct.”

Roxy continued.

“Sometimes the clean rule and the practical rule aren’t the same.”

Arel-Sin looked between them, troubled.

“This country survives through exceptions.”

Hailey smiled.

“Now you’re understanding society.”

Tasha opened the bag and inhaled deeply.

“Smells like justice.”

Roxy snorted.

“It smells like stems.”

Arel-Sin looked out at the sea.

“I miss simpler enemies.”

The beach had calmed into lazy afternoon rhythm.

Tasha was reorganizing her contraband like a pharmacist with poor priorities. Hailey had resumed tanning. Roxy was half-watching the water and half-watching everyone else.

Arel-Sin, meanwhile, had become very still.

Roxy noticed first.

“What?”

He pointed subtly.

A woman lay on a towel several yards away, eyes closed, sunning peacefully. She was attractive, athletic, and entirely minding her own business.

Arel-Sin spoke with solemn conviction.

“I wish to speak with her.”

Roxy looked over.

“She’s asleep.”

“Then I shall wait.”

“That means later.”

He nodded.

“I understand.”

Then he turned his body and stared at her like a sentry guarding a shrine.

Roxy smacked his shoulder.

“No, not like that.”

He blinked.

“You said wait.”

“I meant do something else until she wakes up.”

“This language wastes time.”

Minutes passed.

Then the woman stirred, sat up, and stretched her arms overhead.

Arel-Sin inhaled sharply.

“Is this the proper moment?”

Roxy glanced over.

“Yeah, probably.”

He immediately rose.

Hailey shot upright like a referee.

“Hold it.”

Arel-Sin froze mid-step.

“You do not march over there like you’re collecting taxes.”

“I was walking with purpose.”

“Same problem.”

Hailey removed her sunglasses.

“First, smile at her.”

“Why?”

“So she knows you’re friendly.”

“I am friendly.”

“You look like you’re about to challenge someone to ritual combat.”

Tasha laughed.

Hailey continued.

“If she smiles back and keeps eye contact, go talk to her.”

“…and if she does not?”

“Then leave her alone.”

“…and if she smiles then looks away?”

“Probably leave her alone.”

“…and if she snarls?”

“Definitely leave her alone.”

Arel-Sin nodded seriously.

“These are useful battlefield signs.”

He then frowned.

“I do not know what to say.”

Tasha waved lazily.

“There are no rules.”

Hailey rolled her eyes.

“There are some rules.”

Tasha shrugged.

“Just say hi. Ask something normal.”

“What is normal?” Arel-Sin asked.

“Small talk,” said Roxy.

“What is small talk?”

The three girls opened their mouths.

Then all stopped.

Roxy checked the woman again.

“No time.”

Hailey pointed.

“Speak from the heart.”

Tasha added:

“…but keep it short.”

Arel-Sin took a breath.

He turned.

The woman was looking directly at him.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

…and maintained eye contact.

Arel-Sin immediately locked up.

His body went rigid. His face remained pleasant but empty, like a statue that had recently learned manners.

The woman, sensing something unusual, stood and approached halfway.

“Uh... are you okay?”

The sound of her voice broke the spell.

Arel-Sin straightened.

“Yes.”

Then, honestly:

“I thought you were pretty.”

The woman blinked, then smiled warmly.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Encouraged, Arel-Sin nodded once.

“May I have a hug?”

Back on the towels, all four spectators reacted at once.

Hailey covered her mouth.

Tasha whispered, “No way.”

Roxy was frozen in delighted horror.

The woman looked surprised- but not alarmed.

She studied him.

Arel-Sin stood there openly, hands visible, expression sincere, no trace of menace or gamesmanship.

After a beat, she laughed softly.

“Sure.”

She stepped in and hugged him.

Arel-Sin carefully returned the embrace as if handling sacred protocol.

When they parted, he looked genuinely pleased.

Then she said gently:

“I do have a boyfriend, though.”

Arel-Sin nodded, then asked plainly:

“Do you truly have a boyfriend, or are you saying that because you are not interested in me?”

The woman stared.

He continued:

“If you are not interested, I accept this.”

She looked even more surprised.

Back on the towels, Hailey whispered:

“Oh my God.”

Arel-Sin quickly added:

“Have I offended you?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

Then, after considering him:

“No, I really do have a boyfriend…and I’m not interested.”

Arel-Sin bowed his head slightly.

“Thank you for your honesty.”

Right then, a tall man carrying drinks and wearing swim trunks approached from behind her.

He looked from her to Arel-Sin, then toward the group of watching girls, then back again.

The girls immediately started rising from their towels.

Roxy first.

Tasha second.

Hailey already halfway standing.

…but the man only looked curious.

“Everything good here?” he asked.

The tall man carrying drinks looked from Petra to Arel-Sin, then toward the cluster of half-risen spectators on the towels.

Petra turned to him immediately.

“Yes, everything is fine, Sasha.”

Her tone was calm, matter-of-fact, and carried the kind of certainty that ends most misunderstandings before they begin.

Sasha relaxed at once.

“Okay.”

Roxy stepped forward with an easy smile.

“My friend here was just taking an awkward teenager’s first swing at love.”

She motioned toward Arel-Sin.

“He still has some things to learn.”

Petra laughed.

“He does.”

Then she added warmly:

“…but he took rejection really well.”

Sasha nodded.

“Honestly? Better than most grown men.”

That landed like an arrow.

Arel-Sin’s ears reddened.

He turned sharply and began to scurry away down the sand with all the dignity of a prince fleeing a poultry incident.

“Hey,” Petra called warmly, “come here.”

He stopped.

She crossed the short distance, gently caught his shoulder, and pulled him into another hug.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You seem like a very sweet boy.”

He stood frozen for a moment, then carefully hugged back.

She introduced herself to him while they hugged, and he introduced himself too.

When they parted, he looked up properly at her for the first time.

Petra was powerfully built- defined shoulders, thick arms, athletic legs. Strong in the way of someone who had spent years testing herself against resistance.

Arel-Sin pointed respectfully.

“You are mighty.”

Petra laughed.

“I used to do MMA.”

“What is this?”

“Mixed martial arts. Fighting sport.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully.

“Retired now.”

Arel-Sin straightened.

“I am a warrior.”

“Are you?”

“My father also is one.”

Roxy muttered to Hailey:

“This just pivoted hard.”

Petra grinned.

“You want to spar?”

Arel-Sin’s whole face lit up.

“Yes.”

Finally.

A language he understood.

They cleared a patch of open sand.

A small crowd naturally formed, because beaches obey ancient laws whenever two people square off.

Petra took a relaxed stance.

Arel-Sin took one far too dramatic.

Sasha smiled.

“He’s serious.”

“He always is,” said Roxy.

The spar began lightly.

Arel-Sin rushed too early.

Petra pivoted and redirected him with ease.

He recovered fast, tried again, this time feinting high and reaching low.

Better.

Still sloppy.

Petra checked his movement, tapped his shoulder, then his ribs.

“Hands up.”

He corrected instantly.

Again.

This time he circled better.

His footwork was raw but quick. His timing imperfect but instinctive. He overcommitted like a boy who believed intensity could substitute for patience.

Sometimes it almost did.

Petra had to move.

Then move again.

Then actually brace when he crashed into a clinch attempt with startling strength.

She broke clean and laughed.

“Okay.”

She looked at Sasha.

“He’s got something.”

Arel-Sin beamed.

They reset.

He tried a spinning maneuver that was half technique, half myth.

Petra stepped aside and let him rotate into the sand.

The beach applauded.

He rose immediately.

“That was strategy.”

“No it wasn’t,” said everyone.

Petra helped brush him off.

“You’re talented,” she said. “Untrained in spots. Wild…but talented.”

Arel-Sin bowed.

“You honor me.”

Back at the towels, Sasha noticed the large bag beside Tasha.

He pointed.

“Were you guys about to light that?”

Everyone looked at the weed.

Then at each other.

Then at Sasha and Petra.

Tasha smiled broadly.

“We were now.”

Hailey groaned.

Roxy shrugged.

“Want to sit?”

Petra and Sasha looked at one another.

Then both smiled.

“Sure.”

The circle on the sand had expanded naturally.

Towels were shifted.

Coolers became tables.

Seagulls watched from a distance with the patience of professional thieves.

The joint made its slow rounds between Petra, Sasha, Hailey, Roxy, and Tasha, each with their own style.

Hailey took careful, measured pulls like someone reading dosage instructions internally.

Roxy handled it casually, socially, unfazed.

Tasha smoked with theatrical satisfaction, as if reclaiming something stolen by NOPE.

Petra inhaled like a veteran who knew exactly what she liked.

Sasha coughed once, laughed, then declared the batch “honest.”

The joint came toward Arel-Sin.

Tasha held it out.

“You sure?”

He shook his head immediately.

“No.”

“Never?”

“I did not say never.”

“Then now.”

“No.”

Roxy smiled.

“He’s in a duel with curiosity.”

Arel-Sin folded his arms.

“I require no smoke to govern my mind.”

Petra nodded approvingly.

“Strong answer.”

Then she passed it onward.

As the mood softened, conversation widened.

“So where are you two from again?” Hailey asked.

“Estonia,” said Sasha.

“Vacation?” Roxy asked.

“Yes. Sun, sea, less paperwork.”

Petra nodded.

“…and your gulls are meaner.”

“That tracks,” said Roxy.

Sasha brushed sand from his leg.

“I act mostly on Estonian television. Some films. A few North American jobs.”

“Like what?” asked Tasha.

He named The Conduit, a streaming detective series.

Roxy nearly dropped the joint.

“No chance.”

“What?”

“You were the creepy embassy guy with the scar!”

Sasha smiled modestly.

“That was me.”

Roxy stared in disbelief.

“You looked completely different.”

“That is the profession.”

“I hated that character.”

“Then I succeeded.”

Petra laughed and nudged him.

“He was killed badly.”

“Artists suffer,” Sasha replied.

Hailey pointed at Petra.

“…and you fought?”

Petra nodded.

“Mostly Estonia. Regional circuits. Then I signed with the World Fighting Empire’s MMA division.”

Tasha blinked.

“The wrestling people?”

“Yes. People forget they have a MMA division.”

“How’d you do?”

“Well enough.”

She shrugged.

“Then I left.”

“Why?” asked Roxy.

Petra took the joint, exhaled slowly.

“Because Vince McGeady rigged too much.”

Everyone listened.

“He wanted his favorites to look unstoppable. The Gant sisters especially.”

Roxy groaned.

“That sounds believable.”

“It was obvious,” Petra said. “Bad matchmaking. Strange judging. Convenient injuries.”

“So you quit?” asked Hailey.

“I went home.”

Sasha smiled proudly.

“She also punched a promoter.”

Petra waved a hand.

“He exaggerated.”

“It was an excellent punch.”

Now they owned several gyms in Estonia, they explained. Good business. Hard work. Better life.

“We teach normal people now,” Petra said. “Not vanity champions.”

“…and maybe children soon,” Sasha added.

Arel-Sin straightened.

“Then you will marry.”

Both shook their heads at once.

“No,” said Petra.

“We do not plan to,” said Sasha.

Arel-Sin blinked several times.

“…but... for children... one must be married.”

Roxy immediately looked away, smiling.

Petra answered gently.

“No. Some people marry. Some do not.”

“Why would one not?”

Sasha shrugged.

“Because marriage is not right for us.”

Arel-Sin was deeply troubled by this information.

“…but you love each other.”

“Yes,” said Petra.

“You live together.”

“Yes.”

“You build future together.”

“Yes.”

“…and yet no marriage.”

“Correct.”

He stared at the ocean for answers.

None came.

Petra smiled kindly.

“You may be too young for this conversation.”

“I am old enough to be confused.”

“That’s fair,” said Sasha.

The joint continued around the circle.

Laughter came easier now.

The sun felt softer.

Even Hailey looked looser.

Arel-Sin watched them all carefully.

How relaxed they seemed.

How easily they spoke.

How even serious things sounded lighter.

The joint came near him again.

This time he did not reject it immediately.

He looked at it.

Then at Roxy.

Then at Petra.

Then at the smoke curling into the warm Rosario air.

Inside himself, curiosity finally began to win.

The joint made its slow orbit around the group again before stopping in front of Arel-Sin.

Everyone looked at him.

He looked at it.

Then back at everyone.

Then back at it.

His expression suggested a man being asked to sign a treaty in a language he did not trust.

“I do not know if I desire this,” he admitted.

Petra nodded.

“Then don’t.”

Sasha added:

“You never have to do something because others are.”

Hailey leaned in.

“Seriously. If you don’t want to, just say no.”

Arel-Sin appreciated the certainty of that rule.

“No,” he said firmly.

Tasha shrugged and passed it onward.

The joint moved exactly one person away.

Then Arel-Sin’s eyes followed it.

His jaw tightened.

He raised a hand.

“...Return it.”

Everyone laughed.

Roxy grinned.

“That was fast.”

Tasha handed it back.

Arel-Sin accepted it with ceremonial gravity.

Then immediately revealed he had no idea what to do with it.

He held it too close to the burning end.

Tasha grabbed his wrist.

“Nope. Other side.”

She adjusted his fingers.

“Like this.”

He studied the corrected grip.

“What now?”

“Put it in your mouth and inhale.”

She meant gently.

She did not mean like a drowning man surfacing for oxygen.

Arel-Sin took one heroic, catastrophic pull that seemed to consume half the beach atmosphere.

Everyone shouted at once.

“No-!”

“Too much!”

“Not like that!”

He coughed instantly.

Then again.

Then sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

For a moment nothing happened.

Then everything happened.

He looked at the ocean.

“It is beautiful.”

He looked at his hands.

“They are suspicious.”

He looked at Petra.

“You are made of angles.”

He looked at Roxy.

“Why are you laughing in slow motion?”

“I’m not,” she said, already crying laughing.

He frowned deeply.

“I feel calm.”

Then a second later:

“I feel danger.”

Then:

“I may understand birds.”

Then:

“I definitely do not.”

His emotions pivoted with terrifying speed.

Wonder.

Concern.

Joy.

Existential discomfort.

At some point, from farther down the coast, a promotional dinosaur park emitted a deep recorded sound through loudspeakers.

To Arel-Sin, it was unmistakable.

A thunderous T-Rex roar.

He froze.

Then slowly curled onto the sand.

“I hear the death king.”

He pulled his knees in and concentrated on breathing.

The laughter stopped.

Now everyone looked worried.

Hailey crouched beside him.

“Arel-Sin?”

Petra checked his breathing calmly.

“He’s okay. Just overwhelmed.”

Tasha looked guilty.

“I should’ve told him to take a tiny puff.”

Roxy knelt beside him.

“You good?”

After a long minute, Arel-Sin slowly uncurled.

“Yes.”

Then, with complete sincerity:

“This Mary Iguana... is not for me.”

The group visibly relaxed.

Sasha nodded.

“Wise.”

Hailey smiled.

“At least not for this afternoon.”

Petra patted his shoulder.

“You survived.”

Arel-Sin sat up, hair full of sand.

“I have seen many things.”

Roxy grinned.

“You inhaled one thing.”

He looked at the joint being passed away from him.

“No,” he said quietly. “There were many things inside it.”

Downtown Cuyahoga Castles

Elian’s sedan moved through the winding streets of Cuyahoga Castles, headlights washing over old stone walls and awkward intersections designed centuries before anyone imagined traffic laws.

The route out of Bow Wow Way passed through the residential corridor Stacy knew too well.

Castle facades patched with mismatched masonry.

Rusting railings bolted into ancient stone.

Community planters half-maintained.

Streetlamps where every third bulb seemed optional.

Nothing catastrophic.

Just the familiar civic standard of good enough.

Stacy looked out the passenger window.

“You can always tell when a neighbourhood has people with money complaining nearby.”

Elian glanced at her.

“How so?”

“The repairs happen faster.”

He nodded once.

“Fair.”

As they moved toward downtown, the city changed.

The retrofitted castles became cleaner, brighter, and more theatrical.

Stone had been professionally restored instead of patched.

Courtyards held restaurant patios.

Former keeps now glowed with bars, galleries, boutique offices, and rooftop lighting that made medieval architecture look expensive on purpose.

Even the potholes seemed more curated.

Stacy smirked.

“See?”

“I do.”

“They tell us there’s no money.”

“There’s always money,” Elian said. “It’s just directional.”

She turned to him.

“That’s annoyingly wise.”

“I save it for dates.”

She smiled and relaxed deeper into the seat.

“I’m glad you picked me up.”

“Because you enjoy my company?”

“That too.”

He waited.

“…but mostly because you have a car.”

“Honesty. Good start.”

Stacy laughed.

“I appreciate the principle behind the ban.”

Cuyahoga Castles had long restricted private automobiles, one of its flagship reform policies. Only essential workers, emergency services, select commercial operators, and approved exemptions could routinely drive inside many districts.

In theory: cleaner air, safer streets, transit-first urban life.

In practice-

“The subway goes where?” Stacy asked rhetorically.

“Downtown.”

“Exactly. If you live downtown, great. If you live anywhere weird, good luck. Buses don’t show, then three come at once. Routes get changed with a tweet nobody sees. Stops disappear like witnesses.”

“That specific?”

“I supervise a warehouse. I hear things.”

He smiled.

“…and yet you support the principle.”

“I do.”

She crossed one leg over the other.

“I like walkable streets. I like fewer cars. I like kids not playing beside traffic.”

Then she gestured out the windshield.

“I just hate when rich planners design life for people they never ride with.”

Elian nodded slowly.

“That may be the most accurate description of urban policy I’ve heard this year.”

“You should date smarter women more often.”

“I’m trying.”

That drew a real laugh.

They passed a tram stop crowded with tired workers while valet attendants opened doors outside a renovated castle steakhouse.

Stacy pointed.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The whole city.”

Elian glanced at the contrast.

“Also fair.”

He turned onto a better-lit street lined with banners and restored stone towers.

Ahead, downtown waited- cleaner, louder, richer, and pretending harder.

Elian guided the car into a narrow private lot tucked between two restored stone walls behind downtown Cuyahoga Castles.

Unlike Bow Wow Way, the streets here were polished with intention.

Lantern-style lighting.

Clean brickwork.

Repointed castle stone.

Valets pretending they weren’t impressed by expensive vehicles.

Money had reached this district and left fingerprints everywhere.

Elian parked, stepped out, and came around to open Stacy’s door.

She emerged in her gown, looked up at the illuminated towers, then at the elegant sign mounted in wrought iron:

THE SAURIAN STEAKHOUSE

A carved bronze brontosaur neck arched above the entrance like a guardian.

Stacy whistled softly.

“Well now.”

Elian offered an arm.

“You said you wanted a proper night.”

She took it.

“I also said I wanted handcuffs later.”

“I remember every word.”

They walked toward the entrance.

“So what’s the big deal here?” Stacy asked.

Elian nodded toward the sign.

“Real dinosaur meat.”

“That sounds like a slogan.”

“It’s also true.”

He continued as they crossed the courtyard.

“No compressed filler patties. No flavor tubes. No mechanically separated nostalgia.”

Stacy laughed.

“So shots fired at the chains?”

“I’m just saying this isn’t Raptor Nuggets.”

“Chicken-aligned dino meats,” Stacy said knowingly.

“Exactly.”

“…and not Stego Burgers.”

“Beef-aligned dino meats.”

“With enough salt to preserve masonry.”

She smiled.

“I’m looking forward to the real thing.”

Then, after a beat:

“…but after a twelve-hour shift? A double Stego still hits.”

Elian nodded solemnly.

“I respect honesty.”

From somewhere behind them came the sharp excited voice of a child.

“DAD! DAD! IT’S KEANU!”

Both adults stopped.

A small boy of about seven was pointing wildly at Elian while dragging his embarrassed father across the courtyard.

The father arrived half out of breath.

“Buddy, hold on, let me just-”

Then he got close enough to see clearly.

…and realized.

This was not Keanu Reeves.

It was simply a handsome, dark-suited man with a certain vibe.

The father glanced at Elian.

Elian glanced at him.

The boy was vibrating with joy.

“Oh my God,” the kid said. “You’re John Wick!”

Stacy immediately covered her mouth to stop herself laughing.

Elian, who had faced armed suspects with more ease than this moment, stood completely still.

The father lowered his voice.

“I’m so sorry.”

Elian murmured back.

“I don’t know what the right move is.”

“Neither do I.”

The boy looked up expectantly.

“Mr. Wick?”

Elian hesitated.

Then crouched to the child’s level.

“Hey.”

The boy gasped.

The father turned away, shoulders shaking.

“You fight bad guys,” the child said.

“Sometimes paperwork,” Elian replied.

The kid nodded as if this confirmed everything.

“Can I tell my friends I met you?”

Elian looked at the father.

The father sighed quietly.

“He’ll understand better when he’s older.”

Elian gave the smallest smile.

“You can tell them.”

The child nearly levitated.

He sprinted three steps away, then whirled back around.

“WAIT! SELFIE!”

The father groaned softly.
“Of course.”

He handed over the phone.

Elian accepted it like unfamiliar evidence.

“Do I just...”

“Push the button,” Stacy said.

The boy threw himself beside Elian and made an action pose with clenched fists.

Elian, after a brief pause, gave a stern expression that accidentally looked perfect.

Click.

The boy stared at the screen in awe.

“BEST NIGHT EVER!”

He ran back toward his father.

The father took the phone, looked at the picture, and shook his head.

“You know he’s going to be deeply embarrassed by this in seven years.”

“That’s not my jurisdiction,” Elian said.

The boy then turned back to Elian.

“Good luck with the bad guys!”

“Thank you,” said Elian.

The father mouthed thank you over his son’s head and hurried after him.

Stacy stood there grinning helplessly.

“Paperwork,” she said.

“It was true.”

“You just made that boy’s month.”

“I may have created false testimony.”

She slipped her arm through his.

“Relax, Mr. Wick.”

He looked at her sideways.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Absolutely.”

Then together they entered the Saurian Steakhouse.

