Young Writers Society

After watching the small doctor disappear inside his cabin, Aaron found the gumption to climb the vines to the roof of his own. He scrabbled on all fours to get to the very top of the pitched thatching, catching flashes of the cabin's construction. Then, managing to 'watch' these visions more passively, he shimmied sideways to sit on the front end of it, facing the shoreline and the horizon beyond.

There were only a couple hours left of this temporary reprieve.

After losing the competition-- to Alexander and Tula, of all people-- there was admittedly an intense mix of emotions initially. Frustration, disappointment, for just a few minutes, really, until it hit him that he was able to feel things so intensely without any dire consequences.

The walk back was a bit of daze, as he tried wracking his brain for things to do with this time. Ultimately, though, he didn't really. Want to do much, actually. He didn't know what to do with himself.

Well, he knew what he wasn't going to do, and that was sit with his other cabin mates' smug faces.

Settling on the peak of the roof, Aaron let his legs dangle over the edge. He peered past his shoes, down at the distant ground below...

Then he heard a grunt somewhere behind him. Peering back over his shoulder, Aaron felt himself actually smile, just a bit.

Jay was climbing up onto the roof, but it appeared he was having trouble. Without his ghostly powers, apparently he wasn't as much of a natural climber. Jay struggled for a moment before finally pulling himself up with a huff. Aaron noticed he was wearing a different poncho - this one more colorful and patterned compared to his former one, which had always been a plain dark brown.

The fact that Jay had more in his wardrobe was... quite endearing, actually.

"Need help?" Aaron asked teasingly.

Jay huffed in mild annoyance, but appeared too out of breath to actually say anything. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Jay began to crawl up to meet him.

With an amused huff, Aaron faced the ocean again. Jay sat beside Aaron, leaving a little space between them. He said nothing as he stared out at the ocean alongside him.

Aaron didn't offer anything to fill the silence. He didn't feel like he had to, and honestly? There was nothing in his head anyhow. In the best possible way. It was a long time before Jay finally broke the silence with a long sigh.

"I wish this could last forever," he said. Then added, "For your sake."

Glancing at Jay, Aaron exhaled quietly. "...That's possibly the nicest, least awkward thing you've ever said to me."

Jay's expression turned sour at that, but his annoyance seemed more amiable in nature. He huffed through his nose.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" Aaron asked, looking back down at the sand below. "You should get some rest, recover from this past evening of delight."

"I'm not the one still wounded," Jay muttered.

Aaron huffed. "I've properly dressed the wound," he countered half-heartedly. "I'm fine."

"You climbed up to a roof. With a stab wound. I don't have to be a doctor to know that's stupid," Jay said.

Aaron shrugged, unable to argue. Then grinned faintly.

"You care," he eventually said.

"Oh," Jay began weakly. "...Shut up." But there was no anger behind it like usual. It almost felt like Jay was saying it to keep up an appearance at this point.

"...Thank you," Aaron added anyway in a murmur, feeling awkward but wanting to convey some sincerity. Before his opportunity to do so was gone. "For caring."

Jay was silent for a moment, and Aaron could sense that Jay wasn't used to having people be sincere in return. Maybe that was part of the reason he was so bad at reciprocating it. Jay sat stiffly, staring off at the ocean with a distant, wistful gaze, like his mind had drifted elsewhere.

"It's just human decency," Jay said faintly.

"No," Aaron said firmly, "human decency is grabbing your next door neighbors and running for the hills when I show up. You..." He deflated. "You stayed."

Jay swallowed, and Aaron could see his jaw clench.

"You deserve it," Jay said, barely audible. And after a beat, he added with a sadness Aaron didn't expect to hear: "So did she."

Oh...

How could Jay compare Aaron to someone so... kind, and strong? Someone who'd been a real friend to the spectre? When all Aaron had ever done was give Jay a hard time for being a decent human being?

What did Jay see that made him decide Aaron was worth it? Where Aaron's own father hadn't seen anything?

"Don't--" Aaron choked out. Then took off his glasses as he turned away. He scrubbed a hand over his face, realizing his heart was too much of a mess to articulate anything now.

Jay was quiet again. For a long time.

Aaron hated himself for actually audibly sniffling.

"Before all of this," Jay finally said. "Before the wendigo. Did... hugs help you?"

Caught off guard by the question, Aaron had to cast Jay a confused glance, ready to instinctively retort. Whatever words were forming quickly died in his throat, however, as he was caught even more off-guard by the open empathy visible in Jay's face as he met his eyes.

Aaron hesitated. "I don't... know." And he felt stupid for saying so.

Jay hesitated too.

"Would you want to... try?" Jay asked.

...Well. No one was lurking in the back of his brain to make fun of him for it.

So very stiff and unsure and, again, feeling quite stupid for it all, Aaron slowly held up both arms. With more confidence - as if he'd done this before - Jay closed the distance and pulled Aaron in, hugging him tightly.

And just like that, Aaron's head emptied again. All brainpower went straight into processing the simple yet overwhelming sensation of finally being touched in a kind way again. He hadn't known he missed it.

Aaron carefully brought his arms around Jay, and slowly but surely sank into the foreign warmth of it.

"Please," Jay said quietly, with a heartbreaking quiver in his voice. "Please don't give up. Please don't."

There was a pause, and Aaron could hear the hard swallow in Jay's throat. Aaron felt his own chest tighten, and his vision grew blurrier, were it possible.

"I can't... I can't bear to lose another friend," Jay said, like he was desperately trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I don't think I can bear it. Okay?"

And that just broke Aaron's heart all over again. He managed a small nod.