Sarasota Dunes Stadium

The heat had already settled over the ground like a second atmosphere.

Even in training, the Sarasota Dunes insisted on intensity. Coaches barked instructions from shaded touchlines while reserve players rotated through drills at a pace meant to mimic match pressure. The club sold itself as elegant football, but elegance here was built through repetition and sweat.

Reverie “Revy” Anam had no issue with either.

“Again!” she snapped, already chasing the next ball before the previous sequence had fully ended.

A midfielder tried to shield possession near the cone channel. Revy read the turn half a second early, cut across the passing lane, won the ball cleanly, then burst forward with three touches before slipping a precise through-ball between mannequins and into stride for a winger.

“Good!” one assistant coach shouted.

She was already sprinting back.

Next drill: small-sided pressing. Revy hounded two players into a rushed clearance, then immediately overcommitted on the next sequence, crashing into a challenge that sent both players stumbling.

Whistle.

“Ease off, Revy!”

“I got ball.”

“You also got both ankles.”

Some laughter followed. Revy barely reacted.

On the next rep she nutmegged a defender, accelerated into space, then curled a finish into the upper corner from outside the area.

That drew open applause.

“She’s a machine today,” said one staff analyst quietly.

“No,” the head coach replied, arms folded. “She’s a machine every day. That’s the problem.”

Because she was producing results.

She set standards. She forced tempo. She made teammates sharper by refusing to let drills drift into comfort.

..but she also treated Tuesday practice like a cup final.

When the final whistle blew, most players drifted toward hydration coolers or the recovery room.

Revy stayed behind to strike ten more dead balls.

Only after the tenth clipped the inside post and dropped in did she finally jog toward the tunnel.

---

The corridor outside the locker room was cooler, quieter.

She checked her phone. Three messages from her mother.

NORAH: Interview later. Wish me luck.
NORAH: Eat something real today.
NORAH: Call me when free.

Revy smirked and hit dial.

The call picked up quickly.

“There she is,” Norah said.

“You sound happy.”

“I’m in a nice hotel. Happiness is possible.”

Revy laughed despite herself. “Los Auras treating you well?”

“Well enough. Lobby smells expensive. I don’t trust it.”

“You’d steal the soap if they annoyed you.”

“I’d steal it if they impressed me.”

Revy leaned against the wall outside the dressing room.

“How was training?” Norah asked.

“Idiotic.”

“So… good?”

“They act like I’m reckless because I care.”

“They act like you’re reckless because sometimes you tackle like you’re avenging a blood debt.”

“I won the ball.”

“That has never once been your whole story.”

Revy exhaled through her nose.

“They praise me when it works, then complain I’m intense.”

“That means you’re valuable,” Norah said, “and inconvenient. Many talented people live there.”

Revy was quiet a moment.

“How’s the interview?”

“With your Mr. McCrain.”

“He’s not my anything.”

“You talk about him enough.”

“I talk about your weird assignment.”

Norah laughed softly. “It’s later today. He seems… complicated.”

“That usually means trouble.”

“That usually means human.”

The background hum of hotel air conditioning filled the pause.

“I miss you,” Norah said then, more plainly.

Revy’s expression changed.

“Yeah,” she said. “I miss you too.”

“How’s the house?” Norah asked.

“Too quiet.”

“Too clean?”

“Don’t push it.”

Norah smiled to herself.

“You doing the dishes?”

“I leave one in the sink so it still feels like family.”

“That’s my girl.”

Revy smiled at the floor.

“When are you back?”

“Soon. After the McCrain meeting, maybe another day.”

“Good.”

“You eating properly?”

“Mom.”

“That means no.”

“I had pasta.”

“Today?”

“…Recently.”

Revy laughed, shaking her head.

“Go do your big command-officer things.”

“Go terrorize midfielders.”

“I refine them.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Chapter 3

Echo Bay, Mar de Los Auras

The afternoon sun sat warm over Echo Bay, turning the water of the Mar de Los Auras into a sheet of bright silver.

Nicky McCrain leaned back in a weathered patio chair outside the Dogs’ place, one leg stretched out, one arm draped over the side, looking more comfortable than he had in months.

Around him sat the familiar chaos of the Dogs of Paradise:

• Julian MacNeil, calm as ever, drink in hand
• Zaurika Tleuzhuko, watchful and amused
• Marnus “Marnie” McRuben, already laughing at nothing
• Randy McRuben, shirtless for reasons known only to himself

The air smelled like salt, cheap food, and trouble deferred.

Nicky looked around at them and grinned.

“This is greasy beautiful.”

Julian smirked.

“You’ve been here twenty minutes.”

“Best twenty minutes of my life.”

“You said that when the waitress brought fries.”

“They were powerful fries.”

Everyone laughed.

…and for Nicky, it truly did feel like no time had passed.

Not ten years.

Not a marriage.

Not kids.

Not forms, supervisors, disciplinary meetings, and all the strange respectability that came with working for Peace.

He was back with his “bitches”.

Back where life made sense.

Or at least made entertaining nonsense.

Then Marnie produced the old ceremonial object of friendship:

A battered tin container full of weed and rolling papers.

Nicky’s eyes widened.

“The sacred chest.”

Randy opened it with reverence.

“We kept the faith.”

Nicky almost looked emotional.

“I gave this up for family and employment.”

Julian lit the joint.

“…and how’d that go?”

Nicky accepted it solemnly.

“Disastrous.”

He looked at the smoke curling upward.

Memory took over.

This was easy.

This was home.

This was muscle memory.

He took a deep pull exactly the way he used to ten years earlier- hard, committed, competitive for no reason.

The Dogs all saw it happen.

…and all four simultaneously recoiled.

“Oh no.”

“Way too much.”

“He still thinks it’s 2013.”

Nicky held it in proudly.

Then exhaled.

For half a second he looked triumphant.

Then the freight train arrived.

His face changed in stages:

Confidence.

Confusion.

Concern.

Spiritual betrayal.

He sat forward sharply.

“...Boys.”

Julian nodded.

“Yep.”

“This weed is stronger than I remember.”

“It’s not the weed,” said Zaurika.

“It’s your age,” said Randy.

“My age is excellent.”

Nicky blinked twice at the ocean.

“Why is the water moving like that?”

“It’s water,” said Marnie.

“No, it’s doing it personally.”

He stood up too fast.

Immediate regret.

The earth tilted sideways with malicious intent.

Nicky grabbed the table.

“Okay.”

He pointed accusingly at Julian.

“You gave me wizard weed.”

“It’s regular weed.”

“It has become educated.”

He sat back down carefully, gripping both armrests.

His breathing grew very deliberate.

The Dogs were now openly delighted.

Julian patted his shoulder.

“Easy does it.”

Nicky stared into the middle distance.

“I can hear my taxes.”

Randy nearly fell out of his chair laughing.

Nicky closed his eyes.

“I may need a minute.”

Julian leaned back, smiling.

“Welcome home.”

Any reasonable man would have treated the first experience as a warning.

Nicky McCrain was not operating as a reasonable man.

He sat in the chair, eyes narrowed at the joint like it had insulted him personally.

Julian saw the look immediately.

“No.”

Nicky pointed at him.

“I know what happened.”

“Do you?”

“My lungs are out of practice.”

“That is not the problem.”

“I need to recalibrate.”

Randy was already laughing.

“Please don’t.”

Nicky stood with the solemn determination of a man about to make history badly.

“The body remembers,” he declared.

“The body is begging you to stop,” said Zaurika.

Nicky waved them off.

“You don’t understand training science.”

He took the joint back.

Julian tried once more.

“Nicky.”

…but Nicky had already committed.

He drew in an absurd, punishing inhale- longer than before, deeper than before, the kind of pull that looked less like smoking and more like a vacuum seal.

The Dogs stared in horror.

Marnie whispered:

“He’s trying to kill it.”

Nicky held the smoke with pride.

He gave a tiny nod.

Then exhaled.

For two seconds, he looked victorious.

Then every light behind his eyes went out.

He swayed once.

Twice.

Looked at Julian with profound seriousness.

“I understand farming.”

Then he collapsed sideways off the chair and hit the ground with a sandy thud.

Silence.

Randy burst into hysterics.

Julian crouched beside him.

“Nicky?”

No response.

Zaurika leaned down.

“Nicky.”

Nothing.

Marnie nudged his boot.

Still nothing.

Nicky was not unconscious in a medical sense.

He was simply asleep- the kind of immediate, immovable sleep only overconfidence and bad decisions can produce.

He began snoring almost at once.

Randy wiped tears from his face.

“This is one of the best things I’ve ever seen.”

Julian grabbed Nicky under the shoulders.

“Help me move him.”

Randy took the legs.

They lifted.

Or tried to.

Nicky’s body had somehow become the density of poured concrete.

They managed six inches before dropping him again.

He did not stir.

Marnie crouched.

“How does he weigh more asleep?”

“Dead weight,” said Zaurika.

“He’s not dead,” Julian said.

“Metaphorically.”

They tried rolling him.

No success.

They tried dragging him by the ankles.

The sand fought back.

Nicky snored louder, entirely at peace.

Julian finally stood up and brushed off his hands.

“That’s where he lives now.”

Randy nodded.

“Build around him.”

Marnie found a beach towel and draped it over Nicky like a blanket.

“There.”

Zaurika placed sunglasses on his face.

“Now he looks intentional.”

Nicky, still asleep, muttered something incoherent.

Julian leaned down.

“What?”

Nicky’s lips moved again.

“…wizard taxes…”

Then silence.

The Dogs looked at one another.

Julian sat back in his chair.

“Good to have him back.”

Once it became clear that Nicky McCrain was not dying, merely sleeping with heroic commitment, the mood shifted immediately.

Julian checked his breathing.

“Unfortunately stable.”

Randy clapped once.

“Excellent. We can decorate.”

Nicky lay on his back in the sand, snoring softly, one arm flung outward like a fallen emperor.

The Dogs of Paradise gathered around him with the solemn focus of craftsmen.

Marnie returned first with a marker from inside.

Zaurika came back carrying beach toys stolen from no one in particular.

Randy brought an inflatable flamingo missing one eye.

Julian, to his own surprise, brought sunscreen.

“What are you doing with that?” asked Zaurika.

“Medium.”

They got to work.

---

Nicky’s face became the canvas of a reckless civilization.

A thick curled mustache.

One exaggerated eyebrow.

Tiny tears beneath one eye.

A monocle.

Then, across his forehead:

I MISS FORMS

Randy nearly collapsed laughing before the ink was dry.

Julian used sunscreen to draw ceremonial stripes down both arms.

Marnie balanced sunglasses on Nicky’s face.

Zaurika tucked two cocktail umbrellas into the collar of his shirt.

“Regal,” she said.

Then came architecture.

Buckets of sand were hauled in.

Walls were formed around Nicky’s torso.

Towers rose beside each shoulder.

A moat was dug around his hips.

A shell-lined pathway led dramatically to his left hand.

Randy planted a plastic shovel upright near his foot like a battle standard.

Julian stepped back.

“He looks like a deposed beach king.”

Marnie nodded.

“Or a tax fraudaraoh.”

None of them knew what that meant, but it got a laugh anyway.

The inflatable flamingo was placed proudly on Nicky’s stomach.

He did not stir.

Only snored louder.

---

People walking past began noticing.

A teenage couple stopped to stare.

One old man saluted.

A woman asked if this was performance art.

Julian answered instantly.

“Yes.”

She nodded like she understood and moved on.

Randy took photos from every possible angle.

“One for now,” he said. “One for later. One for leverage.”

Nicky mumbled in his sleep.

“…not the wizard…”

Then silence again.

---

Nearly forty minutes later, Nicky twitched.

The Dogs snapped to attention and casually sat back in their chairs like nothing had happened.

Nicky’s eyes opened slowly behind the sunglasses.

He blinked.

Saw darkness.

Removed the glasses.

Saw sky.

Tried to sit up.

Couldn’t.

Looked down.

Sand fortress.

Flamingo.

Umbrellas.

He turned his head.

All four Dogs were already shaking with suppressed laughter.

Nicky touched his face.

Looked at the marker on his fingers.

Then at Julian.

Then at Randy.

Then at everyone.

“You bitches…”

That was all he got out before Randy exploded into hysterics.

Nicky tried to stand again, destroying the left tower with his knee.

“My lower body has been annexed!”

Julian was laughing too hard to breathe.

Zaurika wiped tears from her eyes.

Marnie fell backward out of his chair.

Nicky finally rose, castle collapsing around him, flamingo dropping sadly into the moat.

He pointed with grave outrage.

“I came here for healing.”

Julian gasped for air.

“You got it.”

Nicky glared, marker mustache still perfectly intact.

“I swear on everything holy, one of you falls asleep today and I become an artist.”

Public Ocean Recreational Node, District 8

The babies were asleep at last.

Kyren and Souren lay side by side beneath a shaded canopy, the slow rise and fall of their little chests more calming than the ocean itself. A portable fan turned lazily nearby. Every so often one of them made the tiny, mysterious noises babies make for reasons known only to babies.

Not far away, Raven reclined on a beach bed in dark sunglasses, glistening in the sun like someone who had decided the world could solve its own problems for one afternoon. She shifted only enough to adjust her shoulder and resume doing absolutely nothing.

Watcher was asleep too, sprawled dramatically in the sand like a fallen guardian beast. His leash was tethered snugly—but firmly—to Zasaramel’s wrist.

That wrist, however, was currently occupied.

Zas lay flat on a wide towel between Joanna and Ruby Lee, both of whom had crossed the invisible line between pleasantly buzzed and spiritually overconfident.

Their hands wandered over his chest, shoulders, arms.

“He is grounded,” Joanna declared softly, staring upward at the sky.

Ruby nodded with solemn conviction.

“So grounded.”

Zas said nothing. Years of discipline had taught him that silence was often the wisest path.

Joanna placed a hand on his sternum.

“Feel this. Bark.”

“That is not bark,” said Ruby, correcting her with the authority of someone entirely unqualified. “That is trunk.”

She patted his abdomen.

“Strong trunk.”

Zas closed his eyes.

“I am a man.”

“You are more than that,” Joanna whispered.

“You are nature.”

Ruby gasped.

“He’s a tree.”

The two women looked at one another as if they had just solved theology.

Zas exhaled through his nose.

The waves rolled in and out.

Raven, without opening her eyes, muttered:

“This is why I don’t day drink.”

Joanna wrapped both arms around Zas’s torso.

Ruby followed from the other side.

They squeezed him lovingly.

Then Ruby raised her head and proclaimed, with the tone of a philosopher unveiling forbidden truth:

“If Zas is a tree... does this mean we’re tree huggers?”

There was a long silence.

Joanna’s mouth fell open.

Then she pointed at Ruby as though witnessing genius in real time.

“Ohhhhhh my God.”

Both women collapsed into helpless laughter against him.

Zas stared upward at the sun, one wife tracing circles on his chest and the other draped over his shoulder. He found them impossible when they were like this- too loud, too strange, too certain of foolish ideas. He also had no desire whatsoever to move.

Raven snorted once.

“That was terrible.”

“It was brilliant,” Joanna insisted.

“It was both,” Raven replied.

The moment settled again. The women resumed touching Zas like curious druids while now discussing whether palm trees were wise or simply decorative.

Then Watcher’s ear twitched.

His eyes opened.

He lifted his head, sniffed once, and immediately stood.

The leash tightened.

Zas felt the tug.

He sighed, not from misery, but because duty had arrived at the exact moment comfort peaked.

“I am needed.”

Joanna groaned loudly and clung to one arm.

“No. The tree must remain rooted.”

Ruby grabbed the other.

“The forest needs you.”

“The dog needs to pee,” said Zas, sitting up.

That ended the debate.

He rose, calm and shirtless, sand falling from him like ancient stone dust. Watcher wagged furiously, already pulling forward.

Raven tilted her sunglasses down just enough to watch him go.

“Still the most functional person here.”

“I cultivate balance,” said Zas.

“You cultivate tolerance,” she said.

He nodded once and walked down the shoreline with Watcher trotting proudly beside him.

Behind him, Joanna and Ruby flopped back onto the towel.

They stared at the waves in reverent silence for nearly ten seconds.

Then Joanna said:

“What if the ocean is just one giant bathtub?”

Ruby gasped again.

Raven put an arm over her face.

“Dear God.”

Zasaramel walked the beach path with the calm bearing of a man who had survived wars, curses, and domestic scheduling.

At the end of the leash was Watcher, who had survived none of those things and therefore feared nothing.

The dog surged forward, nose low, tail high, investigating every scent on the shoreline as if solving crimes no one else could perceive.

“Steady,” Zas said.

Watcher immediately lunged at a gull.

Zas planted his feet, absorbed the pull, and redirected him with one practiced motion.

The gull flew off screaming insults.

Three seconds later Watcher charged after a floating cup.

Then a jogger.

Then a shadow.

Zas kept walking.

A teenager watching from a bench whispered to his friend:

“That dog is taking his human out.” He then yelled out to Zasaramel, “who’s walking who?”

Zas heard him. Zas smiled, not disagreeing with the teen.

Eventually Watcher settled into a respectable trot, chest puffed with self-satisfaction.

“Good,” said Zas. “You are remembering discipline.”

Watcher barked once and bolted around Zas’ legs.

“Partial discipline.”

They rounded a bend where the shoreline widened into packed sand.

That was when another dog appeared.

Huge.

Young.

All paws, shoulders, enthusiasm, and no brakes.

The dog spotted Watcher and exploded forward with joyous force.

Watcher froze, then barked sharply.

Zas shortened the leash immediately.

The incoming beast thundered toward them like a small landslide.

Behind him came a familiar voice.

“HULK! NO! HULK!”

A man sprinted after the dog, clearly losing an argument he had never been winning.

“HULK! SLOW DOWN!”

The dog reached them first, skidding sideways in a spray of sand before dropping into the sloppiest play bow ever witnessed.

Watcher blinked.

Then accepted this invitation as sacred.

Both dogs erupted into chaotic circling, bouncing, pawing, and chest-bumping joy.

The owner finally arrived, bent over, hands on knees, breathing hard.

“Sorry,” he gasped. “He’s friendly. Just unbelievably stupid.”

He looked up.

Zas looked back.

Recognition landed instantly.

“Luca,” said Zas.

It was Luciano 'Luca' Montano.

Still athletic. Still handsome in the effortless way irritating men sometimes are. Still carrying the warm, slightly frazzled energy of someone whose life rarely stayed tidy for long.

“Zas!” Luca straightened and laughed. “I thought that was you.”

“You appear tired.”

“I chased Hulk for two hundred yards.”

“You should train him.”

“I am trying.”

Zas looked at the dog.

“Hulk is also trying.”

Hulk at that exact moment crashed shoulder-first into Watcher and rolled onto his back.

Luca wiped sweat from his brow.

“You here with the family?”

“Yes.”

“The whole caravan?”

“Yes.”

Luca grinned.

“God help the beach.”

“They are mostly calm.”

From somewhere in the distance came Ruby’s unmistakable laugh, followed by Joanna loudly asking whether clouds had emotions.

Luca raised an eyebrow.

“Mostly?”

Zas sighed.

“They have consumed philosophy.”

Luca burst out laughing.

“That bad?”

“They currently believe I am a tree.”

Luca stared at him for a moment.

“Honestly, I can see it.”

Watcher and Hulk suddenly took off together down the sand.

Both leashes snapped taut.

Both men lurched forward one full step.

They steadied themselves and exchanged a long, silent look.

The universal look of men whose dogs had made decisions for them.

Luca nodded.

“Want to let them burn energy together?”

Zas adjusted his grip.

“Yes.”

Then, after a beat:

“…but if Hulk teaches Watcher lawlessness, I will hold you accountable.”

“That’s fair,” Luca said.

…and together they began walking down the shoreline, dragged slightly by happiness.

Watcher and Hulk ran ahead in looping bursts of joy, crashing through shallow surf, doubling back, then racing off again for reasons known only to dogs.

Their leashes remained in human hands, though only in the loosest legal sense.

Zasaramel and Luca walked side by side through the packed sand, occasionally bracing when one of the animals made a sudden life choice.

For a while they simply watched the dogs.

Then Luca shook his head and laughed.

“I still can’t believe that baseball game.”

Zas nodded once.

“It was statistically insulting.”

“A perfect game for sixteen innings.”

“Sixteen and a half years old,” Zas corrected automatically.

Luca looked at him.

“You remember the half?”

“Precision matters.”

He was referring to Whitney McCarthy, whose Premier League debut had already become myth.

Sixteen and a half years old.

Sixteen innings.

Perfect.

No hits allowed.

No walks.

No mercy.

“…and she looked calm doing it,” Luca said. “Like she was late for school.”

“She had warrior focus.”

“The Beasts threw a no-hitter and still lost.”

“That is punishment from higher powers.”

Luca laughed.

“One-nothing on a squeeze bunt and a throwing error. Paul Carney nearly died.”

At the mention of Paul Carney, both men smiled.

From his luxury suite, Carney had gone through all known stages of grief by the twelfth inning.

“He invited us to witness greatness,” said Luca.

“He witnessed betrayal,” said Zas.

Hulk bounded back and nearly collided with Luca’s knees before spinning away again.

Watcher followed, barking triumphantly.

Luca shook his head.

“Iris is still talking about it.”

“The game?”

“No. Hailey.”

Zas glanced over.

Luca grinned with exhausted fatherly affection.

“She got Hailey Zlydasyk’s phone number and now acts like destiny personally chose her.”

“That is meaningful for a young athlete.”

“It is meaningful every hour,” Luca said. “Breakfast, lunch, bedtime.”

He mimicked his daughter:

‘Dad, do you think Hailey meant the smile?’
‘Dad, should I wait before texting?’
‘Dad, what if she wants to discuss launch angle?’

Zas almost smiled.

“She is inspired.”

“She is unbearable.”

“That is how inspiration often sounds.”

Luca laughed again.

“She’s out back swinging a bat every day now. Says if Whitney can debut at sixteen, she has no excuses.”

“A useful lesson.”