Hugging Aaron a little tighter, Jay said: "There's so much more life to live for. This isn't all there is. I promise it's not. We're going to find some way to get you free. If it's the last thing I do."

Pressing his eyes closed, Aaron buried his face in Jay's shoulder as he hung onto his words, clung desperately to his friend. God, how he wanted to believe him. He wanted to ask how Jay even knew.

Instead, all he could do was draw in a shuddering breath. Leaning on Jay, Aaron then allowed himself to simply break open. Release all the years of hopelessness, finally draw true comfort in the presence of another human being. In the arms of someone who cared.

Shane quietly moved up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. He had the feeling that if he hadn't noticed Connie coming in, he'd probably gotten back first, and he was therefore probably already asleep.

He felt a little bad that he hadn't been able to smuggle any food upstairs for Alan, but the only thing he would've eaten anyway was the garlic bread, and James had made quick work of that.

Shane pushed the door open quietly, closing it behind him, then glancing at his bed. Alan was asleep on his side, his head now on the pillow with Shrimp curled up against his chest. Although he had positioned himself to lay on Shane's bed, perhaps he didn't mean to fall asleep. The covers were not drawn over him, and his glasses were still perched on his face, albeit crookedly now that he was sinking into the pillow. His breaths were deep and steady, undisturbed by Shane's entrance.

Shane smiled, feeling heartwarmed by the scene, as he moved to join him. He carefully clambered in on the other side, lying on his side to save space. His movements caused Shrimp to stir, who sneezed and opened one eye, letting out a sleepy mrrp?

"Sorry, Shrimp," Shane whispered, laughing quietly as he scratched under the cat's chin.

The sound and movement was enough to stir Alan awake as well. He sleepily opened his eyes, blinking a few times.

"...Sorry," Alan murmured, rolling to his back on the edge of the twin bed, rubbing his eye under his glasses. "I fell asleep."

"You're okay," Shane said quietly, smiling at him as he pulled his hand back. "I was gone longer than I thought I would be. I would've brought food back, too, but Eve put cheese directly into the tomato sauce for some pasta, and I figured that wouldn't be popular with you."

At the mention of food, Alan's stomach suddenly rumbled, and he softly moaned, pulling out his glasses to gently set aside. He almost nearly dropped it on the floor, instead managing to dangle it on the edge of the nightstand. With a soft smile, Alan shuffled back to his side, his face leveled across Shane's on the pillow.

"That's alright," he said with a gentle smile, sleepily getting lost in his eyes. "Thank you."

Shane smiled back, shifting to get a little more comfortable, as Shrimp crept up between them again.

"Maybe I'll try again for breakfast," he suggested softly, scratching under Shrimp's chin.

In a daze, Alan ran a hand down Shrimp's back, his movements heavy and slow. But still, lying his head against the pillow with his hair tousled, he gently smiled, lost in the moment as he petted Shrimp.

Shane had a faint urge to reach out and run his fingers through his hair, or nestle closer, enough for their foreheads to touch. But he didn't. This was enough, after all, and Alan always had the option to do it himself. Better to be on the safe side than go a step too far.

"Could be for all three of us," he went on playfully, taking Shrimp's face in his hands. "This little guy would eat a waffle to himself if we let him."

"He did say he liked waffles," Alan murmured, still focused on petting the cat's back. He slowly pinched his brows together, deep in thought. "Or maybe he said pancakes..."

Shrimp meowed, sniffing at Shane's fingers.

"Waffles," Alan said with a bigger smile, tilting his head up towards Shane again. "He said waffles."

But instead of petting Shrimp, Alan once again kept his gaze on Shane, as if his eyes mesmerized him.

Shane grinned a little at that, but felt it soon slipping back into a softer, warmer smile. He didn't feel like he could look away from Alan, either. And even without any psychometry, he felt déjà vu falling over him, as well as a familiar breathless feeling that made his chest feel almost painfully tight.

He knew where this was coming from. It seemed unbelievable that it had been exactly a week since that night, and Shane felt like he'd been looking back on it for his entire life rather than just a few days.

Halcyon. It had long been one of his favorite words, describing the past in such a nostalgic, idyllic way. Days that were gone, but their beauty wasn't. Something to be remembered rather than experienced twice.

That air-light memory of feeling so utterly adored felt out of reach, and yet it felt like it had never been closer than now. A leap of faith that could have nothing on the other side, but held so much promise. Shane knew his heart wanted to go for it enough that it hurt to wait-- but he could wait.

Shane could tell sleep was heavy on Alan's eyelids. It was apparent in his heavy blinks, his deeper breaths. But still, he focused his gentle gaze on Shane, content and at peace with just being. The silence stretched on, but at the same time, it felt like hardly any time had passed as they laid next to each other, teeming with quiet adoration.

With Shrimp still purring and sleeping between them, Alan took a quiet breath and slowly leaned in until their foreheads touched.

"Shane," he whispered sleepily, still maintaining his gaze.

Shane smiled wider, but his gaze stayed soft, looking back into Alan's eyes without breaking away. "Alan," he whispered back, more alertly.

Alan gave him the barest of smiles, which faded when he gazed deeply into his eyes again, sinking into them. With slow movements, he reached across to cup the side of Shane's jaw, fingers just barely grazing his skin. Shane felt his breath catch for a moment.

"Will you be busy when you return home?" Alan whispered quietly.

It took Shane a second to realize what he was asking about. He meant when he was off the island and back to being Heir.

"Not so much that it doesn't leave time for the important things," he whispered back. "Why?"

Alan was slow to answer, maintaining his gaze and daintily caressing his jaw with his thumb.

"Would I be important to you?" he whispered quietly, almost barely audible.

Shane felt like he was reeling at the words. How could Alan not know?

"Alan," he whispered, leaning in slightly more so their foreheads were more firmly pressed together. "You are and will be so, so important to me. You already are. More than I've been able to describe to you."

Alan was quiet, keeping still. If he was previously looking at Shane with quiet adoration, then now he looking at him with silent longing. But it wasn't layered with delight or peace. This seemed... sad. Like he was uncertain that he believed in the words.

Seeing it made Shane's heart ache.

"How could you not be important to me?" he whispered, with sadness of his own. "That feels like an impossibility. No one else has felt this crucial to me within this span of time, and I don't know how you do it. You're more than enough, Alan. You really are who I want."

Alan was quiet for another long moment, still gently grazing his thumb against his cheek. He then closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and pulled his hand away-- but only so he could instead wrap his arm around Shane's chest, pulling him in. Or rather, using Shane to pull himself in.

Alan shuffled down, withdrawing into Shane's chest to snuggle in.

"Shane," he called softly again, voice almost muffled from hiding his face in his chest.

Shane wrapped his arms around him, giving him a gentle, comforting squeeze. "Alan," he said softly in return, wondering if he'd say more.

And he did, after a few seconds and a long, shuddered breath.

"Can you wait?" Alan asked, again just barely audible. "Can we try again after the summer? When things are... normal?"

And suddenly it was like all the pieces snapped together in Shane's brain, fitting into a full clear picture.

Alan wasn't ready, which Shane already knew and wasn't holding against him. But until now, his actions hadn't fit into that context-- which now made sense. Alan did want this, but he couldn't have it now. It wasn't a case of him not being wanted. It was a case of him being wanted... but deferred, to a time when things were calmer. Not this bubble of a summer separated from the world to the point where it felt fake. It would be in their real lives.

The weight of the question wasn't lost on him. But he already knew his answer.

"I can," he whispered, holding on to Alan. "And I would. You're worth the wait."

He heard nothing more from Alan, save for the sound of his breaths deepening, getting more steady. Shane held on to him, feeling quiet peace fall over him as Alan silently drifted off into sleep in his arms.

He felt like somehow-- after the terrors of today, after the tumult of the last week-- he could breathe easy. And he did.

It wasn't so much a leap of faith now as it was a planned step to take later. One that would happen on stable ground.

And as Shane felt himself falling asleep as well, eyelids suddenly heavy, he had the tired thought that this was very, very much what he wanted, and that he'd finally found what he was looking for.

James found himself staring at the stairwell where Shane disappeared.

"Shane seems to be doing well," Eve said softly in the ensuing silence. "All things considered."

"Yeah," he said faintly. "All things considered..."

It was probably comforting to be in the presence of a trusted friend. And whatever else Alan was to Shane. Especially someone who wasn't at risk of eating you.

"And you?" she went on. "Are you doing well, considering everything that happened?"

James felt a sad smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and he turned to Eve with a small shrug.

"I'm not 'okay,' Eve," he said plainly. "But it is what it is right now."

Eve huffed out a puff of air, leaning against the counter. "In that case, I'll ask you again after sunrise."

"I don't expect you to keep me company all night," James said, looking down at the counter. "You have to... rest, still."

Eve looked away as well. "Do you want to be alone?" she asked.

James wasn't sure.

He did. But he didn't want to be alone with Constantine. Not... not after what happened earlier.

"I know you're not really alone, given your circumstances," Eve went on. "But I don't know if you wanted to be alone-alone. To... decompress. Alone. By yourself. Physically."

Again, he hesitated. Not because he didn't want the company but because he was overthinking the implications of Eve staying late with him. How that would look from the outside. How the world would interpret it. How she would interpret it. And he didn't want to hear Constantine's opinions on it either.

"I was just... wondering. If you wanted company, even if for a little while. To ground you," she went on weakly, even though the silence was very brief. "That's all."

"It would... help," James said, just as weak.

God, he wished this could just be simple. Why did it have to be so complicated?

Eve's gaze drifted to the half-melted couch. "Are going to sleep at all, you think?"

James shook his head. No. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. Not until his head was his own. The last thing he wanted to do was let his guard down while Constantine was living in there.

"Are you going to stay in the living room?" she asked next.

"Probably," he said.

He hadn't really wanted to be in his room lately anyway. It was in disarray, and being in there felt like he was looking at the state of his mind.

Eve nodded, standing upright and making her way to the living room. Without further prompting, she divied up the pillows and blankets that were left there the prior night when James slept on the couch, settling some of them to a new sofa. Afterwards, she strided to the sparse bookshelf against the wall, her finger running across the spine as she read the titles.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked, her back still towards him.

"I don't really know what I'd want to talk about," James said quietly. It was a partial truth, though. He could think of plenty of things, but none of which he really wanted Constantine to have a front row seat to.

James took the less-desirable sofa, of which he was responsible for destroying, and he sat down, grabbing a pillow to hold in his lap. He just. Needed something to hold, was all.

Eve pulled out a book, idly leafing through it. "...What's your favorite color?" she suddenly asked.

"If I am pressed to give a simple, singular answer," James said. "I usually tell people blue. But I also like greens and yellows."

"Those are natural colors. The color of the sky, the color of pastures. It's fitting," Eve said, sliding the book away and pulling out a different one to leaf through.

"What are yours?" James asked in return.

She was an artist, so, he knew she had to have some kind of preference.

"If I'm pressed to give a simple, singular answer," she repeated, "then it's red."