“For everyone except my fence.”

Watcher and Hulk suddenly found a driftwood branch and began a tug-of-war so violent it looked symbolic.

Both men stopped.

Zas folded his arms.

“Your dog has strength.”

“Your dog has stubbornness.”

“They are similar virtues.”

Luca looked at him.

“That sounds like something you tell yourself.”

“It is.”

They resumed walking.

After a few moments, Luca nudged the conversation back.

“…and batting practice?”

Zas’s expression tightened slightly.

“You were there.”

“I was. I want to hear your version.”

Zas stared out at the water.

“Major league pitching is deceitful.”

“You swung at three balls in the dirt.”

“They resembled strikes.”

“You also complimented one curveball.”

“It was beautiful.”

Luca nearly doubled over laughing.

“You bowed to the pitcher!”

“He deserved respect.”

“You looked like a medieval peasant seeing electricity.”

Zas accepted this in silence.

Then:

“I made contact once.”

“I think the pitchers took pity on you.”

“It was still contact.”

“That’s true.”

Watcher and Hulk tore past again, wet and thrilled with themselves.

The two men stepped aside at the last second.

Luca shook his head.

“You know,” he said, “between your family, my family, the dogs, Iris chasing greatness, and baseball doing impossible things…”

He gestured broadly at the beach.

“…life’s pretty weird.”

Zas looked ahead calmly.

“Yes.”

Then after a beat:

“It is also good.”

Florida Union of City Colleges- Siesta Key

Cory Boland stood in front of the mirror attached to the dorm room closet and adjusted his shirt for the third time in two minutes.

Trevor Edwards sat on the edge of his bed tying one shoe.

“You know we’re going down the hall,” Trevor said.

Cory kept checking himself.

“Exactly. Casual confidence matters most at short distance.”

“You’re going to a movie night.”

“I’m going to an opportunity.”

Trevor sighed.

“You’ve known them for one afternoon.”

“That’s enough time for sparks.”

“It’s enough time to know their names.”

Cory turned dramatically.

“I know their names.”

“Good. Name one.”

Cory pointed.

“Sienna.”

“The other?”

Cory paused.

“…Maya.”

Trevor nodded.

“Proud of you.”

They stepped into the corridor and made the short walk to the women’s room.

Cory knocked lightly, then immediately tried to look effortless.

The door opened.

Sienna stood there in athletic shorts and an oversized T-shirt, hair tied back, carrying the natural posture of someone who had spent years being faster than everyone around her.

“Well look who survived move-in day,” she said.

“That depends,” Cory replied smoothly. “Are we being welcomed?”

She smirked and stepped aside.

Inside, the room was already personalized far beyond what Cory and Trevor had managed.

String lights.

Throw pillows.

A neatly organized desk.

A guitar in the corner.

A small speaker playing soft music.

Maya sat cross-legged on her bed flipping through a notebook. She looked up and smiled warmly.

“Hey, boys.”

Trevor smiled back.

“Hey.”

Cory gave a tiny nod as if entering a private lounge.

“Ladies.”

Trevor closed the door behind them and immediately noticed the guitar.

“You play?”

Maya brightened.

“Yeah. Guitar, piano a little, voice obviously.”

“Obviously?”

“I’m a theatre major,” she said. “We’re legally required to announce ourselves.”

Trevor laughed.

Cory meanwhile had already seated himself in what he assumed was the most strategic chair.

“So,” he said, leaning back, “tell me everything important about yourselves.”

Sienna tossed him a pillow.

“That is not how conversations work.”

“It is when I’m conducting them.”

“You from around here?” Trevor asked her.

“Not even close,” said Sienna. “Alabama.”

She said it proudly.

“Ran track, played volleyball, little bit of basketball. Mostly track though.”

“She was decorated,” Maya said.

Sienna rolled her eyes.

“She means I peaked at seventeen.”

“You still cheer Alabama?” Trevor asked.

Sienna sat straighter immediately.

Alabama Crimson Tide

“Till death.”

“Even in Florida?”

“Especially in Florida.”

Cory nodded solemnly.

“I respect loyalty.”

“You don’t even know what sport I mean,” Sienna said.

“Competition is universal.”

She laughed despite herself.

Trevor turned to Maya, noticing the big Cape Town poster above her bed.

“…and you’re from Cape Town?”

Maya smiled.

“Yeah. Wanted somewhere warm, by the water, and far enough from home to become dramatic.”

“You picked right.”

“I know.”

She reached over and picked up the guitar, absentmindedly strumming.

“I’m doing theatre, but honestly…”

She glanced at the notebook.

“I’d love to sing. Write songs. Act. Perform. Be something.”

“You already are something,” Trevor said casually.

Maya blinked, then smiled.

“That was smooth.”

Trevor looked confused.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That’s why it worked,” Sienna said.

Cory, sensing momentum slipping away, sat forward.

“I too have star potential.”

“In what?” Maya asked.

Cory thought for half a second.

“Presence.”

Sienna laughed loudly.

“That means nothing.”

“It means everything.”

Maya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m obsessed with Tulip, by the way.”

“The singer?” Trevor asked.

“The everything,” Maya corrected. “I met her twice at fan events.”

“She know who you are?”

“No.”

“She will.”

Maya grinned.

“That’s the plan.”

Cory crossed one ankle over his knee.

“I could become famous too.”

Sienna looked at him.

“For what?”

“Still developing the lane.”

Trevor shook his head.

“You should major in confidence.”

“That can’t be taught,” Cory said.

The room broke into easy laughter.

Whatever each of them wanted from university- parties, reinvention, romance, success- it suddenly felt possible in the simplest way:

Four young people in a dorm room, evening ahead of them, nothing yet ruined.

The conversation settled into that easy first-night rhythm where strangers rapidly begin sounding less like strangers.

Sienna sat back against the wall, one knee up, looking across the room at Maya with clear affection.

“I was nervous about the roommate thing,” she admitted. “Thought I’d get paired with some psycho.”

Maya gasped theatrically.

“You did.”

“I mean a different psycho.”

Everyone laughed.

Sienna shook her head.

“…but honestly? We clicked right away.”

“She opened the door, saw me, and knew greatness,” Maya said.

“I opened the door, saw three bags, two plants, a guitar, and seventeen scarves.”

“They’re accessories.”

“They were an invasion.”

Maya leaned across and rested her head briefly against Sienna’s shoulder.

“And now we are sisters.”

Sienna smiled and nudged her gently.

“It really does feel like I’ve known her forever.”

Maya nodded.

“Same. Some people are instant.”

Cory watched this exchange with intense interest and several thoughts that did not belong in civil society.

He wisely said none of them.

Trevor, however, noticed the look immediately and gave Cory a flat stare that clearly meant:

Behave.

Cory straightened and pivoted to what he considered essential journalism.

“So,” he said casually, “either of you got boyfriends?”

Trevor closed his eyes for a moment.

Sienna laughed.

“Subtle.”

“I value clarity.”

“No,” Sienna said. “Not for a while.”

“By choice?”

“By schedule,” she replied. “Sports took everything. Training, travel, school, sleep. Hard to date when your main relationship is with conditioning.”

“That’s respectable,” Cory said.

“It was exhausting.”

Maya tucked one leg under herself.

“I had one.”

Cory perked up.

“Past tense?”

She nodded.

“Had to break up when I moved.”

“Bad breakup?”

“No,” Maya said softly. “Actually sweet. We’re still friends.”

Trevor looked genuinely curious.

“Why leave then? Why not stay in South Africa?”

Maya thought for a moment.

“Because I want a life where I’m always moving a little.”

They looked at her.

“I want stages. Sets. New cities. New people. Songs written in hotel rooms. If that’s the life I want, I figured I should practice living it now.”

Trevor smiled.

“That makes sense.”

“It sounds unstable,” Sienna said.

“It sounds romantic,” Maya corrected.

While she talked, she had gradually shifted closer on the bed beside Trevor. She touched his forearm when emphasizing a point, tapped his knee when laughing, brushed his shoulder without thinking.

Trevor noticed every bit of it.

He also did absolutely nothing reckless.

Cory noticed too and internally filed a complaint with fate.

“So you sing?” Trevor asked.

“I do many things,” Maya said grandly.

Then she reached for her phone.

“Here.”

She pulled up a profile page full of clips, rehearsal videos, little acoustic covers, and short acting scenes.

“Follow me. Both of you. Listen to my songs. Watch my reels. Validate me artistically.”

Cory took out his phone immediately.

“I support the arts.”

Trevor followed as well.

Sienna rolled her eyes and gave them her handle too.

“I post normal things,” she said. “Training, beach stuff, occasional opinions on football.”

“College football?” Trevor asked.

“Real football,” she replied.

They all traded handles.

The evening had slipped by faster than any of them realized.

Eventually Cory stood first.

“Well,” he said, trying for suave and landing somewhere near earnest, “this has been elite.”

“That phrase means nothing,” Sienna said.

“It means goodbye.”

“Then goodbye.”

She stood and hugged Cory first, then Trevor- friendly, athletic, straightforward hugs.

Maya followed.

She hugged Cory warmly enough to make him instantly overrate his chances at life.

Then she turned to Trevor.

Her arms wrapped around him softly.

She held him a second longer than necessary.

Then another half-second beyond that.

Trevor felt the warmth of her cheek near his shoulder and the faint scent of shampoo and salt air.

When she finally stepped back, she smiled directly at him.

“Don’t forget to listen.”

“I won’t,” he said.

“I know.”

Cory and Trevor stepped back into the hallway.

The door closed.

There was silence for three full seconds.

Then Cory turned.

“That hug was criminal.”

Trevor tried to stay calm.

“It was just a hug.”

“It was diplomacy with intent.”

Trevor shook his head and started walking.

Cory followed behind him.

“We are in college,” Cory declared.

“We are in a hallway.”

“No,” Cory said solemnly. “We are in destiny.”

The two men reached their dorm room and entered. The door swung shut behind them.

Cory Boland immediately turned, pointed at Trevor, and announced:

“We are hot.”

Trevor set his phone on the desk.

“We are two guys who came back from talking.”

“No. We are ascendant.”

“You say words like they win arguments.”

“They often do.”

Cory dropped dramatically onto his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling with the satisfaction of a man who believed history had been made.

“Sienna likes me.”

Trevor opened a drawer and started looking for a charger.

“She laughed at you.”

“She laughed with me.”

“She laughed at you first.”

“That’s how attraction begins.”

Trevor found the charger.

“You’re inventing science.”

Cory sat up.

“She asked questions. She maintained eye contact. She appreciated my presence.”

“She tolerated your presence.”

“Same neighborhood.”

Trevor shook his head and plugged in his phone.

“What happened was four people had a nice conversation.”

“What happened,” Cory corrected, “was opportunity knocked.”

“What happened was we met our neighbors.”

Cory narrowed his eyes.

“You’re trying to act above this because something happened for you.”

Trevor looked over.

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh please.”

Cory sat forward eagerly.

“Maya was touching your arm every seven seconds like she was checking your pulse.”

“She’s affectionate.”

“She hugged me too.”

“Exactly.”

“Not like she hugged you.”

Trevor paused.

“That was still just a hug.”

“That was a warm-weather treaty.”

Trevor laughed despite himself.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m observant.”

Cory pointed accusingly.

“You felt sparks.”

Trevor sat on the edge of his bed.

He considered denying it.

Didn’t.

“Maybe a little.”

Cory slapped the mattress triumphantly.

“YES.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything.”

“It means I liked talking to her.”

“That is literally how it starts.”

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t know. We just met.”

“So?”

“So maybe she’s friendly with everyone.”

“She might be.”

“Maybe she’s homesick.”

“Possible.”

“Maybe I’m reading too much into it.”

Cory stared at him.

“You are allergic to optimism.”

“I’m realistic.”

“You’re scared.”

Trevor gave him a look.

“Of what?”

“Trying.”

The room went quieter.

Trevor sat back.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s accurate.”

Cory’s tone softened slightly.

“You liked her. I saw it. She liked talking to you. I saw that too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know patterns.”

“You failed three math classes.”

“Different patterns.”

Trevor laughed again.

Cory pressed the advantage.

“Pursue her.”

“With what? A campaign plan?”

“With honesty. Go talk to her again tomorrow. Ask about the music. Ask about Cape Town. Ask about theatre. Be normal.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It is easy. The hard part is doing nothing and pretending that’s wisdom.”

Trevor looked down at his phone.

Maya had already accepted his follow request.

A new story bubble had appeared.

He tried not to notice how quickly he noticed.

Cory saw it immediately.

“Ohhhhhh.”

“Stop.”

“She’s online.”

“Everyone’s online.”

“She’s spiritually online for you.”

Trevor threw a pillow at him.

Cory caught it cleanly.

“Listen to me,” Cory said, suddenly sincere. “You don’t have to marry her. Just see where it goes.”

Trevor lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

“I’ll think about it.”

Cory nodded.

“Good.”

Then after a beat:

“Also, if things go badly with Maya, I remain available for Sienna.”

Trevor turned his head.

“You have no chance.”

Cory smiled smugly.

“Many legends began that way.”

Trevor lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, trying very hard not to think about Maya.

His phone buzzed.

He grabbed it instantly.

A new message.

Maya: I’m glad we met :)

Trevor sat upright so fast he nearly headbutted the wall.

Cory looked over from his desk.

“What happened?”

Trevor held up the phone like sacred evidence.

“She messaged me.”

Cory stood.

“Read it.”

Trevor read it aloud.

Cory placed both hands on his hips.

“Well?”

“What do I say?”

“The truth.”

Trevor stared at the keyboard.

“What truth?”

“That you’re glad too.”

Trevor typed instantly.

Trevor: I’m glad we met too. I had a really nice time talking with you.

He hit send before reflection could intervene.

Then froze.

“That was too fast.”

“It was human speed,” said Cory.

“What if it looked desperate?”

“What if it looked literate?”

Trevor paced two steps.

“I should’ve waited.”

“That’s for hostage negotiations.”

His phone buzzed again.

Maya: Me too :) You’re easy to talk to

Trevor stared.

Cory slapped the desk.

“She’s in!”

“She is not ‘in.’ She’s talking.”

“She is warmly talking.”

Trevor sat back down, pulse elevated.

He opened another tab on his laptop.

Cory noticed.

“What are you doing?”

“Consulting.”

“With who?”

Trevor hesitated.

“…Seeker.”

Cory blinked.

“The AI chatbox?”

“It gives perspective.”

“It gives autocomplete.”

Trevor had already typed:

A girl I like said I’m easy to talk to. What do I say next?

He read the response silently, nodded, then typed to Maya:

Trevor: That’s nice to hear. You made it easy.

He sent it.

Then looked horrified.

“That sounds rehearsed.”

“It sounds fine.”

“It sounds like I was built in a lab.”

Meanwhile Cory’s own phone buzzed.

He grinned.

“Sienna accepted.”

“So did she accept mine.”

“I know. But mine means something.”

He immediately messaged her.

Cory: What’s a future star athlete doing talking to average guys like us?

Trevor winced.

“That’s awful.”

“It’s playful.”

Moments later, Sienna replied.

Sienna: Haha. Just being friendly. You guys seem cool.

Cory pointed triumphantly.

“She likes me.”

“She said friendly.”

“That’s code.”

“That is literally the opposite of code.”

Trevor’s phone buzzed again.

Maya: So what are you doing now?

Trevor’s breathing changed.

“I need a strategy.”

“You need thumbs.”

Trevor typed, deleted, typed again.

He asked Seeker for help.

He asked Cory for help.

He got two different answers and hated both.

Finally, in a moment of nervous misfire, he sent:

Trevor: Honestly just trying not to ask you to dinner too quickly.

He froze.

“Oh no.”

Cory stood up laughing.

“You launched yourself off a cliff.”

“I didn’t mean to send that!”

“You absolutely meant to.”

“I’m dead.”

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Trevor stopped breathing.

Maya: Then don’t try not to 🙂 Yes. We should have dinner before movie night.

Trevor stared at the screen like it was a miracle.

Cory screamed.

“DATE!”

“It’s not a date.”

“It is dinner with a girl you like who said yes.”

“That could still be friendly.”

“You are impossible.”

Trevor sprang to his feet.

“I need to change.”

He opened drawers frantically.

“This shirt makes me look tired. This one looks like I’m trying. These shoes are wrong. I need structure.”

Cory sat back on his bed.

“You are having dinner on a college campus.”

Trevor kept searching.

“Exactly.”

“You are not getting married.”

Trevor stopped.

Considered that.

Then laughed at himself.

“Right.”

He picked a normal shirt.

“Right.”

He took one last look in the mirror.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look like a guy going to dinner.”

“That’s good?”

“That’s ideal.”

Trevor grabbed his phone and headed for the door.

As he opened it, Cory called after him:

“Be charming by accident!”

Trevor shook his head and left.

The room went quiet.

Cory smirked and looked back to his own messages.

He typed to Sienna:

Cory: Want to grab something before movie night? Just us?

A minute later:

Sienna: *I’m heading to the gym before movie night, but thanks :) *

Cory stared.

He reread it twice.

Then nodded to himself.

“She wants me hungry.”

No one was there to correct him.

Chapter 4

Florida Union of Civic Colleges- Siesta Key, Food Court

Trevor Edwards had expected a cafeteria.

What he found instead was a monument to appetite.

The main FUCC food court spread across a massive open hall beneath skylights and hanging banners, packed with students, trays, noise, and the smell of fried things from every conceivable era of biology.

Every storefront was dinosaur-themed.

Trevor stopped walking.

“Oh my God.”

Maya glanced around with polite caution.

“This feels like a lawsuit.”

Trevor pointed in awe.

There was Raptor Nuggets, glowing yellow with giant combo screens.

Stego Burgers, smoke rolling from flat tops.

Archaeopteryx Eggs & Breakfast, serving all-day hash and breakfast wraps.

Mosasaur Bites, somehow a pizza chain.

Ice Age Melts, an ice cream counter shaped like a glacier.

T-Rex’s Steaks, selling boxed carved meats beneath a smiling tyrannosaur chef.

Brontosaur Wings, where nothing about the name made anatomical sense.

And Mastodon Deli, whose slogan read:

COLD CUTS FROM A WARMER TIME

Trevor turned slowly like a pilgrim seeing a holy city.

“This place has everything.”

Maya folded her arms.

“This place has branding.”

“It has culture.”

“It has fryer grease.”

At nearly every counter stood Lizardfolk staff, moving efficiently through the rush.

Some called order numbers.

Some worked grills.

Some simply pointed when confused students asked complex questions.

Most spoke only functional English, enough to keep lines moving.

At Raptor Nuggets, one worker repeated:

“Combo yes or combo no.”

At Stego Burgers:

“Next please. Pick bread.”

At Ice Age Melts:

“No sample.”

Maya watched the whole thing.

“I kind of love it.”

Trevor had already become serious.

He scanned the beverage signs.

Then froze.

“No.”

“What?”

He walked rapidly to one counter.

Then another.

Then another.

Each fountain machine confirmed the nightmare.

“Iggy’s.”

“Iggy’s.”

“Iggy’s.”

“Iggy’s.”

He turned back pale.

“This school is corrupt.”

Maya blinked.

“What happened?”

“No Lucy’s.”

Maya stopped.

“Wait. No Lucy’s?”

“Exactly.”

“How does a university food court not carry Lucy’s?”

“Institutional failure,” Trevor said.

He pointed dramatically across the hall.

“Wait.”

At T-Rex’s Steaks, tucked beside the cashier, was a smaller fountain labeled:

LUCY’S

Trevor nearly sprinted.

Then stopped short when he read the sign beneath it.

NO FREE REFILLS

He placed both hands on his hips.

“This place hates joy.”

A second-year student nearby carrying a tray snorted.

“You new?”

Trevor turned.

“Obviously.”

The student jerked a thumb toward the drink machine.

“FUCC signed an exclusivity deal with Iggy's years ago. Lucy’s got shut out campus-wide.”

“Then why is it there?”

“T-Rex’s Steaks wouldn’t switch. They said Lucy’s was part of their identity.”

Trevor looked impressed despite himself.

“Heroes.”

“So FUCC compromised. They can keep it, but no refills.”

Trevor looked wounded.

“This is tyranny.”

The student walked off.

“Wait till you learn parking.”

Maya was laughing now.

“You care deeply about weird things.”

“This is not weird. This is principle.”

She stepped closer.

“You still hungry?”

He looked around the hall again.

“Yes. Also emotionally damaged.”

She smiled.

“Let’s split up. Order what we want, meet at a table.”

“That’s efficient.”

“That’s adulthood.”

Trevor nodded solemnly.

“Then I must go where destiny calls.”

“To Lucy’s?”

“To T-Rex's Steaks.”

She pointed toward the opposite side.

“I’m trying the pizza place.”

“Mosasaur Bites?”

“It feels wrong enough to be good.”

They separated into the crowd.

Trevor headed toward T-Rex’s Steaks with purpose.

Maya watched him go, smiling to herself before joining the pizza line.

Trevor approached T-Rex's Steaks with the optimism of a man willing to overlook many flaws for the right beverage.

That optimism weakened with every step.

The counter area looked tired in a way that suggested no single event had caused it. Grease lived permanently on several surfaces. A menu board flickered between items and partial numbers. One overhead light hummed with menace.

Behind the register stood two Lizardfolk employees.

One stared into the middle distance as if spiritually elsewhere.

The other slowly wiped a tray with a cloth that did not appear cleaner than the tray.

Trevor joined the line.

Ahead of him, one student tried to ask what came on the “Prime Predator Combo.”

The cashier answered:

“Food.”

The student accepted this.

Trevor reached the front.

The cashier looked at him.

“Yes.”

Trevor looked up at the menu.

“I’d like the Saur Strip Meal. With wedges. And a Lucy’s.”

The cashier blinked once.

“Meal.”

“Yes.”

“Wedges.”

“Yes.”

“Drink.”

“Lucy’s.”

The cashier pointed at a smaller sign.

“No refill.”

“I know.”

A pause.

The cashier entered something into the register with one claw.

“Sauce.”

“What are my options?”

“Yes.”

Trevor considered this.

“…Barbecue.”

The cashier nodded without visible interest.

“Next.”

Trevor moved aside uncertain whether language itself had succeeded.

He waited near the pickup counter.

Numbers were called in a mixture of English, hissing consonants, and apparent personal disappointment.

Eventually a tray slid toward him.

He checked it.

Fries.

No wedges.

Wrong sandwich.

A bottle of Iggy’s.

Trevor stared at the drink cup like it had betrayed him personally.

He stepped back to the register.

“Sorry, I ordered wedges and a Lucy’s.”

The cashier took the tray, removed the drink, swapped it for Lucy’s, then handed the same tray back.

Trevor looked down.

Still fries.

Still wrong sandwich.

He returned again.

“Also the meal is wrong.”

The cashier took the tray, removed the sandwich, replaced it with another box, and handed it back.

Trevor opened it.

Plain meat slices over rice.

No sandwich.

He looked up slowly.

The cashier looked back with ancient calm.

Trevor returned a third time.

“I need the Saur Strip Meal.”

The cashier nodded.

Took the tray.

The cashier signaled the kitchen with a burst of sounds Trevor could only interpret as prehistoric disappointment.

Three minutes later Trevor received a fresh tray.

Correct sandwich.

Correct wedges.

Correct Lucy’s.

He inspected every item like customs enforcement.

Finally satisfied, he turned away.

His hunger had become administrative.

Across the food court, Maya was already seated at a table beneath a palm mural, halfway through two slices from Mosasaur Bites and a salad bowl.

She smiled when she saw him.

“What took so long?”

Trevor set the tray down carefully and sat.

“I have endured systems failure.”

She laughed.

“That bad?”

“I ordered three times.”

“You only look annoyed enough for twice.”

“They gave me the wrong drink.”

Her expression changed.

“Oh no.”

“They gave me Iggy’s.”

“That’s disrespectful.”

“Exactly.”

He took a long sip of Lucy’s, closed his eyes, and visibly steadied.

Maya pointed at her food.

“This place was great, by the way.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Fast service, fresh toppings, and they had grilled vegetables.”

She held up the salad.

“…and actual healthy choices.”

Trevor looked across the hall toward Mosasaur Bites.

Temptation entered his soul.

“I’d go there.”

“You should.”

He sighed and lifted the Lucy’s cup.

“…but there’s no Lucy’s.”

Maya laughed again.

“You are the strangest serious person I’ve met.”

“I’m very balanced.”

“You are beverage-led.”

Trevor unwrapped his sandwich, less excited now than when the journey began.

Still, Maya was smiling at him.

The table was warm.

…and dinner had only just started.

By the time Trevor had finally returned with his corrected meal, the sharpest edge of his irritation had begun to wear off.

Mostly because Maya was sitting close enough beside him to make irritation harder to maintain.

She had chosen the same side of the booth rather than sitting across from him. One leg tucked beneath her, shoulder brushing his now and then, hand casually touching his forearm whenever she laughed or emphasized a point.

Trevor said nothing about it.

Internally, however, he had already upgraded dinner to date.

Maya smiled as he unwrapped his sandwich.

“You still look offended.”

“I was sent through trials.”

“You ordered food.”

“I ordered food three times.”

“That’s resilience.”

She nudged his arm.

Trevor tried the sandwich.

It was fine.

That somehow annoyed him more.

Across the hall, a raised voice cut through the food-court noise.

“LEARN ENGLISH! YOU’RE IN ORLANDO!”

Several heads turned.

At another counter, a student stood red-faced and gesturing angrily at two Lizardfolk workers who were clearly trying to understand him.

The workers stayed still, expression unreadable.

A supervisor hurried over.

Trevor grimaced.

“By Jove.”

Maya’s warmth cooled instantly.

“How embarrassing.”

Neither moved to intervene- the distance was too far, security already drifting over- but both kept watching until the student stormed off muttering.

Trevor shook his head.

“I hate that.”

Maya glanced at him.

“You sounded mad at them five minutes ago.”

“I was mad at the system,” Trevor said, “and my wedges.”

That got a small smile from her.

“I mean… I get people being frustrated when nothing works. But not that.”

He gestured across the hall.

“I’ve only really read about Lizardfolk before coming here. I don’t totally get them.”

Maya leaned back.

“I do.”

There was no boast in it. Just fact.

“In Africa, humans and Lizardfolk live beside each other constantly. Neighborhoods, businesses, schools, transport, politics. Not perfect everywhere, but normal. Familiar.”

She pointed subtly toward the counters.

“They’re not just put on the front line to absorb complaints in places like this.”

Trevor listened closely.

“There are Lizardfolk executives, lawyers, artists, engineers, athletes. Family dynasties. Famous chefs. Local mayors. Farmers. Union leaders.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

She smiled faintly.

“You North Americans act like discovering them was yesterday.”

Trevor accepted the hit.

“Fair.”

Maya continued.

“In some places the co-existence goes so deep that people stop thinking about species first.”

She paused.

“Madagascar especially.”

Trevor looked interested.

“The DinoSanct Confederacy?”

She brightened immediately.

“Yes. Madagascar’s hybrid government- human and Lizardfolk power-sharing. Messy sometimes, but real…and their sanctuary is incredible.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Not some tourist circus where people eat novelty fries next to chained reptiles.”

Trevor laughed.

“You mean the Cretaceous Crater?”

“I mean exactly that.”

He took another sip of Lucy’s.

“So why is it easier there?”

Maya considered the question.

“Because they adapted to each other.”

“How?”

“Patience. Proximity. Humility.”

Then she held up her hand and touched his wrist lightly.

“…and senses.”

Trevor blinked.

“Senses?”

“They communicate through them. Touch especially. Pressure, temperature, rhythm, breath, subtle shifts humans ignore.”

She left her hand there a moment longer than necessary.

Trevor smiled.

“Is that why you keep touching me?”

Maya laughed.

“Possibly.”

Then, quieter:

“Or maybe I just like touching you.”

Trevor nearly forgot language.

She rescued him.

“If you want to understand them more, let them feel you. Touch forearm to forearm, palm to palm, shoulder contact if they allow it. Stay calm.”

“That simple?”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“The first few times can be overwhelming for humans.”

“How?”

“You feel more than you expect. Mood. Intent. Presence.”

Trevor raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds intense.”

“It is.”

“Then why don’t more people do it?”

“Because most people would rather complain about being misunderstood than risk understanding someone else.”

That sat between them for a moment.

Trevor looked across the hall toward the counters again.

Then back at Maya.

“You always talk like this on first dates?”

She turned her head.

“You think this is a date?”

Trevor froze.

Maya grinned and squeezed his hand.

“Relax. I’m teasing.”

Then she leaned lightly against his shoulder.

…and for a moment, Trevor forgot entirely about T-Rex’s Steaks.

When they finished eating, neither of them made any move toward the residence hall.

Trevor gathered the tray.

Maya stood beside him, then without thinking wrapped her arms around him in a quick, natural hug.

It was warm. Unforced. Instinctive.

When she stepped back, both of them smiled as though nothing unusual had happened.

Then, just as casually, their hands found each other.

Neither commented on it.

Neither seemed surprised.

They simply started walking.

---

The FUCC campus at night felt less like a university and more like a branded city-state.

Palm-lined walkways glowed beneath decorative lanterns shaped like eggs. Bronze raptor statues marked intersections. A fountain featured plesiosaurs breaching around the university crest. Murals depicted graduates shaking hands with dinosaurs who looked suspiciously employable.

Trevor looked around in admiration.

“This place is ridiculous.”

“It is,” Maya agreed, “but charmingly.”

“Everything here has scales.”

“Even administration probably.”

They passed a student store filled with apparel, souvenirs, and entertainment media.

Inside were racks of shirts, foam claws, miniature mascots, and posters.

One display immediately caught Trevor’s eye.

A glossy poster of Boro stood center stage, arms raised, flames behind him.

WORLD FIGHTING EMPIRE
COMBAT ARTS DIVISION

“Now that is cool,” Trevor said.

Maya was already looking at the next shelf.

There, beside Boro, stood a poster of Magnolia Wine in Madagascar, posed dramatically beside the sea.

Below it sat several stacks of a film case featuring Magnolia Wine and Roman Cesar in a tastefully scandalous embrace, with Boro looming in character behind them.

A charity sticker was attached to the packaging.

Maya laughed softly.

“The irony.”

Trevor picked one up.

“What irony?”

“She spends half her public life criticizing places like Orlando for exploiting Lizardfolk imagery and cheap labor…”

Maya gestured to the display.

“…then shoots an erotic charity film in Madagascar featuring a Lizardfolk co-star and sells it in a dinosaur gift shop.”

Trevor turned the case over thoughtfully.

“People contain multitudes.”

“People contain branding.”

He grinned.

“We should watch this.”

Maya looked at him sideways.

“For educational reasons?”

“Obviously.”

She shook her head, smiling.

“Not for movie night.”

“Fair.”

Trevor nodded seriously.

“Second date, then.”

Maya’s smile deepened.

“Bold.”

“I’m evolving.”

He moved to buy it.

Unfortunately, the stack of copies had been jammed crookedly beneath a shelf lip. When Trevor tugged one free, three others slid sideways and became trapped.

He approached the counter carrying the damaged stack.

Behind it stood a Lizardfolk attendant wearing a FUCC name badge and reading something on a tablet.

Trevor gestured.

“Uh, hey. These are stuck and I think the display’s jammed.”

The attendant blinked.

Trevor tried again, miming the motion.

“Stuck. Need one…but… shelf bad.”

The attendant gave a short rumble and looked confused.

Trevor glanced at Maya.

She gave him a tiny nod.

He hesitated.

Then gently touched the attendant’s forearm.

The effect was immediate.

A surge ran through Trevor- sensory, emotional, disorienting.

He felt texture, pressure, layered focus, a pulse of mild irritation at the crooked display, then sudden understanding.

It lasted barely a moment, but it was dense enough to steal his breath.

The attendant’s eyes sharpened in recognition.

With swift efficiency, the Lizardfolk walked around the counter, lifted the shelf panel, freed the cases, straightened the display, and handed Trevor a pristine copy.

Then, with what Trevor now recognized as amusement, the attendant tapped the register and reduced the price.

“Discount,” the attendant said carefully.

Trevor blinked.

“Thank you.”

The attendant gave a pleased growl-click and a brief shoulder dip.

They stepped back outside into the warm night air.

Trevor exhaled hard.

Maya squeezed his hand.

“Well?”

He looked at her, still processing.

“I think I just understood customer service on a spiritual level.”

She laughed and leaned against him as they continued down the glowing path together.

By the time they returned to their floor, the hallway had grown quieter.

A few doors were open. Music drifted faintly from somewhere down the corridor. Someone laughed in a distant common room. The night still felt young, but it had softened.

They stopped outside Maya and Sienna’s room.

Sienna was still out.

“Gym warrior?” Trevor asked.

“Probably,” Maya said. “Or making someone regret cardio.”

They both laughed.

Maya shifted her weight and looked at her door.

“I think I want to relax a bit before movie night.”

Trevor nodded immediately.

“Yeah. Of course.”

He meant it.

He also hated it.

The date had moved too quickly into comfort, and now the idea of parting felt strangely heavier than it should have.

Maya saw it on his face.

“We’ll see each other again.”

She stepped closer.

“At least I want to.”

Then, with a teasing softness:

“…and I think you do too.”

Trevor smiled.

“I do.”

They stood there in that charged stillness where both people know something is supposed to happen.

The hallway noise seemed far away.

Maya looked at his eyes.

Then his mouth.

Trevor’s heart started sprinting.

He thought:

This is it.

She stepped in-

…and instead of kissing him, Maya suddenly threw herself against his chest and broke into tears.

Trevor wrapped both arms around her instantly.

“Hey- hey, what happened?”

She cried harder into his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m sorry, Trevor.”

He held her tighter.

“You don’t have to apologize. Just talk to me.”

She took a shaky breath.

“I think I led you on.”

Trevor blinked.

“What?”

She pulled back enough to look at him, eyes wet and embarrassed.

“I like you. I really do.”

“Okay…”

“…but I’m homesick.”

The words spilled out now.

“I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss hearing people I’ve known forever. I miss touching people who know me already. I miss being normal.”

Trevor listened quietly.

“I came here and felt alone,” she said. “Then I met Sienna… and you. You both felt safe immediately.”

She looked down.

“…and I clung to that.”

Trevor’s voice stayed gentle.

“That’s human.”

She wiped at her face.

“I don’t know if I want a relationship right now. I don’t even know what I want. I just knew I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Then, smaller:

“I was scared if I said that, you’d reject me if romance wasn’t involved.”

Trevor stared at her for a second.

Then shook his head.

“I mean… yeah, I’d like to date you.”

Maya winced.

“…but mostly,” he continued, “I just want to know you.”

She looked up.

“If that ends up being friendship, then okay.”

“You’d really do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She laughed through tears.

“You’d friendzone yourself that easily?”

Trevor smiled.

“I don’t believe in the friendzone.”

Maya blinked.

“What?”

“No matter how many times Cory talks about it.”

That got a real laugh.

Trevor shrugged.

“I don’t want to stop knowing cool people because there’s no sex or romance involved.”

Then, after a beat:

“Even if I am a virgin.”

Maya stared at him.

“You just admitted that very casually.”

“I believe in transparency under pressure.”

She laughed again, this time wiping happier tears.

“You’re weird.”

“I’m sincere.”

“That’s weirder.”

She stepped forward and hugged him again, slower this time.

“I’m glad you’re not trying to rush me.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

She leaned her head against him.

Trevor swallowed.

“So… can we still hug and touch and stuff?”

Maya pulled back just enough to look at him.

Then she broke into a warm smile.

“Absolutely yes.”

She hugged him tighter.

“Back home, I cuddled with my friends all the time. I miss that.”

She touched his cheek gently.

“I would love having someone who can cuddle me without expectations.”

Trevor nodded with grave sincerity.

“I am extremely qualified for that role.”

Maya laughed through the last of her tears.

They held each other another moment.

Then Maya rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek.

Trevor, flustered but brave, kissed hers in return.

She stepped back to her door.

“Still coming to movie night?”

“I’ll be there.”

Maya made a little heart shape with her fingers.

Trevor smiled helplessly.

She slipped inside the room, then peeked back out one last time.

“Trevor?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad we met.”

The door closed softly.

Trevor stood in the hallway for several seconds doing absolutely nothing.

Then he turned and walked back to his room feeling confused, relieved, and happier than before.

Saurian Steakhouse, Cuyahoga Castles

The hostess led Elian and Stacy through a dining room that looked like someone had asked what wealth would do if wealth loved dinosaurs.

Crystal chandeliers hung beneath vaulted stone ceilings.

A skeletal sauropod neck curved dramatically over the bar.

Walls were lined with polished fossil casts in gold frames.

Soft jazz played beneath the low roar of expensive conversation.

Every table glowed in candlelight.

Servers moved with choreographed precision.

Most of the staff were Lizardfolk- immaculately dressed in fitted black formalwear, scales polished to a subtle sheen, posture flawless.

Their English was near perfect.

Not functional.

Not transactional.

Polished, warm, elegant.

A maître d’ with emerald scales inclined his head.

“Mr. Reyes. Ms. Sicario. Your table is ready.”

Stacy glanced at Elian.

“You got us on a list?”

“I made a reservation.”

“That sounded like nobility.”

They were seated near a wide window overlooking the restored castle district.

Menus were placed before them like sacred documents.

Stacy opened hers.

Then kept reading.

Then blinked.

“Elian.”

“Yes?”

“Is this the appetizer menu?”

“No.”

“This says three medallions of herb-roasted ceratopsian tips.”

“Yes.”

“It’s thirty-eight dollars.”

“Yes.”

“How many medallions?”

He looked.

“Three.”

She looked at him.

“That’s one dollar per bite.”

He nodded gravely.

“That appears correct.”

A server arrived smoothly.

Good posture. Warm smile. Perfect diction.

“My name is Darek. I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

He described specials involving reductions, infused salts, and heritage saur stock with such grace that Stacy nearly applauded.

When he left, she whispered:

“I trust him completely.”

“So do I.”

They ordered.

A shared starter.

Two mains.

Two drinks.

One side of roasted vegetables, because it required a separate line item.

The food arrived beautifully plated.

Too beautifully.

Each portion sat in the center of oversized white dishes with acres of empty ceramic surrounding it.

Stacy stared at her entrée.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Elian looked down.

“It is also small.”

She cut into the meat.

Tender.

Perfectly cooked.

Well seasoned.

She chewed thoughtfully.

“That’s really good.”

“Yes.”

Then she looked at the plate again.

“I may need six more.”

Elian sampled his own.

Excellent texture.

Deep flavor.

Gone in four bites.

He set down his fork.

“This is criminal efficiency.”

Stacy laughed despite herself.

They ordered another side.

Then considered another round of mains.

Then looked at the prices again.

The mood shifted.

Not ruined.

Just clarified.

Stacy leaned back.

“This whole place is built to make rich people feel thin portions are culture.”

Elian nodded.

“The strategy is obvious.”

“Make it feel exclusive so people brag about paying too much.”

“…and remain hungry enough to order again.”

She pointed her fork at him.

“You’re sexy when you hate scams.”

“I hate scams often.”

Darek returned with fresh water and the sort of attentive timing that made tipping feel inevitable.

“Everything to your liking?”

Stacy smiled warmly.

“You’ve been wonderful.”

He gave a small gracious nod.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

After he left, she lowered her voice.

“He deserves better ownership.”

“He likely knows it.”

They finished what little remained.

Elian reviewed the bill.

Then set it down slowly.

“We have financed someone’s second boat.”

Stacy burst out laughing.

“Can we go somewhere honest?”

“Yes.”

“Like a diner.”

“Yes.”

“Or somewhere greasy.”

“Also yes.”

They stood.

Elian left a generous tip.

Stacy noticed.

“For Darek?”

“For competence.”

They walked out past the chandeliers, fossils, and curated prestige.

Once outside in the night air, Stacy slipped her arm through his.

“I’m still hungry.”

Elian smiled.

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Now we get the real date.”

Public Ocean Recreational Node (P.O.R.N.), District 8

Watcher and Hulk had decided that walking was for lesser beings.

So Luca and Zasaramel were not so much strolling the beach as being periodically towed across it by two ecstatic dogs who alternated between sprinting, wrestling, splashing through the shallows, and returning only long enough to prove they had no intention of calming down.

Luciano 'Luca' Montano held Hulk’s leash with the resigned competence of a father used to chaos.

Zasaramel held Watcher’s with the disciplined patience of a man who had survived stranger battles.

A few steps behind them walked Iris, Luca’s daughter, staring at her phone with the blissful distraction of youth.

“She texted again,” Iris announced.

“Who?” Luca asked, though he already knew.

Hailey Zlydasyk.

“She said my swing video had ‘good hands.’”

Luca nodded.

“That’s nice.”

“That’s life-changing.”

“She is complimenting mechanics.”

“She is seeing potential.”

Zas glanced back.

“The young often mistake attention for destiny.”

Iris barely heard him.

“She used three exclamation points.”

Luca sighed.

“We’ve lost her.”

Ahead of them, a lone figure approached along the shoreline.

Young. Proud posture. Slightly confused expression.

Arel-Sin.

Zas slowed.

“My son.”

Watcher barked happily and dragged him forward anyway.

Arel-Sin greeted them with a nod.

“Father.”

Then to Luca:

“Police man.”

“Off-duty police man,” Luca corrected.

Zas looked around.

“Where is Roxy?”

Arel-Sin gestured vaguely behind him.

“She remained with friends to smoke the Mary Igunana.”

Luca bit the inside of his cheek.

“The what?”

“The devil’s smoke,” Arel-Sin said seriously. “I did not enjoy it.”

Zas folded his arms.

“You tried it?”

Arel-Sin looked mildly ashamed.

“Yes.”

“…and?”

“It made me hear reptiles.”

Luca laughed outright.

“That checks out.”

Arel-Sin turned back to Luca.

“I learned something while with Roxy.”

“That’s dangerous already.”

“She said smoking weed on this beach is illegal.”

“It is.”

“…but many people do it openly.”

“Yes.”

“…and you do nothing.”

“Yes.”

Arel-Sin frowned.

“Then are you lazy?”

Luca looked delighted.

“Straight to it.”

Zas gave a small apologetic nod.

“He values clarity.”

Luca crouched slightly so he was nearer eye level.

“No. It’s called prioritizing.”

“I do not know this word.”

“It means you only have so much time, so much energy, so many officers. You focus on what matters most.”

Arel-Sin considered.

“So law matters only sometimes?”

“Law always matters,” Luca said, “but enforcement has to be smart.”

He pointed down the beach where several mellow stoners sat laughing under umbrellas.

“Those people are peaceful. They’re annoying maybe. Hungry definitely, but not dangerous.”

Then he pointed farther down where security was breaking up a drunken shouting match.

“Those people are causing problems. That gets attention first.”

Arel-Sin processed this slowly.

“So police choose battles.”

“Exactly.”

Zas nodded approvingly.

“A wise warrior principle.”

Arel-Sin then turned sharply to his father.

“Is prioritizing why you do not tell Mother Joanna and Mother Ruby to stop smoking?”

Luca immediately became interested in the sky.

Zas remained still.

“I once raised concerns regarding legality.”

“…and?”

“They assured me nothing bad would happen.”

“That was enough?”

“No,” said Zas, “but marriage requires compromise.”

Arel-Sin narrowed his eyes.

“You compromise with crime?”

“I compromise with wives.”

Luca laughed so hard Hulk nearly escaped.

Zas continued calmly.

“…and… they become affectionate when high.”

Arel-Sin recoiled in secondhand embarrassment.

“Father!”

“It is truth.”

“You approve because they touch you?”

“I approve many things.”

Luca wiped tears from his eyes.

“This is the best conversation I’ve had all month.”