James huffed faintly through his nose as she recycled his own words, mirroring them back to him.

"Because it catches the eye," she explained. "It's bright. And it's bold."

"So the paint explosion earlier," he said dryly. "That was for you, then. Your favorite color."

It was now Eve's turn to huff through her nose. She closed the book, turning around to daintily sit on the opposite couch, folding her knees on the cushion. It was a fairly large couch, but she sat without spreading out.

"Should've had you squeeze the doll," James continued. "Then you'd be the one wearing red instead."

"Right. Do you have any more red bath bombs I can use?" she replied dryly.

James clicked his tongue. "Oh, no. Sorry. I'm all out. Bummer. Maybe you can take the yellow one, though, if Clarity hasn't dissected it yet."

Eve sighed. "No. I think I'll pass on having sparkly, yellow skin. Thanks."

James shrugged. "Your loss."

"Do you normally accept bath bombs from strangers so you can have a colorful bubble bath?" Eve asked, expression too serious for the light question.

It also was just. A bizzarre question to hear.

James stared at her for a moment, not really wanting to admit to his own faulty judgement. Yes, he'd thought he could trust Mel. No, he didn't confirm that the gift was from her because he hadn't thought he had to. Yes, he was now going to be more paranoid of everything he was ever given as a gift on this island as a consequence. Lucky him that this was his life.

But he didn't want to unleash all of that inner spite on Eve. It wasn't about her, really, anyway.

"No," he said, trying to control his tone as he answered. "I don't. And I never will again."

Eve studied him for a moment. "I see you now hate bath bombs," she commented.

"I think I hate baths, too, now," he said with a sigh.

He already didn't like being in large bodies of water. Now any time he thought about sitting in one all he could imagine was drowning in his own blood. So he'd rather avoid that.

"Careful. The DMV is going to manipulate you to hate showers next," Eve dead-panned.

"I'm sure they'd love that," James said, just as flat. "If I start embracing my filth then they can really play into the 'disaster of a man' angle they've already been using this whole time. The world would love it, too, I'm sure."

Eve lightly shrugged. "Maybe it's not a bad idea. Perhaps people would leave a smelly man alone."

James laughed weakly at that, but without a smile.

"I wish," he said, tucking his legs up onto the couch as he leaned back into it a little more.

There was a quiet stillness between them. Eve stared at the bookcover on the sofa, rubbing her thumb against her knee. She focused down at it, in thought with her hair partially concealing her face.

"I doubt you're only being targeted because of a petty punch," she said softly. "There could be more to the story."

James dropped his eyes to his lap.

See, that was the thing. He'd already feared - no, knew - it was far more than Oliver's pettiness. James wasn't stupid. He just hated feeling so helpless about it.

"...I'm sorry this is happening to you. I wish there was something I could do to help," Eve went on quietly.

"It means a lot that you care," James said, just as quietly. "I just... I've been expecting something like this for a long time. Not in this package, but... I'm not surprised."

Eve hesitantly looked up at him, furrowing her brows. "Why do you say that?"

James pressed his lips together into a small frown.

"It's..." he started faintly. "Some aspects of my magic are unique and very rare."

He was being vague with intention, and he hoped Eve wouldn't press for too much information at present. Later, he could divulge more. But not right now.

"I've had a feeling that even before my involvement with Nye's military scandal that people in power have had their eyes on me for a long time," he said faintly.

And it really was more than a feeling.

Eve was quiet for a moment, worry slowly splashing across her face. "What would they want from you?" she asked quietly, apprehension apparent in her voice.

James's frown deepened, but he only flicked his eyes up at her before staring back at the floor.

"I'd rather not say," he admitted.

This time, the silence that stretched on felt long. Eve seemed to understand that their conversation wasn't entirely private. She was also smart enough to make her own inferences, but James had a feeling that if she didn't get answers now, she would ask again some other time. When they were truly alone.

"I've always wanted to try painting," she suddenly said, breaking the silence as she stared in front of her, deep in thought. "Mixing blues, greens, and yellows could be nice."

"Sounds like a good color scheme for a field of flowers," James commented weakly, trying to flow with the change in conversation for both of their sakes. "On a sunny day. Clear skies."

"It could be a pasture with cattle roaming around, too," Eve added. "And maybe some other farm animals."

"If you're adding cattle," James said. "Might as well throw a rancher in there too."

Eve faintly huffed. "Are you volunteering?"

James blinked, feeling a little heat rush to his cheeks. He hadn't meant to imply that at all.

"Oh," he said. "No, I..."

"That was--" Eve quickly cut in. "Never mind." She sighed, burying herself inwards into the couch. "I don't know if I can paint that," she finished weakly.

"It's fine," James said. But it felt like a reply to both what was spoken and unspoken. He didn't want to overthink it. "I'm not much of an artist myself. I imagine the more aspects you add to a painting, the more challenging it can get."

"Yes. There's a lot of other details and aspects to consider," Eve said eagerly. "Colors, and lines, and figures. Animals, buildings. Plants. Brushstrokes. Layering. Type of paint. Even the framing. And the material. It's a lot to consider. Very challenging."

"I can imagine," James said. But that was all he could get in.

"And-- Connie?" Eve went on thinly. "He paints, right? He painted the canvases on the wall?"

She gestured to the line of scenic paintings under the staircase.

The only reason paintings had been hung up there was because James had punched the wall. To say it was an accident didn't feel entirely accurate. It was and it wasn't.

James looked over his shoulder, even though he didn't necessarily have to look.