Arel-Sin threw up his hands.

“Let me guess- ‘I will understand when older’. Is that right?”

“You will,” said Zas.

“I wish to understand now!”

“That wish,” said Luca, standing upright again, “is how we know you’re still young.”

Arel-Sin groaned in frustration.

Watcher trotted over and licked his hand.

At least one creature on the beach seemed to understand him perfectly.

Arel-Sin walked in thoughtful silence for several steps while Watcher and Hulk wrestled through the shallows like mythic idiots.

Then he spoke again.

“Father.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Mother Joanna and Mother Ruby liked you?”

Zas turned his head slowly.

“That is a sudden question.”

Luca grinned immediately.

“Oh, this got better.”

Zas studied his son.

“Why do you ask?”

Arel-Sin kept his gaze forward.

“I met a woman I liked.”

Luca straightened.

“Name?”

“Petra.”

Neither man recognized it.

“She was strong,” Arel-Sin added, “and beautiful. We embraced. We sparred.”

Luca nodded approvingly.

“Solid afternoon.”

“…but she did not want me romantically.”

“That happens,” Luca said gently.

Arel-Sin frowned.

“I was told that if a woman likes you, she will talk to you.”

“Yes…” Luca said cautiously.

“…but Petra rejected me and still talked to me.”

Luca looked at Zas.

Zas looked at the sea.

Arel-Sin continued.

“…and Petra, Sasha, Roxy, Hailey, and Tasha all said I ‘handled rejection well.’”

He sounded offended by the phrase.

“I simply accepted Petra at her word. To challenge her would be dishonourable.”

Luca rubbed his chin.

“You take things very literally.”

“Yes.”

“I also wish more people were like you.”

Arel-Sin did not know whether that was praise.

Zas finally spoke.

“There is rarely one moment when you know someone likes you romantically.”

“That seems inefficient.”

“It is life.”

He adjusted Watcher’s leash as the dog attempted to body-check Hulk into the tide.

“When Joanna and I fell in love, we did not declare it one morning like signing a treaty.”

Luca nodded.

“Would’ve been easier.”

“We spent time together. We learned each other. We cared. It changed little by little.”

He paused.

“It evolved.”

Arel-Sin blinked.

“That is less clear than before.”

Luca laughed.

“Welcome to romance.”

Zas remained patient.

“Love and attraction are not like battle plans. You will feel many things that do not arrive in order.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Often.”

Luca nearly choked laughing.

Zas continued.

“It is commendable that you respected Petra’s answer.”

Arel-Sin stood a little straighter.

“I was honourable.”

“You were.”

Then Zas’ tone deepened.

“…but one day, rejection will hurt you.”

Arel-Sin looked at him.

“Hurt me physically?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

“In ways harder to explain.”

The boy looked disturbed.

Zas nodded knowingly.

“Yes.”

Luca added quietly:

“He’s not kidding.”

Zas went on.

“Love and relationships will confuse you. They will anger you. They will make you feel foolish. There are no words I can give you now that will spare you that.”

Arel-Sin was silent for a long moment.

Then:

“I am afraid.”

Zas stopped walking.

He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“That is okay.”

Watcher and Hulk circled back, then resumed trying to drown each other happily.

“When fear comes,” Zas said, “meet it as a warrior.”

“How?”

“Do not let fear decide for you.”

Arel-Sin listened carefully.

“One day, after heartache and confusion and all the nonsense…”

Zas gave the faintest smile.

“…love will also make you happy.”

Luca looked between them.

“That was beautiful.”

Zas resumed walking.

“I know.”

Luca nodded.

“…and annoying.”

“That also.”

Arel-Sin absorbed his father’s words with the seriousness of a student handed advanced mathematics too early.

Then he turned to Luca.

“If love brings happiness…”

Luca nodded.

“Sometimes.”

“…are you hurt because you do not have a wife?”

There was a brief silence.

Watcher sneezed.

Hulk tried to eat seaweed.

Zas closed his eyes for half a second.

Iris looked up from her phone, already bracing for awkwardness.

…but Luca only laughed.

Not mocking laughter.

Warm laughter.

“You really do walk straight through doors, huh?”

“I value efficiency.”

“I can tell.”

Luca adjusted Hulk’s leash and thought for a moment.

“I had a girlfriend once.”

Arel-Sin listened immediately.

“Her name was Gladys.”

“We had Iris.”

He put a hand lightly on his daughter’s shoulder.

“I thought we’d get married one day. Thought we’d be together forever.”

Iris leaned into him without looking up.

“…but life doesn’t always care what you thought.”

Arel-Sin frowned.

“Did she die?”

“No.”

“Then why not continue?”

Luca chuckled.

“Because people change. Sometimes they grow together. Sometimes apart.”

He glanced out at the water.

“She took me for granted sometimes. I probably had my own faults too.”

Iris muttered:

“You left out many faults.”

“Thank you, counselor.”

“When we split,” Luca continued, “things got ugly. She kept Iris away from me for a while.”

Arel-Sin’s eyes widened.

“She imprisoned her?”

Luca and Iris both burst out laughing.

“No,” Iris said. “Not literally.”

“Though emotionally…” Luca said.

“…kinda prison,” Iris finished.

They shared a grin.

Arel-Sin looked confused but satisfied enough.

“So are you angry because you are alone?”

Luca shook his head.

“No.”

“Are you angry because you lost Gladys?”

“No.”

“Then what are you angry about?”

Luca answered more quietly.

“That it didn’t work.”

He shrugged.

“…and how it ended.”

The honesty landed.

Even Zas gave a small approving nod.

“…but I’m not miserable,” Luca said, brightening again. “I’ve got no regrets.”

He pulled Iris in with one arm and squeezed her affectionately.

“At the end of the day, I still have someone to love.”

Iris rolled her eyes.

“You’re being dramatic in front of company.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“You adore it.”

She smiled despite herself.

Arel-Sin, however, was already loading more questions.

“If you were not married, how did you create Iris?”

Luca coughed.

“If Gladys did not imprison her literally, how did she hold her from you?”

No one answered.

“…and how did Iris return to you? Did you storm the prison?”

Luca looked to Zas for rescue.

Zas offered none.

“This is your battle.”

Luca sighed nobly.

“Some stories are too complicated for one beach walk.”

“That means yes,” said Arel-Sin.

“It means later.”

He bent down to scratch Hulk behind the ears.

“Happiness,” Luca said, “especially with love, isn’t about checking one box.”

Arel-Sin tilted his head.

“It’s about what you make of what happens.”

The boy considered that deeply.

Then Luca smiled.

“...and that is definitely something you’ll only understand when you’re older.”

Arel-Sin groaned.

“Everyone keeps using age as a shield.”

“It’s because it works,” said Iris.

Watcher barked in agreement.

No one knew why.

Echo Bay, Mar de Los Auras

Once Nicky McCrain had recovered from his earlier collapse, dignity was discussed briefly, then abandoned completely.

The rest of the night became dedicated to his two oldest loves:

Moderate amounts of weed.

…and reckless quantities of Raptor Nuggets.

Several industrial-sized buckets sat open on the table in front of the Dogs of Paradise, their golden contents disappearing at a pace that suggested prior famine.

Nicky held up a nugget reverently.

“These are better than therapy.”

Julian MacNeil reached for sauce.

“They are therapy.”

Marnie had already built a pyramid of empty dipping cups.

Randy was eating in silence so focused it bordered on spiritual.

Zaurika Tleuzhuko shook her head.

“You all look like raccoons who found money.”

Nicky bit into another nugget.

“Do not insult excellence.”

This time, however, he approached the weed with caution.

Measured pulls.

Long pauses.

Respect.

The joint passed around with the solemnity of a recovered lesson.

Julian noticed.

“Look who learned moderation.”

“I evolved,” Nicky said.

“You got humbled.”

“I evolved through humbling.”

They eventually settled in front of the smuggler park’s old television—mounted crookedly, picture slightly too blue, one speaker stronger than the other.

Tonight’s film was an aging action movie no one fully respected but everyone deeply loved.

Within ten minutes they were laughing too hard at scenes that were not intended to be funny.

Within twenty minutes they were debating character motivations with graduate-level intensity.

“That betrayal made no sense,” said Randy.

“It made emotional sense,” said Zaurika.

“It made sequel sense,” said Julian.

Nicky pointed at the screen with a nugget.

“No. Listen to me. He did it because he feared intimacy.”

Everyone turned to him.

Marnie blinked.

“This from the man who smoked himself unconscious six hours ago?”

“Pain creates insight.”

On-screen, an explosion consumed a warehouse.

Julian nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s true.”

Another half hour passed.

They analyzed continuity errors.

They argued whether the villain was misunderstood.

They ranked secondary characters.

They discussed whether the dog in the movie was the true protagonist.

Nicky laughed so hard at one line delivery he nearly dropped an entire bucket.

“This is cinema!”

“It’s garbage,” said Zaurika.

“Then why am I healed?”

By two in the morning, the buckets were empty.

Sauce packets littered the table like battlefield debris.

The television still glowed.

No one had the energy to turn it off.

The smuggler park’s makeshift couch- an ancient sectional assembled from mismatched pieces of furniture of mysterious origin- became the final destination.

Julian claimed one armrest.

Marnie vanished into a corner cushion.

Randy used a decorative pillow that clearly belonged to no man.

Zaurika took the chair.

Nicky landed across the center section with a blanket over half his body and one shoe still on.

He stared sleepily at the ceiling.

“This,” he murmured, “is friendship.”

Julian, eyes closed, replied:

“This is bad posture.”

Nicky smiled.

For the first time in a long while, there was no paperwork, no expectations, no marriage collapse, no tomorrow.

Only full stomachs, old friends, and the low hum of a TV no one was still watching.

Within minutes, the room filled with layered snoring.

Florida Union of Civic Colleges- Siesta Key

Maya slipped back into the room quietly and closed the door behind her.

Sienna still wasn’t back.

Good.

Maya exhaled, loosened up, and immediately shed the outfit she’d worn out—shirt tossed toward the chair, skirt flung toward the bed with far less accuracy.

She stood comfortably as she was for a moment, stretching like someone reclaiming familiar space.

Sienna had already complained once about Maya being topless in the room.

Maya had mostly respected it.

Mostly.

…but tonight she wanted to breathe.

To feel normal.

To feel, for even ten minutes, like she was back in Cape Town instead of halfway across the world in a dinosaur-branded college residence.

She climbed onto her bed with her laptop and opened her messenger app.

Rows of names appeared.

School friends.

Music friends.

Old theatre people.

Former classmates.

Party disasters.

Exes best left archived.

Only a handful were online. It was late in Cape Town now.

That actually comforted her.

No flood of messages. No emotional stampede.

Then one name lit up.

Vera

Maya smiled immediately.

She accepted the call.

Vera appeared on-screen in low light, curled into a hoodie, hair messy, expression sharp as ever.

“There she is,” Vera said. “Foreign exchange tragedy.”

“Look at you,” Maya said. “Still beautiful. Still dramatic.”

“Still abandoned.”

Maya laughed.

“Where are you?”

“The old concert hall.”

Maya’s face softened instantly.

The hall had been a constant in their lives for years- sticky floors, terrible acoustics, underfunded bands, unforgettable nights.

“Oh no,” Maya said. “Who’s playing?”

“Three bands with confidence and no talent.”

“Tradition.”

“Exactly.”

Vera leaned closer to the camera.

“It wasn’t the same without you.”

That landed harder than either of them let show.

Maya smiled gently.

“I miss it.”

“I miss you. The hall can fend for itself.”

They talked over one another for a moment, laughing.

Then Vera narrowed her eyes.

“So. How is Orlando?”

“Humid. Loud. Weird.”

“Any progress with the nun?”

Maya groaned.

“She is not a nun.”

“She objected to your chest within six hours.”

“She’s from a religious community in Alabama. She is not used to female toplessness the way we are.”

Vera stared.

“You’re defending her already.”

“She’s actually sweet.”

“You’re only saying that because you have to live with her for a year.”

Maya pointed accusingly.

“That is cynical.”

“That is experienced.”

Maya laughed again, then hesitated.

“There is someone else, though.”

Vera sat upright.

“What?”

“A boy.”

Vera gasped theatrically.

“You’re over Boris already?”

Maya rolled her eyes.

“I was over Boris before takeoff.”

“That man wrote you poetry.”

“That man wrote himself poetry and sent it to me.”

Vera lost composure laughing.

“Fair.”

Maya tucked one leg under herself.

“His name is Trevor.”

“Describe.”

“Sweet. Nervous. Honest. Very Canadian energy.”

“That means nothing.”

“It means apologetic sincerity.”

“Hot?”

Maya considered.

“In an accidental way.”

Vera clutched her chest.

“The most dangerous kind.”

Maya smiled down at the keyboard.

“We’re just friends right now.”

“Which means?”

“Which means maybe something later.”

She looked back up.

“I told him I’m not ready for a relationship.”

“…and?”

“He didn’t push.”

Vera’s expression softened.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“He might be serious then.”

“That’s what scares me.”

Vera nodded knowingly.

“Good men are inconvenient.”

Maya laughed through a sudden sting of emotion.

“To change topic,” she said quickly, “how’s Brigette?”

Vera made a face.

“Flaky lately.”

“Bad flaky or mysterious flaky?”

“Unread messages flaky. ‘Sorry busy’ flaky.”

Maya winced.

“That’s annoying.”

“I don’t know where it’s going.”

“I hope somewhere decent,” Maya said. “She seemed cool the times I met her.”

“She is cool.”

“Then demand better.”

Vera pointed.

“Look who moved abroad and became wise.”

“I was always wise.”

“You were always loud.”

“Same thing.”

Both women laughed again.

For the first time since arriving, Maya felt something unclench inside her.

Distance still hurt.

…but it did not erase people.

…and somewhere down the hall, movie night was getting closer.

Maya was still chatting with Vera when the room door opened.

Sienna entered carrying a gym bag that looked heavier than some appliances.

She was flushed from training, hair tied up, shoulders damp with effort, and moving with the weary confidence of someone who had punished herself voluntarily.

She kicked the bag near her bed.

Then froze.

Her eyes lifted.

“Maya.”

Maya turned in her chair.

“Yes?”

Sienna pointed dramatically.

“The girls are hanging out again.”

Maya sighed.

“You say that like they escaped.”

Sienna shut the door behind her.

“It’s a shared room.”

“It’s my half of a shared room.”

Then Maya’s nose wrinkled.

“What is that smell?”

Sienna blinked.

“What smell?”

Maya looked down at the gym bag.

The zipper was open.

Inside sat a stew of damp clothes, socks, towel, and whatever atmospheric crimes occurred in a training facility.

“Oh my God.”

Sienna looked mildly offended.

“That is effort.”

“That is biohazard.”

Vera’s voice from the laptop speakers cut in:

“I like her already.”

Sienna glanced over.

“Who’s that?”

“Vera,” Maya said. “She agrees your bag should be quarantined.”

Sienna rolled her eyes and grabbed the bag, finally zipping it shut.

“Happy?”

“Relieved.”

She looked back at Maya expectantly, clearly waiting for the shirt to go back on.

Maya crossed her arms.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Sienna stared.

“It is not illegal in Orlando.”

“That is not the point.”

“It is my room too.”

“That is also not the point.”

Maya leaned back in her chair.

“If you are going to leave your dirty laundry open to the public, you have no business complaining about something you can simply not look at.”

Vera wheezed laughing through the speakers.

Sienna opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Then sighed.

“…That’s annoyingly fair.”

Maya softened.

Sienna rubbed the back of her neck.

“Maybe I was too hard on you.”

Maya’s expression changed.

Sienna sat on the edge of her bed.

“My family isn’t exactly close-close.”

She shrugged.

“…but they’re still closer than the people you left.”

Maya listened quietly.

“I know you miss home.”

Sienna glanced up.

“…and I probably shouldn’t make you feel weird in your own room because I’m not used to something.”

Maya smiled gently.

“That was mature.”

“Don’t spread it around.”

Vera spoke again.

“I’m witnessing growth.”

Sienna pointed at the laptop.

“You stay out of this.”

Maya laughed.

Then nodded toward Sienna.

“We should talk properly soon.”

“About what?”

“Boundaries.”

Sienna considered.

“Yeah.”

“Real ones.”

“Fair ones.”

“No religion.”

“No nudist revolution.”

“Compromise.”

“Compromise.”

They both stood.

Then, naturally, hugged.

Sienna only realized halfway through that Maya was still topless.

She groaned into Maya’s shoulder.

“This is still weird for me.”

“You’re doing great.”

Vera applauded from the laptop speakers.

A real friendship had quietly arrived.

The hug broke.

Sienna stepped back, still adjusting to many things at once.

Maya returned to her chair and angled the laptop.

“Vera, this is Sienna.”

Vera raised a hand dramatically through the screen.

“The nun.”

Sienna sighed.

“We are retiring that immediately.”

“Fine,” Vera said. “Sienna.”

To her credit, Sienna stepped closer and offered a polite smile.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Vera replied. “You seem sturdier than I expected.”

“That’s somehow rude and complimentary.”

“It’s my brand.”

Sienna folded her arms.

“So you’re the famous Vera.”

“I’m flattered that I’m famous.”

“You’ve been loud for twenty minutes.”

“Earned fame.”

Maya laughed from the bed.

Vera then narrowed her eyes playfully.

“Can I ask something?”

“That depends.”

“Are you really waiting to be a virgin until marriage?”

Maya groaned.

“Vera.”

Sienna, to her credit, didn’t flinch.

“Not necessarily marriage.”

Vera leaned in.

“Oho?”

“The right time,” Sienna said plainly. “With the right person. With trust.”

Vera nodded slowly.

“That is… surprisingly reasonable.”

“I’m full of upsetting surprises.”

As Vera shifted, a bracelet caught the camera light.

A small Pride flag woven into the band.

Sienna noticed immediately.

Her eyes rested there for half a second.

Then moved on.

She said nothing.

Maya noticed that too.

…and appreciated it.

Naturally, the subject turned where all dorm-room conversations eventually do:

Boys.

“So,” Sienna said, looking at Maya. “Trevor.”

Maya smiled despite herself.

“What about him?”

“You came back glowing.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Maya tucked hair behind her ear.

“I told Vera the same thing I told you.”

“That there could be something?”

Maya nodded.

“Maybe.”

Vera clasped her hands.

“We love maybe.”

Sienna smiled.

“I’m happy for you.”

Maya blinked.

“That sounded sincere.”

“It was.”

Then Sienna’s expression changed.

“As for Cory…”

Maya laughed immediately.

“What now?”

“I am getting progressively more annoyed with him.”

Vera barked laughter.

“That phrase means you’re interested.”

“It means he acts like he’s some nerdy Lothario.”

Maya sat up straighter.

“You like Johnny Galecki.”

Sienna pointed.

“Especially as Leonard Hofstadter.”

“So?”

“So Cory is your type.”

“No,” Sienna said firmly. “Leonard is actually cool.”

Maya laughed harder.

“That was harsh.”

“It was accurate.”

Vera was nearly crying laughing now.

“I need this movie night.”

Sienna sat on her bed and shrugged.

“I’ll see where it goes.”

Maya narrowed her eyes.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“If I must serve as wingwoman,” Sienna said with theatrical resignation, “and entertain Cory long enough for you and Trevor to fulfill your destiny…”

She placed a hand over her heart.

“…then I accept that burden.”

Maya threw a pillow at her.

Vera applauded through the speakers.

Sienna caught the pillow cleanly.

“Also,” she added, “if he says ‘Lothario’ unironically once, I’m ending him.”

Maya laughed.

“Fair boundary.”

Public Ocean Recreational Node (P.O.R.N.), District 8

The joint continued its slow orbit between Roxy Corvina, Tasha, Hailey, Sasha, and Petra.

At some point they had all lost track of time.

No one knew how long they had been sitting there.

No one cared.

The sun had lowered. The breeze softened. Music from somewhere farther down the beach drifted in and out like memory.

Tasha sat cross-legged in the sand, still thinking about one thing.

“I miss that plesiosaur.”

Hailey laughed.

“You knew it for like six minutes.”

“It was a meaningful six minutes.”

Roxy smiled.

“I’m serious though- you should think about working with dinosaurs.”

Tasha looked over.

“With what? At a zoo?”

“With animals. Sanctuaries. Parks. Handling teams. Rescue units.”

She nudged Tasha’s shoulder.

“You bonded with that baby instantly. That’s not nothing.”

Tasha shrugged.

“It liked me because I was wet.”

“That is not how instinct works.”

Petra, listening quietly, passed the joint to Sasha.

Roxy continued.

“North America needs more dinosaur tamers.”

“That’s a job title?” Hailey asked.

“It should be.”

Then Roxy brightened.

“My sister would tell you the same thing.”

“Serena?” Hailey asked.

Serena Corvina.

Roxy nodded proudly.

“She handles Vanta for the Orlando Battlehawks.”

Tasha blinked.

“The raptor?”

“The raptor.”

“Like… the raptor?”

“Yes.”

Tasha sat up straighter.

“What’s that like?”

Roxy smiled.

“She loves it.”

“She isn’t scared?”

“She respects it,” Roxy corrected. “That’s different.”

Roxy looked out toward the water.

“She knows Vanta can be dangerous…but they trust each other. They’re like best friends.”

Tasha considered this deeply.

“A dangerous best friend sounds kind of sick.”

“It is.”

Still, Tasha remained cautious.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know now,” Roxy said. “Just don’t dismiss something because it sounds strange.”

Petra then leaned forward, studying Roxy with amused sharpness.

“So.”

Roxy immediately recognized the tone.

“No.”

“I haven’t asked yet.”

“You’re going to ask about Arel-Sin.”

Petra grinned.

“Correct.”

Sasha laughed softly beside her.

“You like him?”

Roxy rolled her eyes.

“We’re friends.”

Tasha snorted loudly.

“Please.”

Roxy looked over.

“What?”

Tasha gestured grandly.

“His father is a god.”

Everyone laughed.