"Oh," he said. "Yeah. He makes a painting every day, if not more. He doesn't always keep them all, but he's very dedicated to his craft. His room is pretty much just an art gallery at this point."

"Every day?" she echoed, in awe.

"Yeah," James said. "He was actually tossing all his paintings after he made them until I convinced him otherwise. I think he saw it as a waste to keep them, but I think his work is worthy of display. I argued it was a waste to toss them. So now our whole cabin is slowly turning into his gallery."

Eve stared at James in disbelief. "He tosses his art work?" she said indignantly. "Why? I don't see how finished art is a waste."

"He has an interesting view of the world," James said. "He's a strict minimalist and values a simple life. So anything 'extra' is 'unnecessary.' Which means he's quite the opposite of sentimental, so. It makes sense why he feels the way he does, I just can't say I feel the same."

Eve opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut, turning away and settling back in the couch. "I can't say that I feel that way either," she admitted. "I suppose I can see where he's coming from about living a simple, minimalistic life. But art is inherently sentimental. It's strange to me that he doesn't feel that way."

"Maybe he creates art for different reasons," James said. "I haven't had a chance to really poke his brain about it."

"Maybe he just doesn't care about anything," Eve murmured. "Not even art, even as an artist."

James frowned at that. It felt like a strong condemnation to say that Connie didn't care about anything at all. He'd had some time to think over it himself - and he had a feeling it wasn't that Connie didn't care, but rather that at some point, he'd stopped allowing himself to. Caring opened yourself up to getting hurt. James didn't feel like he was close enough to Connie to ask about the "why," but he had a feeling Connie's attitude had more to do with his upbringing.

People didn't just "stop caring" for no reason. They stopped caring because of pain. James would know. He'd tried. It just wasn't in his frame to do so. Sometimes, at least in the past, he'd wished it was.

"Maybe you should ask him about it sometime," James suggested gently. "To understand him more."

"Oh... Maybe," she said quietly. "I don't know. I hardly know him."

"Well, I meant -- you don't have to ask him about whether he 'cares about anything at all,'" James said a little more lightly. "I meant more talking to him about art. You're both artists, right? I'm sure you might find his approach interesting, at least. Maybe you have more in common than you think. I know he's taken Clanny and Robin out to paint several times. Who knows? Maybe you could join him sometime if it's something that interests you."

Eve drew little circles on her knee with her finger, quiet for a moment. "Have you ever gone with him?" she asked.

James shrugged. "No," he said. "But... I've also never painted before in my life. The most I've done is sketch. Then again, I guess I could still ask and make the world's most novice painting ever."

Honestly, going out into the island, away from everything and just painting sounded nice. But when James thought about it, he did wonder if James tried doing that if it would bring more trouble to Connie as well.

At this point, it felt like he was just... trying to minimize his circle of effect.

"So you're an artist too," she concluded, briefly glancing back at him.

"Ah, I wouldn't call myself that," James said with a weak laugh. "It's nothing great. I just sketch sometimes to pass the time."

"Well, I do that too. And you called me an artist. So why don't you call yourself one?" Eve pressed.

James looked off to the side, a little embarassed.

"I..." he let out a small laugh. "Well, I can't argue with that logic."

"What do you sketch?" Eve asked.

"Mostly things in nature," James said, feeling a little uncomfortably shy. It wasn't something he really shared with people. It was always just a small thing he did on the side, by himself. "A lot of animals."

"Farm animals?" she asked softly, genuinely interested.

"Yeah," James said with a weak laugh. "Horses. Goats. Pigs. Chickens. That sort of thing."

"What's your favorite animal? To draw?" Eve asked.

James didn't know why he felt so embarassed about this. He shrunk down a bit, holding the pillow in his lap a little tighter.

"Horses," he said. "I just think they're fascinating."

Eve mulled this over for a moment before sheepishly asking, "Would you be open to letting me see sometime?"

James looked down again.

"Only if you show me your artwork too," James said. "...Whatever parts of it you want to, that is."

It was an innocent request, but that seemed to make Eve stiffen.

"I..." she began, then said the next words too fast. "I don't have it right now. My sketchbook, I mean. So I can't show you."

"I meant later," James clarified. "But you don't have to. I know you prefer to be more private. It's fine."

Eve rubbed her hand against her thumb, glaring at the wall across from her as she fidgeted with growing intensity. "...Maybe. If you show me yours first," she finally said.

James felt like he'd poked at something he wasn't supposed to. Eve's body language was screaming that she was uncomfortable at the mere thought of sharing her artwork, which told James that one: she did not want to share it, and two: she had something to be embarassed about. He didn't need to know what that was, but he also didn't want to force her to do anything she didn't want to do. It was just drawings. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of it, but it felt like it was a big deal to her based on her response.

And in some ways, he could get that. A lot of people used sketchbooks as more than just an art outlet. Sketchbooks were like diaries. Journals. It was like opening up a part of yourself that was meant to be private.

Maybe he should just... show her. Without the pressure of an exchange. It was just doodles of farm animals, anyway.

James offered her a small smile.

"How about this," James said, getting up from the couch. "I show you first, but you show me when and if you're ready. No strings attatched."

Eve watched him move across the room, pinching her brows together in confusion. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," James said with a weak laugh. "Just wait a second. My sketchbook is upstairs."

"Okay," Eve said softly.

Smiling just a little brighter, James hurried up the stairs with soft steps - at least, as much as he could manage, since the stairs always creaked under him - and he slipped back into his room, digging around in his backpack before he found his small, leatherbound sketchbook and ran back downstairs with it.

Holding it up in his hands as he walked back into the living room, he walked over to the couch Eve sat on, nodding to the spot available next to her. She was sitting upright now, legs folded behind her and still taking little room.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

Eve only nodded in response, eyes glued to the cover of the sketchbook, as if she was already trying to commit it to memory. He grinned faintly as he sat down beside her, opening up the sketchbook in his lap to the first page. He thought for a moment that he could flip through it himself, but then decided to silently offer it to her instead. Eve quietly took it, looking down at it and holding it as if it was incredibly fragile.

The first page was just sketches of Elliot, when he'd been running around in the pasture.

It was only the first page, but Eve was hung up on it, taking in every detail. She brushed her thumb against the pencil strokes of the hind legs.

"He looks so happy," she said softly, thumb now brushing against Elliot's face.

"He was," James said. "He's honestly a really silly horse. He'll roll around in the grass and the mud like a dog, sometimes. That's what I was trying to capture there."

He pointed to the sketch of Elliot rolling around in the grass, his legs wiggling in the air and his neck curling to the side while his eyes were wide open with excited energy.

And for the first time, James saw Eve smile. Actually, truly smile. The smile reached her eyes, turning to a gummy grin.

"I've never seen a horse in person," she said as she admired the sketch of Elliot rolling around. "But now I can't help but imagine them like giant dogs."

James laughed lightly through his nose. "Well, I can't say all horses are like that. But Elliot definitely has some dog-like qualities in his personality."

"How old is he?" she asked.

"About eight years old, now," James said.

Eve tore her gaze away from the page, looking at him with genuine curiosity. "Is that old for a horse?"

"No," James answered. "Most horses can live up to 25 or 30 years if they're kept healthy. Some horses even live up to 40."

Eve hummed. "He's a young adult horse, then."

"Just about," James said. "We're both young adults, then."

Eve glanced between the sketchbook and James. "How old are you, anyways?" she asked, a little too casually.

"25," James said, even though he thought Eve might've already known. "You?"

Eve quietly turned the page. "I'm 24."

"Elliot's probably almost 30 in human years," James said. "So that makes him older than the both of us."

"I was going to say he's your baby, but... I guess not," Eve murmured as she took in the next sketches of Elliot.

"He was, at one point," James said with an amused smile. "Alas. He has surpassed me now in years, but not wisdom."

Eve faintly smiled, glancing back up at him. "You mean you don't roll around in the mud either?"

"I've grown out of my mud-bath phase," James said. Then added, as a joke: "I gave it up last year."

"Right," she said with a nod. "Instead you've taken up a sand-bath phase."

"Hey," James said. "That was your suggestion."

"My mistake," Eve said innocently. "You've taken up a bath bomb phase instead."

"No, that ended a few days ago," James said. "I'm thinking I'll start a new phase now, in which I actually try to look somewhat decent on the regular. With the exception of right now, because I could care less at the moment."

Eve flicked her eyes to him a few times, stealing glances. "I don't think you..." she began, but then trailed off and started over. "Well, I guess I was wondering what prompted the new look," she said quickly instead.

James blinked. "Oh. You mean, uh... the hair?" he asked.

Eve nodded. "I mean, I suppose you don't need a reason for a new look. But... it's still different anyhow. And..."

She pressed her lips together, squinting her eyes and staring intensely at the page instead.

James laughed weakly, looking off to the side as he felt a rush of embarassment again.

"It's uh... well. I think the sleep deprivation was getting to me," he said a little quieter.

Eve relaxed, just a tiny bit. "Oh." She paused, furrowing her brows again. "So you... cut your own hair?"

James shrunk down a little more with his shoulders raising up around his head. He smiled barely.

"I wasn't really in my right mind at the moment," he said in more of a mumble.

Eve was quiet for a moment. "What about right now? Would you say you're in your right mind?" She paused, sighing. "Right. Never mind. Don't answer that."

James huffed as his smile turned more pained.

"No, it's-- it's a valid question. I just-- this whole day has felt like a year. Just this morning I was deathly ill, according to Lyall."

She stared at him, brows still creased with worry. "You were sick?"

She hadn't heard, had she? He hadn't even gotten a chance to tell her. He'd only just gotten well before the maze.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry I-- it all just happened over the past 24 hours. Clarity made a medicine that helped me recover, but I think it was because I hadn't been sleeping. Probably."

A pause.

"After tonight, though," he said. "I'll keep up with the medication, so. That... that should help."

Eve seemed hesitant, but she nodded. "Okay. But..." She paused. "Well. I guess I'll know if it doesn't help. Because the next time you get so sleep deprived, you may shave off your whole head."

James smiled at that, but it was mostly to cover up the nuance of worry he felt inside at the thought. He hoped it didn't come to that. But Eve was only joking, anyway.

He let the joke slide and took it in strike, easily steering the subject back to his sketchbook once Eve's worries were assuaged for the time being. And it wasn't difficult to pull her attention back to it either - she seemed fascinated with his depictions of his family farm, the animals there, and the few attempted sketches of his family hidden in the pages. It was easier to talk about simple things. Like cows, and the practicals of milking them. Sheep, and how to shear them, and why it's done in the first place. Horses, and what it looks like to train them, and ride them, and what makes them useful not just for transportation but worthwhile companions.

They spent a lot of time going through it slowly. James found that he quickly got over the mild embarassement he felt at the start and instead let his sketchbook become a doorway for conversations. They got to talking about his family a little bit. She commented on how he and Larrel had a striking resemblance - which James was surprised she could gather from his drawings.

Though she didn't dig too deep into any subjects, she was rather meticulous. It was clear that Eve was very detail oriented, and it seemed like the language of her mind was sketches. She didn't rush by any pages or skip any. It was like she wanted to soak it all in.