Petra nearly choked.

“A god?”

“You heard me.”

Tasha continued, committed to the argument.

“If Zasaramel made that kid, genetics are in play.”

Hailey buried her face in her hands.

“This is deranged logic.”

“It’s realistic logic.”

Sasha, calmer, added:

“He’s respectful.”

That quieted the group a little.

“Those are hard to find,” Sasha said.

Petra nodded.

“Very.”

Roxy picked at the sand.

“He’s also confusing.”

“He’s young,” Petra said.

“He asks questions like a monk and reacts like a puppy.”

“That sounds charming,” Petra replied.

“That sounds exhausting,” Roxy countered.

Tasha pointed accusingly.

“You like him.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I don’t know him like that.”

Hailey smiled knowingly.

“That is not a denial.”

Roxy sighed.

Part of her wanted to dismiss the whole conversation.

Another part of her wondered if she kept dismissing it because excuses were easier than answers.

She took the joint back, inhaled lightly, and looked toward the shoreline where Arel-Sin had wandered off.

The beach suddenly felt larger than before.

Back at the Zasaramel family’s patch of sand, the babies slept peacefully beneath a shaded canopy, tiny chests rising and falling in sync.

The cooler sat half-open.

Towels were everywhere.

Watcher’s abandoned water bowl had already collected sand.

…and a few feet away, Raven lay quietly on a beach chair, sunglasses on, one leg crossed over the other, carrying herself with the alert stillness of someone who had appointed herself responsible for everyone else.

Joanna noticed first.

“Why are you over there like hired security?”

Ruby raised her head from the towel.

“Yeah. Come here.”

Raven tilted the sunglasses down.

“I thought I should be the responsible one while you two enjoyed yourselves.”

Joanna laughed.

“You’re family.”

Ruby patted the open space between them.

“You are not staff.”

“The babies are asleep,” Joanna added.

“The babies are deeply asleep,” Ruby confirmed.

Raven looked over.

The babies had reached that mystical infant state where they seemed medically impossible to wake.

She hesitated.

Then stood.

“Very well.”

She settled into the space where Zasaramel had been lying earlier.

Immediately, Joanna and Ruby draped themselves against her on instinct alone.

One arm over her waist.

A head on her shoulder.

A leg across her shin.

They cuddled Raven exactly the way they had cuddled Zas, with the absent-minded entitlement of affectionate people who never ask permission because love already assumed it.

Raven stiffened at first.

Then slowly relaxed.

Then, more quietly than anyone noticed:

She liked it.

Ruby lifted the joint.

“Peace offering?”

Raven accepted.

“One pull.”

She inhaled.

Held it.

Exhaled toward the sea.

There was a pause.

Then it was as if some hidden lever inside her had been thrown.

Raven sat upright.

“Do you ever think silence is louder near water?”

Joanna blinked.

“What?”

“The waves erase unnecessary thoughts.”

Ruby stared.

Raven continued.

“That bird overhead is uncertain.”

They looked up.

An archaeopteryx glided above the beach.

Raven pointed solemnly.

“It wants both sky and earth. Classic divided spirit.”

Joanna turned slowly to Ruby.

“Has this been in there the whole time?”

Ruby whispered back.

“I think we unlocked downloadable content.”

Raven was just beginning.

“I can feel its wingbeats.”

She closed her eyes.

“No- wait.”

A pause.

“I can feel all wingbeats.”

Joanna burst into laughter.

Ruby nearly fell over.

Raven opened one eye.

“You mock perception because you fear sensitivity.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Raven then looked down at her own hands.

“Sometimes I wonder…”

She flexed her fingers dramatically.

“…if I am truly a raven.”

Ruby wiped tears from her face.

“You are absolutely stoned.”

Raven nodded thoughtfully.

“Perhaps ravens are too.”

Joanna leaned against her.

“You need to smoke with us more often.”

Ruby agreed immediately.

“This version of you is premium.”

Raven accepted the joint again.

“I am many things.”

She then slowly reached one hand upward toward the Archaeopteryx circling above, as if calling it home.

The bird, wisely, kept flying.

Florida Union of Civic Colleges- Siesta Key

The door opened.

Trevor walked in wearing the expression of a man who had experienced something meaningful but lacked the vocabulary to summarize it.

Cory Boland was already standing.

Eyes wide.

Hands spread.

Smile fully loaded.

“Well?”

Trevor set his phone on the desk.

Cory leaned in.

“Well?!”

Trevor smiled despite himself.

“It was good.”

Cory pumped a fist.

“Yes!”

Trevor held up a hand.

“…but not the way you mean.”

Cory froze.

“…Explain.”

Trevor sat on the edge of his bed.

He took a breath.

“Maya and I talked.”

“Good start.”

“She got emotional.”

Cory’s face changed.

“Oh.”

“She’s homesick. Misses her family, friends, everything familiar.”

Cory nodded slowly.

“That’s real.”

“She thought maybe she was rushing into something because she felt lonely.”

“…and?”

Trevor shrugged lightly.

“So we agreed to be friends. At least for now.”

Cory stared.

Then blinked twice.

“You got friendzoned.”

Trevor sighed.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Trevor pointed at him.

“We agreed to move at the pace we want to move.”

Cory folded his arms.

“You mean her pace.”

“No. Our pace.”

“That sounds like diplomacy after defeat.”

Trevor laughed.

“You’re impossible.”

He leaned back on his hands.

“I wasn’t ready to dive in immediately either.”

Cory looked skeptical.

“You were ready enough.”

“I liked the idea,” Trevor admitted, “but this felt… better.”

“Better than kissing?”

“In context, yes.”

Cory sat down slowly as if trying to understand a foreign legal system.

“What exactly did you gain?”

Trevor answered plainly.

“Trust.”

Cory grimaced.

“That is not tangible.”

“We also agreed to be cuddle buddies.”

Cory’s entire posture changed.

“Hold on.”

He leaned forward sharply.

“Repeat that.”

“Cuddle buddies.”

Cory looked toward the ceiling.

“God gives his hardest battles to his dumbest soldiers.”

Trevor burst out laughing.

“It’s not a battle.”

“It is if you can’t capitalize.”

Trevor shook his head.

“You think every relationship has to sprint.”

“No,” Cory said, “but I think if you jog too slow, someone else passes you.”

He pointed dramatically.

“She’s going to shelve you.”

Trevor blinked.

“What?”

“Use you as emotional support inventory. Backup option. Emergency boyfriend glass.”

“That is insane.”

“It is modern.”

Trevor rubbed his face.

“You sound like a failed podcast.”

“I sound prepared.”

Trevor sat forward.

“You’re acting like people can’t just like each other and take time.”

Cory opened his hands.

“They can. I simply distrust it.”

Trevor smiled.

“I know.”

Cory brightened suddenly.

“Unlike me and Sienna.”

Trevor looked up slowly.

“Oh no.”

“She is totally into me.”

Trevor stared.

“Based on what?”

“She replied quickly.”

“That means she has thumbs.”

“She laughed.”

“You are funny-looking.”

“She declined pre-movie plans because she’s going to the gym.”

Trevor blinked.

“That is your evidence?”

“She wants me anticipating.”

Trevor put both hands over his face.

“That is catastrophically weak.”

“It is layered.”

“She turned you down.”

“She postponed destiny.”

Trevor laughed so hard he had to lie back.

Cory pointed triumphantly.

“Mock me now…but tomorrow changes things.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“I continue being me.”

Trevor groaned.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Maya ended the call with Vera after several more minutes of laughter, gossip, and Vera announcing that she had decided the concert hall was dead and she was now “taking her talents to another bar.”

“Try not to marry a stranger,” Maya said.

“No promises,” Vera replied.

Sienna called toward the screen:

“Have fun.”

Vera grinned.

“You too, Talladega.”

The call ended.

The room went quiet again.

Maya set the laptop aside and stretched back across the bed.

Sienna looked over from her own side, hesitated, then simply climbed onto Maya’s bed and lay beside her, both of them staring at the ceiling.

She was, slowly but surely, becoming less scandalized by Maya’s toplessness.

Progress had occurred.

After a moment, Sienna asked:

“Would you ever get nipple rings?”

Maya turned her head immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

Sienna laughed.

“That was fast.”

“I know myself.”

“You sure?”

“I am many things. Pierced there is not one of them.”

Sienna nodded thoughtfully.

“Fair.”

Her eyes drifted to the writing tattooed along Maya’s side.

The script meant nothing to her.

“What does that say?”

Maya glanced down.

“It’s old Afrikaans.”

“What’s it mean?”

Maya’s expression softened.

“Never abandon your home.”

Sienna was quiet.

“You got that here?”

“A few weeks before I left.”

“Why then?”

Maya smiled faintly.

“As a promise to my friends.”

That sat in the room for a while.

Then Sienna spoke more quietly than usual.

“I miss home too.”

Maya turned toward her.

“Talladega. My family. My church. Just… knowing how everything works.”

She exhaled.

“…but I also know there’s a whole world I never saw.”

Maya listened.

“Everything back there felt closed off.”

She looked embarrassed admitting it.

“Like if I stayed too comfortable, I’d never know anything else.”

Maya nodded slowly.

“That’s honest.”

Sienna rolled onto her side.

“So help me live.”

Maya raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Responsibly,” Sienna clarified quickly. “I’m not doing all-night ragers.”

“Reasonable.”

“I’m also not suddenly kissing women like your friend Vera.”

Maya burst out laughing.

“First of all, Vera is lesbian.”

“I gathered.”

“Second, Vera isn’t actually that wild.”

“She moved bars in under an hour.”

“That is logistics.”

Sienna crossed her arms.

“The fact she is lesbian is already wild enough where I’m from.”

Maya laughed harder.

“That may be the most Alabama sentence ever spoken.”

Sienna accepted this.

Maya reached over and took her hand.

“I’ll help you discover the world.”

Sienna smiled.

“Good.”

“Slowly.”

“Better.”

“Safely.”

“Excellent.”

Maya then smirked.

“Maybe we begin with cross-shaped nipple rings.”

Sienna yanked her hand away.

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late. I’ve envisioned them.”

“You are a menace.”

“You need one.”

Sienna threw a pillow at her.

Maya caught it and laughed.

Somewhere between discomfort and curiosity, a real friendship kept growing.

The laughter from the pillow attack faded into a softer quiet.

Sienna lay on her back beside Maya again, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned.

Then, after a long hesitation:

“Have you ever kissed another woman?”

Maya turned her head.

“That’s abrupt.”

“I’m curious.”

Maya thought for a moment.

“A few times.”

Sienna’s eyes widened slightly.

“Really?”

“With Vera.”

Vera

Sienna sat up on one elbow.

“You and Vera dated?”

Maya laughed.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because we’re best friends.”

“That explains nothing.”

Maya grinned.

“…and many times substances were involved.”

“That explains some things.”

Sienna looked back up at the ceiling, pretending she was casual.

Then insecurity slipped out before she could stop it.

“Would you kiss me?”

Maya blinked.

Sienna instantly regretted existing.

“I mean- not like- forget I asked-”

Maya reached over and gently touched her wrist.

They did not kiss.

…but Maya smiled warmly.

“Sienna.”

“What?”

“You are very kissable.”

Sienna stared straight upward, stunned.

“That was somehow worse.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have information.”

Maya laughed and squeezed her hand.

The moment passed into easier warmth.

Then Sienna noticed Maya’s phone lying beside the pillow.

On the screen was a photo of Maya and Trevor from earlier- mid-laugh, slightly blurry, happy.

She pointed.

“You already made him the wallpaper?”

Maya snatched the phone and held it to her chest.

“Don’t read too much into it.”

“That means yes.”

“It means I liked the picture.”

“It means yes.”

Maya smiled despite herself.

“I hope there’s a future.”

Then her smile dimmed slightly.

“…but I also worry.”

“About what?”

“He says he’s all in on friendship.”

“That seems good.”

“It is now.”

She looked at the phone.

“…but I’m single now.”

Sienna understood quickly.

“What if you’re not later?”

Maya nodded.

“What happens if I fall in love with another guy? What does Trevor do then?”

Sienna considered it.

“He’ll probably be hurt.”

Maya winced.

“Exactly.”

“…but,” Sienna added, “that doesn’t mean he’s lying now.”

Maya looked over.

“That was wise.”

“I contain layers.”

She rolled onto her side.

“At least you see Trevor positively.”

Maya smiled.

“I do.”

Sienna sighed.

“I’m not sure about Cory.”

Maya laughed immediately.

“That is fair.”

“He thinks he’s some charming mastermind.”

“He kind of does.”

“He is not.”

Maya thought for a second.

“One bright side though.”

“What?”

“He seems adventurous.”

Sienna narrowed her eyes.

“That sounds like a trap.”

“If you want experiences, chaos, stories, weird nights…”

Maya shrugged.

“Cory might accidentally be useful.”

Sienna considered that with real seriousness.

“…I hate that point.”

“Because it’s true.”

Before Sienna could answer, both women looked toward the clock.

Then at each other.

“Movie night,” they said together.

They got off the bed quickly.

Then paused.

Without awkwardness, without hesitation, they hugged again- full-bodied, sincere, grateful.

Sienna spoke first.

“Thank you for this talk.”

Maya smiled into her shoulder.

“Same to you.”

They stepped back.

Kissed each other lightly on the cheek.

Then grinned.

“There’s a real friendship here,” Sienna said.

“There absolutely is,” Maya replied.

They separated to get ready.

…and as they moved around the room, both were smiling in that quiet way people do when something good has unexpectedly entered their lives.

Chapter 5

Carina Ellison’s Apartment Above La Rubi

Simon Ellison was horizontal on the couch in the way only a man avoiding life could truly be horizontal.

Not resting.

Not relaxing.

Just… sprawled in strategic surrender.

The television played loudly enough to count as company, though Simon barely registered what was on it. Some game show host was shouting about prizes no one needed.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

He looked at it.

Ignored it.

Buzzed again.

Ignored it harder.

Across the room sat a framed family portrait.

Taken years earlier.

Back when things still arranged themselves into hopeful shapes.

His father, Tristan Ellison, stood smiling in the center. Strong posture. Proud eyes. Carina beside him. Simon younger, standing straighter than he ever did now. Finally Isolde was at the front, already wearing the sharp, mildly unimpressed expression she seemed born with.

Before Peace.

Before the operation that was supposed to be routine.

Before the condolences.

Before everyone started speaking about Tristan in the past tense and Simon in the future tense.

Simon had once wanted to join Peace himself.

Wear the badge.

Mean something.

Now he was staring at a half-finished spliff between two fingers and a graveyard of empty beer bottles on the table.

Each one had delivered ten good minutes.

Then numbness again.

He took another drag.

Nothing.

The apartment door opened.

Carina Ellison entered carrying groceries and one immediate expression of disappointment.

“By Jove, Simon.”

She set the bags down.

“You trying to hotbox depression?”

She crossed the room, threw open the windows, and let air flood in.

Cold breeze. Street noise. Life.

Simon squinted at the sunlight like it had insulted him.

“I had the atmosphere right.”

“You had mildew right.”

She looked at the bottles.

Then the ashtray.

Then her son.

Carina felt the old speech rise in her throat.

Why don’t you do anything with yourself?
Why are you wasting time?
Why am I still carrying you?

She had delivered versions of it a hundred times.

It had accomplished nothing.

So she pivoted.

“I need you downstairs.”

Simon didn’t move.

“No.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“I’m busy.”

“With what?”

He gestured vaguely at the television.

“Research.”

Carina folded her arms.

“Oscar’s worked six days straight.”

“He needs rest.”

Simon closed his eyes.

“Use Bart.”

“Bart already did breakfast prep.”

“Use Rico.”

“I’d rather not lose money.”

Simon almost smiled.

Carina pointed at him.

“If you want to keep staying here without paying rent, you can start pulling your weight.”

That landed.

He sat up slowly, like a corpse reconsidering things.

“This is coercion.”

“This is employment.”

“I’m not emotionally prepared.”

“You’ve had three years.”

Simon groaned, rubbed his face, and stood.

The spliff went out in the ashtray.

He shuffled toward the door.

Carina handed him an apron on the way past.

“You smell like bad choices.”

“That’s my natural scent.”

“Move.”

He trudged downstairs toward La Rubí del Sol, muttering under his breath.

Carina watched him go.

For all her frustration, she still saw the boy in the picture.

She just wished he could see him too.

Echo Bay, Mar de Los Auras

Nicky McCrain woke to the smell of grease, coffee, and bad decisions lovingly repackaged as tradition.

He sat up on the makeshift couch, hair wrecked, one shoe still on, blanket tangled around his leg.

In the kitchenette area, Marnie was already cooking.

And not just cooking.

Preparing a Dogs of Paradise classic.

Bacon.

Eggs.

And pot brownies.

Nicky smiled before he was fully conscious.

It felt like old times.

Even if he knew now that old times only lasted in moments.

Julian MacNeil sat at the table reading something upside down.

Randy was applying hot sauce to eggs with devotional intensity.

Zaurika drank coffee like she distrusted everyone present.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Julian said.

“What year is it?” Nicky asked.

“Emotionally? 2011.”

Nicky shuffled to the table.

Breakfast became what all good breakfasts become:

Eating.

Mockery.

Repetition.

There was more weed circulating too, but Nicky approached it with the caution of a man who had recently met consequences.

Measured pull.

Long pause.

Water sip.

Marnie noticed.

“He’s using strategy now.”

“I’ve matured,” Nicky said.

“You got flattened.”

“I matured through flattening.”

Then came the food.

And the Dogs remembered something important:

Nicky could eat.

Even without being high.

He demolished plate one.

Then plate two.

Then “just half” a brownie.

Then the other half because symmetry mattered.

Then someone else’s bacon under unclear legal circumstances.

Julian watched in awe.

“I forgot.”

Randy nodded solemnly.

“He’s a famine survivor.”

Nicky leaned back in satisfaction.

“This body was built for abundance.”

Ten minutes later, abundance hit back.

The combination of food, warmth, lingering weed, and emotional nostalgia wrapped around him like a weighted blanket.

He rose heroically.

Walked three steps.

Turned.

Collapsed back onto the couch.

“I’ll just rest my eyes.”

“You’re horizontal already,” said Zaurika.

He was asleep before the sentence ended.

---

The Dogs let him sleep.

For a while.

Then an hour passed.

Then another.

Then Marnie froze mid-dishwashing.

“…Didn’t Nicky have somewhere to be?”

The room went still.

Julian looked at the clock.

Then at Nicky.

Then back at the clock.

“Oh no.”

Everyone moved at once.

“Nicky!”

Water splash.

Pillow strike.

Brownie waved under nose.

Dog barking from outside.

Someone slapped the couch cushion like it owed money.

Nicky jolted awake.

“Fire?!”

“Worse,” Julian shouted. “Peace interview!”

Nicky stared blankly.

Then the truth entered him.

He launched upright so fast the blanket flew off like surrender.

“Oh no.”

He ran for the door, grabbing keys, shirt half-buttoned.

“My car-”

Julian stepped in front of him.

“Absolutely not.”

“I can drive.”

“You can barely blink symmetrically.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re still marinated.”

Nicky pointed dramatically.

“This is my future!”

“…and I’d like your future not to kill a pedestrian.”

Nicky hesitated.

Julian held out his hand.

“Keys.”

“I hate this.”

“Keys.”

Nicky surrendered them with tragic dignity.

Julian grinned.

“I’m driving.”

As they rushed outside, Nicky looked skyward.

“This is sabotage.”

From the kitchen, Zaurika yelled:

“This is friendship!”

Florida Union of City Colleges- Siesta Key

The room was half chaos, half routine.

Open closet doors.

Shoes on the floor.

A curling iron plugged in beside a stack of textbooks no one respected tonight.

Sienna stood near the mirror in athletic shorts and a loose cropped top, arms folded, still unconvinced about the night ahead.

“I’m telling you,” she said, “I still don’t know about Cory.”

Maya, already dressed and sitting cross-legged on the bed, gave her a look of practiced patience.

“You don’t have to know about Cory.”

“He’s weird.”

“You like weird.”

“I like manageable weird.”

Maya laughed.

“He’ll make another move eventually. That boy has the persistence of a mosquito.”

Sienna smirked.

“So if you change your mind,” Maya continued, “you can pounce.”

“I am not pouncing anybody.”

“You absolutely are the pouncing type.”

Sienna rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway.

Then she turned back to the mirror.

…and paused.

She studied herself longer than usual.

Maya noticed immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

Sienna touched her hair, then the side of her face.

“I just realized…”

“What?”

“I almost never check myself in mirrors.”

Maya softened.

That landed deeper than it sounded.

Sienna was the kind of girl who moved through life by utility- fast, capable, practical. Mirror-checking belonged to other girls. Girls who planned angles and curated softness.

Maya stood up.

“Move.”

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing an injustice.”

Sienna snorted but stepped aside.

Maya got to work.

A little makeup.

A little adjustment to the outfit.

A different tuck on the shirt.

A cleaner line around the eyes.

Hair reshaped just enough to look effortless.

As she worked, Sienna kept issuing guidance like a coach with no vocabulary for fashion.

“I don’t want fake pretty.”

“Noted.”

“I want sporty.”

“Obviously.”

“…but chic.”

“Dangerous combination.”

“…and like…”

Sienna searched for the phrase.

“…a nerd would fall in love for.”

Maya burst out laughing.

“That is the most specific aesthetic request I’ve ever heard.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Maya said. “Unfortunately.”

Several minutes later, Maya stepped back.

“There.”

Sienna looked in the mirror.

Then looked again.

Still herself.

…but sharpened.

Confident in a way she rarely let herself be.

She smiled.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Maya said.

“Oh.”

She turned and hugged Maya quickly.

“Thank you.”

Maya smiled, then leaned in and kissed Sienna on the cheek.

Sienna blinked.

“What was that for?”

Maya shrugged casually.

“You asked me once if you were kissable.”

Sienna’s face reddened.

“I did not ask it like that.”

“You absolutely did.”

Maya grabbed her purse.