And James found himself grateful for it, in the moment. For a while, he'd actually forgotten about the hunger. It became almost familiar. An uncomfortable sensation in the background, but one he could tune out.

It wasn't until Eve started visibly drifting off that James felt himself snap back to reality again.

Eve had drifted off mid-sentence, and her head bobbed. When she sat back up, she immediately turned apologetic.

"Sorry. Sorry," she murmured tiredly, rubbing her eye. "I want to stay up with you."

James offered her a small smile, taking the sketchbook from her lap.

"It's okay," he said. "I'll be fine. You really should get some sleep."

"I'll stay up a little longer," she said stubbornly.

James got up from the couch, huffing faintly through his nose. Eve was acting like a child, in some ways. It was endearing.

"Your body is telling you what it needs," James said. "You should listen."

Eve let out a long sigh, relenting as she slid down onto the sofa. "You should too," she murmured.

James's eyes saddened a little at that.

"I know," he said. "I will soon. When the sun comes up."

"I meant just... in general. But..." Eve sighed, trying to rub away the sleep in her eyes. "Sorry. I know you're trying. It's not your fault," she finished quietly.

James smiled sadly. He appreciated it, really.

"Thanks for keeping me company," he said quietly. "It really did help a lot."

"Of course," she said just as quietly, sinking into the couch and bringing her knees closer to her chest, along with the blanket. "That's what friends are for, James."

James huffed. Right. It was.

"Get some sleep," he said, quietly wishing he'd had urged her to go home earlier, so she could sleep in her own bed, which would've been far more comfortable than the sofa. Then she also wouldn't have to deal with the possiblity of being woken up by others passing through.

But it was too late for that now. It looked like she might've wanted to say something more, but her brain finally caved into her body's desire to sleep. Curled up in a ball on the end of the couch, she finally relaxed and was out.

James stared at her for a moment too long as his own mind started to drift towards sleepiness. He swayed a bit on his feet, and his eyelids felt heavy. The exhaustion of the day was seeping in, but the moment he almost gave into it, he snapped to attention.

No. He just had to stay awake a little... longer...

Gods, he missed his family. What he'd give to be able to contact them again. He worried for them, ever since the threats Tula made, how much were they seeing? Were they alright?

He didn't want to think about them seeing all of this. Especially his mother and his sister. They'd already been through enough, ever since he and Larrel lost their father.

His whole life they'd been afraid to lose a son, too...

James's eyes shot open again. He felt his head bob and snap up, and he leaned back into the loveseat with hastened breaths.

Something felt... off.

He'd fallen asleep, hadn't he? But not for very long. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

What had he been thinking about just now? It felt like his mind had gone somewhere without him. He sighed.

He needed to stay awake.

Still feeling a bit confused and drowsy, he decided he needed to move a bit to wake up. He glanced across the room at the clock again.

3:38am. He had maybe two hours to last until sunrise. He could make it 'til then, and then he could finally sleep.

He got down on the floor and started doing push-ups to keep himself awake. Getting blood moving woke him up more, and it helped boost the sense of urgency in his gut that reminded him he wasn't alone.

But when he started feeling his body tire, he finally stopped and sat on the floor instead.

3:55am.

An hour and a half until sunrise.

He decided to go outside. After picking up a blanket and carefully draping it over Eve, he snuck out the front door and closed it gently behind him, walking out to the beach. There, he walked along the shoreline until he finally saw the sunlight creep up from the horizon.

Sunrise.

A rush of hope filled him, if for but a moment, and he began to feel the unending hunger finally lift. It left his stomach aching, but finally free. He sat down by the water with a long sigh, staring at the rising sun with a mix of relief and dread.

This trial was over, but he knew this was far from the end.

Glancing down at his hands, he felt the urge to confirm that this was all real. That he was really free, and he was back to his normal self.

Turning his hand over a few times, he eventually flexed his fist, and the claws he rarely let free cut through his skin, shooting out, fully extended. The unearthly metal shimmered in the morning light, and James dismissed them slowly, watching them sink back into his skin, and watching as his skin healed over the holes they'd left behind.

He really was himself again.

Getting to his feet, and dusting off the sand, James finally turned around, walking back to his cabin. And the first thing he planned on doing was sleeping right away.

Golden pumpkins sparkled across the screen as the Island Magic theme song played, the logo fading into view with the maze in the background.

"Good morning, lovelies!" Mel chirped with welcoming arms, in front of the montage show desk. "Welcome back to the montage show! Can you believe it has only been three weeks?! Gosh, it feels like some characters have practically lived three lifetimes already!"

A laughing track played in the background as Mel brightly smiled, swishing curly hair over her shoulder.

"We have a ton of stuff to cover. But first, we have a super special guest with us today! Everyone, meet other Mel!" she exclaimed as the camera panned to her side where the co-host sat.

A woman with dark brown skin, high cheekbones, and a warm smile waved to the camera. Her hair was done up in a colorful silk wrap and triangular earrings dangled from her ears.

"Hello, all!" she greeted. "It's a pleasure to co-host with you, Mel. But for the sake of our viewers, it may be easiest if you address me as Dr. Petrov, or just Dr. Mel, for now. To avoid confusion."

"You know, if you weren't busy doctoring, I'd suggest that you join me to make a new show, called the Mel Montage. Or maybe Montage by Miss and Misses Mel!" Mel said with a giggle. "The offer still stands if you change your mind, though!"

"If my schedule frees up," Dr. Mel answered. "I'll surely consider it."