“…and I said I had to make sure you got at least one kiss tonight from someone who cared about you.”

Sienna stood frozen for a beat.

Then smiled in that stunned, quiet way people do when affection catches them off guard.

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m excellent.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, sporty chic nerd-bait. We’re late.”

The common room lights were dimmed, the cheap projector humming against a white wall that had seen too many student events and not enough paint.

Tonight’s feature:

Jurassic Park

Maya had chosen it with purpose.

To her, it was obvious symbolism: humans treating dinosaurs as a controllable asset, commercializing nature, overestimating systems, then acting shocked when everything collapsed.

A story with uncomfortable parallels to Orlando and its spectacle economy.

…but she also knew almost nobody else in the room cared about that.

They wanted dinosaurs.

They wanted screaming.

They wanted rich people getting punished.

They wanted something fun.

Sienna understood this immediately.

She glanced around the room as the opening scenes rolled.

Yeah, nobody here is doing political analysis of Jurassic Park.

They’re here for giant lizards eating lawyers.

Maya, meanwhile, had no interest in subtlety.

The moment seating settled, she tucked herself beside Trevor, leaned into him, adjusted once, then became perfectly comfortable as if she had always belonged there.

Trevor tried to play cool for about fourteen seconds before visibly melting.

Sienna noticed and fought a smile.

Then she sat beside Cory.

…and waited.

Nothing.

No arm stretch.

No playful comment.

No leg shift.

No accidental touch that was obviously intentional.

Nothing.

What Sienna didn’t know was that Cory had spent the afternoon convincing himself that being “hard to get” was sophisticated male strategy.

If he stayed calm, distant, unreadable…

…maybe she’d chase.

Instead, he looked like a man concentrating on taxes.

Later, during a quieter scene, Sienna glanced across the room at Maya.

Help me.

Maya met her eyes and returned a tiny expression.

Trust me.

Then went back to happily stealing Trevor’s body heat.

Across the room, Isolde sat alone.

She watched the screen.

Then watched everyone else.

Hands slowly finding hands.

Shoulders leaning together.

Private smiles happening in public.

It all seemed effortless for them.

She had come from El Requeson to Orlando to discover herself, to step beyond the quiet life that felt too small and too known.

Now, in a crowded room, she felt more isolated than she had back home.

Maybe leaving hadn’t been courage.

Maybe it had just been motion.

She turned back to the movie as the T-Rex scene began, hoping spectacle could drown thought.

Beside Cory, Sienna’s patience was dying.

She had dressed up.

She had sat beside him.

She had waited through exposition, rain, and multiple bad decisions by scientists.

Still nothing.

Then finally- perhaps triggered by fear of losing the moment forever- Cory moved.

A hesitant hand.

A glance.

An inch closer.

Sienna turned toward him instantly, as if she’d been waiting for a starting gun.

Their kiss happened fast and awkwardly and honestly.

Then another.

Then a better one.

Then the kind where both people suddenly realize they are no longer watching the movie at all.

Cory pulled back first, eyes wide.

“Uh…”

“Yeah,” Sienna said.

Another kiss answered the rest.

They stood, trying to look casual and failing completely, then slipped out of movie night and down the hallway toward Cory’s room.

Maya saw them leave.

Without looking away from the screen, she smiled to herself.

Trevor noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Maya said. “Life finds a way.”

Peace Command Office- Rosario, San Padres

The conference room was orderly, bright, and far more serious than the man it was waiting for.

At the table sat four people with very different expectations.

Norah Anam, Operations & Investigations Commanding Officer, reviewed a thin folder without appearing especially invested one way or the other. Her posture was straight, her face unreadable, the practiced calm of someone who had seen too many people arrive with promise and leave with excuses.

Beside her sat Roy Fowler, Officers Division Director, glasses low on his nose, quietly scanning notes.

Across from them, Alisa 'Ally' MacBeth looked almost upbeat.

“He’ll surprise you,” Ally said.

Hollace McBride gave a skeptical grunt.

“He usually does. That’s what worries me.”

Ally folded her arms.

“Nicky’s got instincts.”

“He’s got impulses,” McBride replied.

“Same toolbox.”

“Different drawer.”

Roy hid a smile.

Norah closed the folder.

“I’d prefer to meet the applicant before sentencing him or promoting him.”

That ended the exchange.

The room settled into waiting silence.

---

Elsewhere in the building, Nicky McCrain moved through Peace headquarters like a man arriving at his own surprise party.

He had expected nerves.

Sweaty palms.

Second thoughts.

Maybe dry heaving in a washroom.

Instead, thanks to the lingering calm of this morning’s regrettably effective weed, he felt fantastic.

Centered.

Loose.

Radiant, even.

He strolled down the corridors smiling at strangers.

“Morning, boss.”

He nodded at a records clerk he had never seen in his life.

“How we livin’, chief?”

He saluted a woman carrying files.

“Big day for justice.”

She stepped around him without comment.

Nicky interpreted this as respect.

He continued on, buoyant and untouchable.

Every fluorescent hallway looked full of opportunity.

Every security camera looked supportive.

He passed a framed Peace mission statement and pointed at it.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

A young officer near the elevators whispered to another:

“Who is that?”

“No idea.”

Nicky eventually found the interview room.

He adjusted his shirt, inhaled confidently, and entered without knocking.

The four officials looked up together.

Nicky smiled like they were old friends reunited.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was spiritually hostile.”

Before anyone could respond, he dropped into the chair, leaned back, and put both feet on the table.

Ally’s eyes widened.

Roy slowly removed his glasses.

Norah did not move at all.

McBride stared as though watching an avoidable accident in progress.

Nicky pointed cheerfully at Hollace.

“Holly! Good to see you again.”

Silence took the room whole.

…and with that, the tone was set.

Once the initial shock of Nicky McCrain’s entrance had passed, the interview began.

Or, more accurately, something shaped vaguely like an interview began.

Nicky remained reclined in his chair with the calm ease of a man speaking to friends on a patio rather than senior Peace leadership deciding whether he belonged in their organization.

He smiled at everyone equally.

“So, where do you beauties want to start?”

Hollace McBride pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mr. McCrain, feet off the table.”

Nicky glanced down.

“Right. Formalities.”

He lowered them.

One at a time.

Slowly.

Norah Anam folded her hands.

“Tell us why you want to return to Peace.”

Nicky shrugged.

“Because I’m good at helping people, terrible at paperwork, and society keeps needing me.”

Roy Fowler nearly smiled.

McBride did not.

“What experience do you believe qualifies you?”

Nicky leaned forward.

“Well, I’ve done witness containments, suspect de-escalators, perimeterization, emergency liaisoning, and one tactical hostage migrate.”

McBride blinked.

“One tactical what?”

“You know. When you safely move the hostage.”

“Extraction.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You did not.”

Nicky waved dismissively.

“Same family of word.”

McBride wrote something down with visible irritation.

Ally MacBeth was openly fighting a grin.

She then jumped in.

“How do you handle conflict with civilians?”

Nicky answered immediately.

“Talk first. Always.”

That changed the room slightly.

“If someone’s angry,” he continued, “usually they want one of three things: respect, to be heard, or to stop being scared. Sometimes all three.”

Norah looked up from her notes.

“…and if talk fails?”

“Then you adjust proportionately.”

McBride narrowed his eyes.

“You mean proportionally.”

“No,” Nicky said confidently. “I mean with proportions.”

Roy coughed into his hand to hide laughter.

McBride took over again.

“Define chain of command.”

“Easy,” Nicky said. “That’s when everyone knows who’s the boss until something goes wrong.”

“That is not the formal definition.”

“It’s the useful one, Holly.”

“Do not call me Holly.”

“Sorry, Hol.”

McBride stared at the ceiling briefly.

Then gave up correcting that particular battle.

Norah asked the next question.

“What would you do if a superior officer gave you an order you believed was improper?”

Nicky thought for a moment.

“Clarify first.”

“Then?”

“Object respectfully.”

“…and if they insist?”

“Document it.”

The room shifted again.

Roy set his pen down.

“Why document it?”

“Because memory lies.”

That answer landed harder than anything else he had said.

Even McBride paused.

Ally leaned back, satisfied.

McBride recovered and tried another angle.

“What is the correct procedure for securing a volatile scene?”

Nicky answered instantly.

“Contain civilians, isolate hazards, preserve evidence lanes, request support, establish clean movement routes, keep radios clear.”

McBride frowned.

“That is… correct.”

Nicky smiled.

“Told you I know scene securitization.”

“Security.”

“Sure.”

“Securing.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m adaptable.”

McBride looked annoyed enough to combust.

Every time he corrected Nicky’s terminology, Nicky simply replaced it with another incorrect term.

“Detainification.”

“Not a word.”

“Officer discretionals.”

“Also not a word.”

“Interdepartmental synergistics.”

“Stop inventing things.”

“I’m innovating, Holly.”

Ally finally stepped in.

“I think what Commander McBride means is that language matters.”

Nicky looked at her.

“It does.”

“Then why not use the right terms?”

“Because half the people who use the right terms don’t know what they mean.”

Silence.

That one hit too.

Ally nodded slowly.

McBride hated that she nodded.

Nicky leaned back again, perfectly relaxed.

“Look, I know I’m not polished…but if someone needs help, I help them. If there’s danger, I move toward it. If people are panicking, I calm them down. You can teach vocabulary. You can’t teach being built right.”

No one spoke immediately.

Even McBride had no correction ready.

The interview, somehow, had become real.

The room remained quiet after Nicky’s last answer.

He sensed it.

For the first time since entering, some of the looseness in him became focus.

He sat forward.

“Look, I’ll tell you one thing from Copper Bay.”

Copper Bay

That got attention immediately.

Even Norah Anam lifted her eyes.

Nicky nodded slowly.

“Didn’t have many happy memories there.”

No joke attached.

No grin.

Just fact.

“…but this one was alright.”

He rested his elbows on the table.

“There was this winter call. Freezing rain, roads half garbage, visibility bad enough you could lose a truck in front of you.”

Roy Fowler started taking notes again.

“Dispatch gets three versions of the same story from three people.”

Nicky held up fingers as he counted.

“One says domestic dispute.”

“Two says break-in.”

“Three says screaming in the woods.”

Ally MacBeth smiled faintly.

“That sounds familiar.”

Nicky pointed.

“Exactly. Total circus.”

“So we get there. House lights on. Front door open. Snow all churned up. Neighbour yelling theories.”

McBride listened despite himself.

“Partner wants to wait for backup, perimeterize, stage, do the whole dramatic alphabet.”

“Perimeter,” McBride muttered.

“Sure.”

Nicky continued.

“…but something felt wrong.”

He tapped the table.

“Not dangerous wrong. Desperate wrong.”

That phrasing landed.

“So I stop listening to noise.”

He pointed to his ears.

“No screaming now.”

He pointed downward.

“Fresh tracks. Small ones.”

“Kid-size.”

Norah’s pen stopped moving.

“I go behind the house.”

“There’s a little girl in socks carrying a dog wrapped in a towel.”

The room softened.

“She’d run out because the dog got loose during the fight inside.”

Roy exhaled quietly.

“Parents were screaming at each other, neighbour assumed invasion, kid thought dog was dying.”

Nicky shrugged.

“Real emergency was freezing kid and wheezing mutt.”

Even McBride’s expression changed.

“What did you do?” Ally asked.

“Put the kid in my cruiser. Heat on full. Called med for the dog because I’m not a veterinarian. Sent partner inside to separate the parents. Then I got statements once everyone stopped acting like maniacs.”

He leaned back.

“No charges. Social referral. Welfare follow-up.”

McBride frowned.

“You exercised discretion.”

“I exercised common sense.”

“You bypassed standard wait protocol.”

“I prevented frostbite.”

Silence again.

Nicky spread his hands.

“That’s my point.”

He looked around the table.

“I’m not polished.”

True.

“I hate paperwork.”

Obvious.

“I hate when people worship procedures when thinking on the fly would solve the problem faster.”

McBride visibly bristled.

“…and I hate leadership that babies officers or micromanages every breath.”

Roy coughed into his fist.

Nicky looked directly at them now.

“I know I’m not what people picture when they think Peace officer.”

He glanced at his own shirt, still slightly crooked.

“I get that.”

Then tapped his chest.

“…but in here, I know I can still do the job.”

No joke now.

No swagger.

Just conviction.

He looked from Norah to Roy to Ally to McBride.

“I just hope you lot can see that too.”

The room held still for a long beat.

Even Hollace McBride did not interrupt it.

Nicky McCrain stood, thanked everyone as if leaving a barbecue, and nodded toward the table.

“Pleasure doing business with the justice community.”

Then he pointed at Hollace McBride.

“Take care, Holly.”

“Don’t-”

The door closed before McBride could finish.

Silence.

The kind that follows weather.

Somewhere down the hall, Nicky could be heard greeting strangers again.

“Great building you got here!”

Then even that faded.

Inside the room, McBride exhaled sharply and leaned back.

“Lost cause.”

Norah Anam said nothing.

McBride continued.

“He butchered terminology. He presented himself like he was crashing a poker night. Feet on the table. Late. Casual. Addressed command staff like cousins.”

Roy Fowler removed his glasses.

McBride was still warming up.

“If I hear the word perimeterize one more time, I will personally blow a gasket.”

Ally bit her lip to suppress a smile.

Norah finally spoke.

“If you truly believed he was a lost cause, you’d have ended the interview in ten minutes.”

McBride looked at her.

“You didn’t.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Norah folded her hands.

“You let him finish. You asked follow-ups. You challenged him seriously.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“That means some part of you does not believe what you’re saying.”

McBride stared at the folder in front of him.

Then gave one irritated nod.

“…Conceded.”

Ally jumped in immediately.

“He’s gifted.”

McBride looked pained already.

“He is creative, instinctive, and calm under pressure.”

She tapped the notes.

“The Copper Bay story alone tells you what he is.”

“He read the scene correctly, ignored bad noise, identified the actual risk, and saved that girl from exposure.”

“He violated multiple protocols,” McBride said.

“Yes,” Ally replied. “…and put no one in danger.”

She leaned forward.

“In fact, by violating protocol, he likely prevented harm.”

That annoyed McBride because it was difficult to refute.

Roy opened Nicky’s personal file.

“There’s another point.”

He flipped pages.

“His record is messy.”

McBride snorted.

“Understatement.”

“Minor infractions,” Roy continued. “Mostly procedural.”

He looked up.

“…but not once was he cited for recklessness, dangerous conduct, unnecessary force, or putting civilians or officers at needless risk.”

That shifted the air.

Roy continued reading.

“Performance reviews from Copper Bay repeatedly describe him as highly likeable, effective with the public, and easy to work with.”

McBride frowned.

“Easy to work with?”

“That’s what they say.”

McBride tapped the table.

“I see someone difficult to command.”

Roy met his eyes calmly.

“Then you’re reading the wrong lesson.”

The room quieted again.

Roy closed the file.

“If you give Nicky clear objectives, he will follow them and get them done.”

He paused.

“If you lead Nicky, he can do wonderful things.”

Then the final line:

“If you boss him, you will lose him.”

That landed squarely on McBride.

Because he knew instantly it was true.

Norah watched him absorb it.

Ally said nothing now.

She didn’t need to.

McBride looked toward the closed door where Nicky had exited.

Then back to the file.

The decision had become harder.

Which usually meant it mattered.

Nicky McCrain had been sent out to wait.

Which, for most applicants, meant nervous pacing in a hallway.

For Nicky, it meant colonizing the break room.

By the time anyone checked on him, he was already mid-story with half the office gathered around him.

Coffee cups in hand.

People leaning on counters.

Two clerks laughing too hard.

A records officer wiping tears from his eyes.

Even a few strikingly attractive women from administration had drifted in and stayed longer than necessary, openly amused by him.

Nicky stood near the vending machine speaking with total command of the room.

“So I says to the guy, if you wanted privacy maybe don’t commit fraud in a glass gazebo.”

The room erupted.

Someone slapped the table.

One woman shook her head smiling.

“He can’t be real.”

Another replied quietly:

“I hope he is.”

To the office already, he looked less like an applicant and more like someone who had always worked there.

---

Back in the conference room, Hollace McBride sat in thought.

He looked at the folder.

Then at his colleagues.

Norah Anam said nothing, but her silence invited judgment.

Roy Fowler waited calmly.

Alisa 'Ally' MacBeth looked openly hopeful.

McBride exhaled.

“Bring him back.”

---

Nicky entered with the same casual confidence as before.

Inside, however, there was the smallest knot of nerves.

He hid it well.

Ally gave him a quick smile.

Oddly, she looked more anxious than he did.

McBride motioned to the chair.

“Sit down.”

Nicky sat.

McBride folded his hands.

“I’m taking you into my office.”

Nicky blinked once.

Then smiled.

“Outstanding choice.”

“Don’t start.”

“Sorry.”

McBride continued.

“I don’t want funny business.”

“Understood.”

“I don’t want theatrics.”

“Moderate theatrics?”

“No.”

“Understood.”

McBride fought the urge to sigh.

“I see how quickly you’re liked.”

He glanced toward the hallway.

“…and I see how you get results.”

Nicky said nothing now.

He knew enough to let praise breathe.

McBride continued.

“If people I trust believe you are coachable and accommodating, then I should give you the chance to prove it to me.”

That landed heavier than celebration would have.

Nicky straightened slightly.

McBride’s tone hardened.

“Do not embarrass me.”

A beat.

“Do not embarrass Peace.”

Nicky answered plainly.

“I won’t be an embarrassment.”

No joke.

No swagger.

Just sincerity.

McBride nodded once.

Nicky grinned.

“Thank you, Holly.”

McBride closed his eyes briefly.

Then, against all principle:

“…You start tomorrow.”

Nicky beamed.

“Excellent.”

“0600 hours.”

McBride waited for the complaint.

The bargaining.

The excuse.

Instead Nicky nodded immediately.

“Perfect.”

McBride frowned.

“You understand that means six in the morning.”

“Yes.”

“You understand that means before normal people should be conscious.”

“Yes.”

“You understand many men say they’re morning people and are liars.”

Nicky leaned forward.

“Would you like me to count backward the schedule?”

McBride narrowed his eyes.

“Go on.”

Nicky answered without pause.

“If I start at 0600, I’m up by 0430. Shower by 0440. Coffee by 0450. Out the door 0510. Buffer for traffic, wardrobe malfunction, civic unrest, or existential delay.”

Roy laughed out loud.

McBride tried not to.

“…and if traffic is clear?”

“I arrive early and judge others.”

That nearly broke the room.

McBride pointed at him.

“…and why exactly do I need you here at 0600?”

McBride expected Nicky to say “because you told me to.”

Instead, Nicky surprised everyone with his answer.

“Because that’s when overnight hands off, command still has clarity, and nobody’s had time to make the same mistake twice.”

He shrugs.

“Also Mondo likes to show up at 0630 like he invented discipline, so if I’m here first he loses the flex.”

There was a small fit of laughter in the room, and even McBride flashed a small smile.

“One chance,” McBride said afterward.

Nicky stood.

“All I need, Holly.”

Nicky then left the interview room, his confidence fully restored.

…and with the knowledge that the adventure had really just begun.

Florida Union of City Colleges- Siesta Key

The food court was already alive with noise, fryer grease, and the low growls and clicking vocalizations of Lizardfolk staff working the breakfast rush.

Cory sat with a tray from Archaeopteryx Eggs & Breakfast.

He had ordered a heroic amount of food.

Trevor sat opposite him with another tray from T-Rex's Steaks, along with a prized cold Lucy's.

This time his service had gone smoother.

Before ordering, Trevor had gently touched the arm of the Lizardfolk cashier, let the sensory bridge happen, and suddenly his request had been understood perfectly.

He was still proud of himself.

For a moment, they just ate.

Then Trevor asked the obvious question.

“So?”

Cory looked up.

“So what?”

“How’d it go with Sienna?”

Trevor tried to sound casual and failed completely.

Cory noticed.

Trevor had always treated him like some kind of worldly veteran because Cory had slept with girls before and Trevor hadn’t. Cory privately enjoyed that reputation more than he admitted.

He shrugged.

“It was kinda bad.”

Trevor blinked.

“Bad?”

Cory stabbed at his eggs.

“I dunno. I thought college girls would be wild.”

Trevor said nothing.

“Like adventurous,” Cory continued. “Doing crazy stuff. Stuff I’ve never seen before. Stuff I didn’t even know was physically possible.”

He pointed his fork vaguely in the air as if sketching impossible geometry.

“She’s athletic too. I figured there’d be flips. Angles. Weird positions. Maybe one of those wall things.”

Trevor stared.

“You can barely touch your toes.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It feels relevant.”

Cory ignored him.

“If college sex is like that, I’m less excited than I was.”

Trevor took a drink of Lucy’s.

“You know you’re comparing real life to movies, right?”

Cory frowned.

“You’re a virgin.”

“I’m aware.”

“So how are you giving sex wisdom?”

Trevor shrugged.

“I don’t know lots about sex.”

He took another sip.

“…but I know movie sex isn’t real sex.”

That landed harder than Cory expected.

Trevor leaned in.

“Do you like Sienna?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew she was a virgin?”

“Yeah.”

Trevor nodded.

“Then maybe she wasn’t amazing because she didn’t know what she was doing.”

Cory opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Trevor continued.

“…and maybe you didn’t know what you were doing either.”

Cory looked offended.

Then thoughtful.

Then offended again.

He poked at his fries.

One bent in half with a pale center.

“These are undercooked.”

Trevor smiled.

“Maybe give them another chance too.”

Cory glared across the table.

Trevor raised his drink in victory.

Meanwhile, back in Maya’s and Sienna’s shared dorm room, morning light poured through the blinds in soft stripes across the room.

Maya sat cross-legged on her bed, fully alert, fully invested, and entirely ready for gossip.

Sienna sat opposite her with a pillow in her lap, looking far less triumphant than Maya had expected.

Maya frowned.

“Why do you look like you lost a court case?”

Sienna sighed.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

That made Maya soften immediately.

She moved closer.

“Start at the start.”

Sienna took a breath.

“When we kissed… everything felt electric.”

Maya smiled broadly.

“That’s promising.”

“It was.”

Sienna’s face changed.

“…but then after that, I kind of just… lay there.”

Maya blinked.

“Lay there?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

That came out quieter.

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I just froze.”

Maya nodded slowly.

“That is more common than people admit.”

Sienna looked relieved already.

“I had this picture in my head,” she said. “Of what sex was.”

“Oh no,” Maya said.

“What?”

“Whenever someone says that sentence, nonsense is coming.”

Sienna ignored her.

“I thought it would be like the movies. You know… getting held against the wall and having intense wall sex.”

Maya stared for two seconds.

Then burst out laughing.

Sienna looked offended.

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Maya said, still laughing. “That’s why it’s adorable.”

She wiped her eyes.

“Those scenes are for cameras.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they look dramatic, they can show passion, and everyone stays mostly covered.”

Sienna processed that.

“So…”

“So,” Maya said, “they are often wildly impractical.”

She gestured vaguely.

“Balance, strength, height, stamina, angles, knees, lower back- half those scenes would end with someone needing physiotherapy.”

Sienna slowly began to smile.

“If your boyfriend was the Hulk, maybe,” Maya added, “but even then he’d pull something.”

That got a real laugh.

Sienna hugged the pillow tighter.

“I just thought it would be… more.”

Maya’s tone softened again.

“More how?”

Sienna hesitated.

“There were things he did that drove me wild.”

Maya leaned in immediately.

“Go on.”

“…but he’d stop doing them.”

“Ah.”

“He’d move on to something else.”

“Checklist energy,” Maya said knowingly.

Sienna pointed.

“Yes.”

“That means he was doing what he thought men are supposed to do, not listening to what was happening.”

Sienna nodded.

“There were also things I didn’t like.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know if I was allowed.”

That answer hung in the room.

Maya’s expression changed completely.

“You are always allowed.”

Sienna looked down.

“I know that now.”

She continued.

“…and the actual sex part…”

Maya waited.

“It was over really fast.”

Sienna shrugged helplessly.

“I felt a rush. But then it was done…and I thought… that’s it?”

Maya gave a sympathetic half-smile.

“Another common reaction.”

Sienna groaned and buried her face in the pillow.

“…and then I thought maybe I failed.”

Maya frowned.

“Failed what?”

“The finish seemed smaller than I imagined.”

Maya stared at her.

Then reached over and smacked the pillow lightly.

“Absolutely not.”

Sienna peeked up.

“That means nothing useful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean nerves, excitement, condoms, timing, stress, inexperience, hydration, moon phases, astrology, stupidity- many things.”

Sienna laughed despite herself.

“It does not mean you failed.”

That landed.

Sienna exhaled.

For the first time that morning, she looked less burdened.

Sienna suddenly sat upright on her bed.

“I have an idea.”

Maya looked up immediately.

“That tone means danger. Proceed.”

Sienna was already thinking aloud.

“Cory once mentioned liking the women who dress up as ‘the swimming characters.’”

Maya grinned.

“Oh no.”

“He has to mean Free!.”

Maya’s grin widened.

“Oh yes.”

Without another word, Sienna hopped off the bed and went digging through her closet, then through an overstuffed suitcase tucked beneath it.

Clothes flew.

A shoe landed near Maya.

Maya applauded the chaos.

Eventually Sienna gave a triumphant gasp.

She pulled free a neatly folded costume bag.

“You had cosplay hidden in there?”

Sienna nodded proudly.

“Asahi Shiina. I wore it to a convention years ago.”

Maya stared.

“You are full of secrets.”

Sienna checked the fit in the mirror a few minutes later and smiled in relief.

“It still fits.”

Maya whistled.

“Sporty chic nerd warfare.”

Sienna laughed.

“Take a picture.”

Maya accepted the phone like a professional hired for high stakes editorial work.

She circled once.

Adjusted Sienna’s posture.

Tilted the camera.

“No, chin slightly higher. You’re devastating him, not apologizing.”

Click.

Click.

Click.

Maya reviewed the photos.

“Oh, Cory is about to lose all reasoning.”

She sent the best one.

Then both women sat on the bed waiting.

…and waiting.

Sienna pretended not to care.

Maya pretended to believe her.

Finally the phone buzzed.

Sienna opened it.

Cory had responded with a meme of a dog whose jaw dropped clean to the floor.

Maya burst out laughing.

“That’s actually a strong recovery.”

Sienna, smiling now, typed back the devil emoji.

😈

Then:

Would you like it if I wore this for you next time I see you?

They waited again.

This time Cory responded quickly.

That would be very hot.

Sienna’s smile softened into satisfaction.

Then she typed one more message.

If you want me to dress up, you have to watch at least one episode of it.

Cory’s typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Reappeared.

Disappeared again.

Maya cackled.

“He’s negotiating with destiny.”

Finally the reply came.

Fine. One episode.

Sienna looked deeply pleased.

Maya leaned against her shoulder.

“You just made a man watch character development through lust.”

Sienna grinned.

“Growth comes in many forms.”

Downtown Cuyahoga Castles

After conceding that Saurian Steakhouse had failed the most basic requirement of a restaurant- feeding people- Elian Reyes and Stacy Sicario went in search of something more reliable.

They found it glowing beneath neon signage.

Stego Burgers.

They stepped inside together and immediately became the best-dressed people in the building.

Teenagers in hoodies turned to stare.

A child holding fries openly pointed.

Someone at a booth whispered, “Prom?”

Elian looked down at his clothes, then around the brightly lit fast-food interior.

“I did not imagine I’d be taking you on a date to Stego Burgers.”

Stacy smiled. Elian continued.

“I feel like I’m seventeen again.”

She slipped her arm through his.

“That’s because teenagers think where you go matters most.”

Elian looked at her.

“…and adults?”

“Adults learn who you’re with matters more.”

That landed cleanly.

They ordered far too much food and took a booth near the window.

When the burgers arrived, they were enormous, greasy, badly wrapped, and leaking sauce with criminal intent.

Perfect.

They bit in at the same time.

Both closed their eyes briefly.

Relief.

“This,” Elian said, mouth half full, “is honest food.”

Stacy laughed.

The first real casualty came seconds later when sauce spilled down the front of Elian’s evening wear.

He stared at it.

Stacy burst into laughter.

Then immediately dripped sauce onto herself.

Now he laughed.

Soon they were both laughing hard enough that nearby tables started smiling too.

Two elegant adults in expensive clothes, happily ruined by fast food.

…and somehow the date became better than before.

The conversation softened after that.

Elian wiped his hands and grew thoughtful.

“You think Evie will find it weird?”

Stacy tilted her head. Elian continued

“Weird that I’m dating her mother?”

She smiled knowingly.

“I think Evie wants me happy.”

A pause.

“…and if I’m honest, she already looks at you like a father.”

That visibly hit him.

Elian tried to deflect with humor.

“We haven’t even finished the first date and now we’re discussing marriage?”

Stacy laughed warmly.

“I’m not discussing marriage.”

“No?”

“I’m saying I’m not worried about the future.”

She reached across the table and took his hand.

“I like now.”

Elian looked at her for a long moment.

Then nodded.

“I’m not worried either.”

Outside, downtown lights moved past the window.

Inside, two people sat in stained formalwear, eating burgers, holding hands, and feeling something simple grow naturally between them.

Eventually they got back to Stacy’s apartment complex. The walk upstairs had been slow.

Not because either of them were tired, but because neither seemed in any hurry for the night to end.

Elian Reyes and Stacy Sicario stepped inside the apartment still smiling, still carrying the glow of a date that had somehow become better once expectations were abandoned.

Stacy kicked off her shoes near the door.

“I still can’t believe that steakhouse charged those prices.”

Elian loosened his collar.

“For portions designed for woodland creatures.”

She laughed.

“…and then we end up happiest in Stego Burgers.”

He nodded.

“Honest food. Honest company.”

That made her pause.

She looked at him differently now.

“I had a really good time tonight.”

Elian stepped closer.

“So did I.”

Silence followed.

The kind that says everything necessary.

Neither hesitated.

They kissed.

At first warm and certain.

Then deeper.

Then with the hunger of two adults who had spent the evening learning how much they enjoyed each other and no longer felt any need to hide it.

Stacy’s hands moved across him, smiling into the kiss as she felt the shape of something clipped at his side.

She pulled back just enough to look down.

Then up again with mischief lighting her face.

“Are those handcuffs?”

Elian blinked.

He looked mortified.

“I used my Peace belt after work and only took the firearm out. I must’ve forgotten the cuffs.”

He started reaching for them.

“I should probably-”

Stacy caught his wrist.

“It’s okay.”

Her voice had changed.

Lower. Warmer.

She stepped in close again.

“I didn’t want tonight to be over anyway.”

Elian’s expression softened.

“Neither did I.”

That was all the permission either needed.

With sudden playful force, Stacy tugged him fully inside the apartment by the belt.

The door swung shut behind them.

She looked him straight in the eyes, smiling like trouble itself.

“I told you this night would end in handcuffs.”

The apartment had settled into darkness.

Or at least it had tried to.

Evie Sicario stirred awake first.

She didn’t sit up. Didn’t move much at all.

She simply listened.

Through the wall came muffled laughter, footsteps, a door closing, and the unmistakable sounds of two people very happy to still be together.

Evie smiled into her pillow.

It was awkward.

Deeply awkward.

…and yet, beneath the embarrassment, she felt something warmer.

Her mother was happy.

Truly happy.

That mattered more than anything else.

Then she heard Stacy’s voice through the wall, playful and breathless:

“Punish me, John Wick.”

Evie buried her face in the pillow.

“Oh my gosh.”

Across the room, another voice piped up.

“Is Mom in trouble?”

Cameron Sicario was awake now too, hair a mess, eyes wide with concern.

Evie turned over and looked at him.

“No.”

“She said handcuffs.”

“She’s fine.”

“She said punish.”

Evie fought laughter.

“She is... having fun.”

Cameron stared at the ceiling.

“Grown-ups are weird.”

Evie nodded.

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Cameron frowned.

“There’s one thing I understand now.”

“What?”

“They’re loud.”

Evie sighed.

“True.”

She got out of bed, padded across the apartment, and walked to Stacy’s closed bedroom door.

She knocked firmly.

A sudden silence came from inside.

Then muffled whispering.

Evie spoke through the door.

“Keep it down. Your kids are trying to sleep.”

There was a beat.

Then laughter from both sides of the door.

A moment later, Elian Reyes called out:

“Sorry!”

Evie shook her head, smiling despite herself, and returned to bed.

A few moments later the sounds resumed.

Considerably quieter this time.

Cameron pulled the blanket over his head.

Evie lay back down, still smiling.

The apartment was embarrassing.

…but happy.

Public Ocean Recreational Node (P.O.R.N.), District 8

Zasaramel and Luca Montano continued down the shoreline with their dogs.

Or, more accurately, Watcher and Hulk continued down the shoreline while the men followed behind trying to maintain the illusion of control.

Arel-Sin walked with them, still thinking hard about everything he had been told regarding love, fear, rejection, happiness, and adulthood.

He understood almost none of it.

Eventually they reached the lounging group on the sand:

Roxy Corvina, Tasha McCrain, Hailey McCrain, Petra, and Petra’s boyfriend Sasha.

It had once included Arel-Sin too, before philosophy and dog-walking had claimed him.

The reunion was warm.

Hands were shaken.

Dogs were praised.

Weed smell was politely ignored.

Small talk flowed easily.

Then someone mentioned that Petra had once competed in MMA.

Someone else noted that Arel-Sin had already sparred her.

That naturally led to the next dangerous suggestion.

“So let’s see the father.”

Zas laughed and raised both hands.

“No, no. I am retired from embarrassing myself.”

Petra smiled.

“You are too large to hide behind humility.”

Others joined in.

Even Luca, traitorously, encouraged it.

Peer pressure did what armies often could not.

Minutes later, a circle had formed in the sand.

Zas removed his shirt.

Several nearby beachgoers immediately decided to stay and watch.

Petra stretched, focused and composed.

Then they touched hands.

The sparring began fast.

Petra’s movement was sharp, technical, and fearless. She attacked angles and distance with real skill.

Zas, however, was calm.

Balanced.

Deceptively quick.

He slipped shots by inches, countered with controlled force, and moved with the instincts of someone who had fought long before gyms put logos on walls.

Petra realized almost immediately what Arel-Sin had not yet become.

His father was the real thing.

The circle grew wider.

Tourists stopped walking.

Phones came out.

Children sat cross-legged in the sand.

Even people who knew nothing of combat could tell they were seeing something special.

Arel-Sin shouted with full loyalty.

“That is my father!”

Roxy laughed.

“We gathered that.”

The exchange intensified.

Petra landed a clean body shot.

The crowd reacted.

Zas answered with a sweep that nearly took her feet out before he helped steady her mid-fall.

The crowd reacted louder.

Neither held back.

Neither crossed the line.

It was fierce, respectful, and beautiful to watch.

At last both slowed together, breathing hard, smiling through exhaustion.

They stepped in and embraced in a warrior’s hug.

The beach erupted in applause.

Some whistled.

Some cheered.

One old man yelled that this was better than television.

Petra laughed and pointed at Zas.

“You teach?”

“Warrior Wrestling,” he said proudly.

She nodded.

“Sasha and I run gyms in Estonia.”

Zas grinned.

“Then I visit yours.”

“…and we visit yours.”

Done deal.

As the sun lowered, Zas looked toward Arel-Sin.

“It is time.”

Arel-Sin’s face fell.

Homework.

The greatest enemy of youth.

Roxy stood too.

Goodbyes began.

She hugged Tasha, Hailey, and the others.

Arel-Sin did the same, more confidently than before.

When Petra embraced him, it was especially warm.

She held his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“Be good for your father.”

He nodded solemnly.

“…and do well in school.”

Another nod.

She smiled.

“You will be a special person one day.”

Arel-Sin stood taller at once.

Then he followed his father down the beach, carrying both pride and the burden of homework.

Peace Command Office- Rosario, San Padres

The building was mostly dark.

Hallways quiet.

Lights only beginning to blink awake one department at a time.

Which made the sound of someone cheerfully humming in the break room feel deeply unnatural.

Nicky McCrain was already in the office.

Not just present.

Established.

A mug sat beside him, steaming richly.

It was not Peace coffee.

He had brought his own blend from home after remembering that institutional coffee often reached a flavor profile best described as wet cardboard with regret.

He drank it happily.

Several folders were already open in front of him.

Reports marked.

Notes scribbled.

Names circled.

Maps glanced over.

He was reading with the focus of someone who looked unserious only to people who had never watched him work.

At 0537, Hollace McBride entered.

He stopped dead in the doorway.

Nicky looked up brightly.

“Morning, Holly.”

McBride glanced at the clock.

Then at Nicky.

Then at the coffee.

“You’re early.”

Nicky shrugged.

“You said six. I translated for ambition.”

McBride disliked how much he respected that.

“…and you’re reading case files?”

“I’m doing pre-work proceduringly.”

“That is not a phrase.”

“It is now.”

McBride removed his coat slowly.

“You’re also more awake than I am.”

“I like mornings.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I was telling the truth yesterday too.”

McBride muttered something about miracles and moved toward his office.

At 0546, the next arrival came through the doors.

Mondo Jenkins.

He walked in with the posture of a man accustomed to being first, sharpest, and most prepared.

Then he saw Nicky already seated with coffee and paperwork.

His expression tightened by half an inch.

He was not used to being third in the office.

He was also not yet caffeinated.

Nicky raised his mug.

“Mondo. Beautiful sunrise for cooperationaling.”

Mondo stared.

“For what?”

“Cooperationaling.”

Silence.

“…and strategicalizing.”

Mondo blinked twice.

McBride, now enjoying himself, said nothing.

Nicky clarified helpfully.

“How are we working together today and what needs planning?”

Mondo exhaled.

“I hate that I understood all of that.”

Nicky smiled.

“It’s efficient language.”

Mondo dropped his bag and poured coffee.

Peace coffee.

He regretted it instantly.

“I don’t know yet,” Mondo said. “I haven’t read the overnight reports.”

“I have,” Nicky replied.

That made both men look at him.

Nicky tapped one folder.

“You’ve got recurring movement near the south industrial edge. Supply vans in and out odd hours. Minimal employee visibility. Utility draw higher than declared occupancy.”

Mondo’s face sharpened.

Nicky continued.

“The sweatshop near the cartel boundary line.”

Mondo continued to listen

“Front side looks low priority. Back side matters.”

“Why?” Mondo asked.

“Because if they know they’re dirty, they’ll stage the front for inspectors and move people through rear exits.”

He tapped a map.

“Drainage corridor here too. If I was running bodies or product, I’d use it.”

McBride slowly folded his arms.

Mondo took the file and scanned it.

Then looked back up.

“That’s exactly what intel suspected.”

Nicky sipped coffee modestly.

“I read good.”

Mondo almost smiled.

Almost.

Then he set the file down.

“Let’s get down to work.”

Nicky stood immediately.

“Now we’re cooperationaling.”

Mondo pointed at him.

“Never say that again.”

Nicky followed him out anyway.

“Yes sir, operationally.”

The Sicario Apartment, Bow Wow Way, Cuyahoga Castles

The apartment smelled of breakfast.

Grease, toast, coffee, and the unmistakable scent of two adults who had gotten very little sleep and considered it worthwhile.

Stacy Sicario moved around the kitchen glowing in a bathrobe, pretending she had arranged it casually and not in a highly specific way to conceal the hickey blooming on her neck.

She hummed while cooking.

Far too happily.

At the counter stood Elian Reyes, making coffee in a borrowed bathrobe that was performing beyond its design specifications.

It struggled heroically to contain his frame.

He stirred the coffee with the calm dignity of a man refusing to acknowledge that the robe belt was under extreme strain.

Down the hall came footsteps.

Evie Sicario entered first.

Then Cameron Sicario.

All four parties immediately pretended this was an entirely normal breakfast.

No one mentioned anything.

No one made eye contact for too long.

No one referenced the previous evening’s acoustics.

If this had been television, the parent-child roles would have been reversed.

Cameron climbed into his chair with solemn thoughtfulness.

Then asked the question only a child could ask with complete sincerity.

“So when I get in trouble, do I get handcuffed and spanked like Mom?”

The room froze.

Evie nearly choked.

Stacy turned bright red.

Elian, to his credit, answered instantly.

“No.”

A beat.

“Also don’t get in trouble anyway.”

Cameron nodded, satisfied by the legal clarity.

Evie stared into the middle distance.

She tried very hard not to think about the fact that her work supervisor and her mother had spent the night together.

Instead, she focused on what mattered.

Her mother was happy.

…and if Stacy was going to date someone, she could do far worse than someone Evie already viewed as a father figure.

Elian caught her eye and gave a small, reassuring smile.

She returned one.

Stacy set down plates.

Then, with dangerous cheerfulness, announced:

“Well, after last night, Elian and I might as well be married now.”

Evie groaned.

“Mom.”

Stacy only laughed, bent down, and kissed Elian warmly.

He kissed her back without hesitation.

Then-

Knock knock knock.

Everyone turned toward the door.

The room froze.

Every set of eyes turned toward the door.

No one moved.

The apartment’s thin makeshift walls- common to castle conversions built more for capacity than privacy- were not famous for containing sound.

Elian Reyes immediately wondered if it was a neighbour.

…and if so, how much that neighbour had heard.

He decided he did not want the answer.

Another knock came.

Stacy moved first, tightening her robe as she crossed the room.

She opened the door.

Standing there was Simon Ellison with a duffel bag, tired eyes, and the posture of a man trying to look more certain than he felt.

Stacy blinked.

“Simon?”

He gave a small shrug.

“Hey, Aunt Stacy.”

She looked him over once.

“Were you kicked out?”

Simon shook his head.

“No.”

A beat.

“I kicked myself out.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Stacy stepped aside and let him in.

Simon entered awkwardly, noticing the breakfast table, the robes, the family atmosphere, and Elian’s presence all in one glance.

He wisely chose not to comment on any of it.

Instead, he dropped his bag by the wall.

“I got tired of Mom telling me to get a life.”

A beat.

“So I figured I should probably go get one.”

Evie hid a smile.

Simon continued.

“I wanted somewhere far enough away that I could breathe.”

He gestured vaguely.

“…and Cleveland seemed far enough.”

He looked around the apartment.

“Didn’t know I’d be living in a castle district.”

He frowned thoughtfully.

“This is way less idyllic than castles sound.”

Cameron nodded seriously.

“There’s bad plumbing.”

Simon appreciated the honesty.

“I already found an apartment in Bow Wow Way.”

He pointed vaguely outward.

“Different castle. Same general disappointment.”

Stacy folded her arms.

“How are you paying for that?”

“Mom’s helping until I get stable work.”

That answer told everyone exactly how complete Simon’s independence currently was.

He turned to Stacy.

“I know you supervise that warehouse. I was hoping maybe you could get me in.”

Stacy’s expression softened, but stayed practical.

“I don’t control hiring.”

Simon’s face dropped.

“…but,” she added, “I regularly call people from a temp agency.”

Hope returned immediately.

She pointed a finger at him.

“You sign up with them first.”

“Okay.”

“Then tell them my name.”

“Okay.”

“Then tell me after.”

“Okay.”

“I can request you for shifts. They usually honour it.”

Simon brightened.

“So I’m in?”

“No.”

He deflated again.

“I said I can request you.”

She smirked.

“It may not happen fast.”

Simon thought about it.

Then nodded.

“That’s still more than I had this morning.”

He meant it.

“Thanks, Aunt Stacy.”

She pulled him into a quick hug.

“You did one good thing already.”

“What?”

“You showed up somewhere.”

That landed deeper than she knew.

Elian slid another mug onto the counter.

“Coffee?”

Simon looked at him.

Then at the robe.

Then at the robe again.

“…Yeah.”