"Perfect!" Mel nodded eagerly. "Now, we have a ton of material to cover. But first, we should talk a little bit about you, Doc! Can you tell our viewers about your connection to the island?"

"Yes, of course," Dr. Mel answered. She address the camera with a smile and an air of calming professionalism. "My name is Mel Petrov, wife to Bo Petrov, the island's head chef, and mother to a beautiful daughter named Maya. I've been brought on for two reasons: one, to be with my husband now that our daughter has finished school, and two, to be a resource to address any the psychological needs of contestants. I am a licensced psychologist and have been in the practice for several years. Me joining the current staff is not a reflection on our current contestant's mental health, but rather a preventative and supportive measure, as we want to make sure everyone has the support they need in a context where their lives are being broadcast to the world."

Mel nodded again, straightening her papers. "Thanks, Doc! Now that we have that totally discreet disclaimer out of the way, let's dive right into events. I was thinking we can do this a little differently, actually. You always have open dialogues with your clients, so let's analyze this segment in a similar manner! How do you feel about driving today's show?" She smiled brightly. "You have the topic list in front of you, but I'm putting you on the spot today!"

Dr. Mel smiled, but confidently took it in stride. She nodded, like it was nothing to her.

"Of course," she said. "First on the agenda takes through the highlights from the week, before last night's dramatic Pumpkin Challenge. It was very eventful, so let's start with some of the drama that's been keeping viewers hooked."

She referred to the display screen behind their heads, pressing a button on a remote. Behind them, a scene of Lyall, Alan, Clanny, Cyrin, Shane, Hild, and James was playing as they all played songs together.

"Here we have a less dramatic moment, but one that many of our viewers have enjoyed. It's such a treat to have so many musically talented people on the island, don't you think? It's great to see them work together and create a special moment like this."

"Yes!" Mel said brightly, clapping her hands together. "They sounded soooo good! It's insane how well they meshed. Like, I can hardly believe they never played together."

"I think that just goes to show their true level of skill," Dr. Mel agreed. "We're really spoiled for entertainment, here."

"Absolutely! And I loved the jam session that came afterwards. The rizz cabin has some amazing chemistry together! Musically and more!" Mel winked at the camera.

"And it seems music is the thing bonding this group together," Dr. Mel continued.

Pressing a button on the remote, the screen changed and began playing a compliation of scenes in the karaoke bar. A few seconds here, a few seconds there, with the sound of people's singing more muted in the background.

"Now this, I have to say, was quite the show. These guys really went all out! You can tell the whole cast and crew had a fun time with this," Dr. Mel commented, glancing over her shoulder at the clips.

"YES!" Mel squealed excitedly. "I was there and witnessed the talent. You should have seen Hild screaming into the mic. She was so into it! And Alan's performance?" She did a chef's kiss. "Immersive."

Dr. Mel chuckled at that. "He really committed to the bit, so the kids say," she said.

"Tsk! If only he could commit to a certain someone!" Mel teased.

"Ah, and that makes a perfect segue--" Dr. Mel said, nodding as she clicked a button, and the display screen changed, showing a montage of several clips of Shane and Alan interacting.

Some of them were sweet and tender - capturing moment of them laughing, talking attentively, sitting beside one another, or stealing glances at each other. The clips kept going, featuring them in the pool late at night, talking, and a near-kiss.

"You're a therapist, right, Mel?" Mel asked curiously.

"Psychiatrist," Dr. Mel said. "But I have worked as a therapist as well."

Mel grinned, crossing her leg. "Well then! I'm dying to know what you think. What's going on in Alan's brain? Or is it actually empty?"

Dr. Mel flashed the camera brief, apologetic look that faded when she looked back at the clips playing behind them.

"No one's brain is actually empty," Dr. Mel said. "If someone seems so, it's usually because there's something they're avoiding that's suppressed. It's rarely a conscious decision - it's more of a type of survival mode. Perhaps there are things Mr. Alvaro isn't ready to face yet. But his supposed ditziness is misleading, I think. He's really quite the intelligent young man, he's just not thinking some things through. But that's pretty normal for most people in their young adult years, as their frontal lobe isn't fully developed. That's the decision making center of the brain that helps you think ahead and weigh future consequences with current decisions."

Mel hummed thoughtfully. "Do you think he's aware he is maaaaaybe leading our dear Shane on?"

"He's probably in denial about it, if he is," Dr. Mel said. "But I have a feeling he doesn't have a good grasp on what 'leading someone on' looks like. But I have lots of compassion for him. Many young adults struggle to learn the boundaries between friendships and romantic relationships. It can be a tricky line to walk, especially if you have to figure it out on your own without guidance."

"You heard it here, folks! I better not be hearing any more wild conspiracy theories that Alan is a gold digger after Shane's wealth and status! He's just misunderstood!" Mel huffed.

"As most well-intentioned but ill-guided people are," Dr. Mel agreed.

"Speaking of which!" Mel sat up straighter with a cheery smile. "What about the clip of Shane and Hendrik? Shane seemed pissed! What's your take on that?"

"My take?" Dr. Mel asked. "It looks to me like Shane was already having a bad day, and Hendrik was just unfortunately the person to trigger some pent up frustrations. Everyone has bad days, and it seems like Shane might've been trying to get alone time to process when Hendrik ran into him."

"Fair enough! I wonder what happened to give him a bad day." Mel innocently shrugged. "Guess we'll never know!"

"And we really don't need to," Dr. Mel added. "He gets to have some privacy."

She pressed a button on the remote, cutting to a scene caught through window blinds of James and Alan standing alone in the Bird Cabin's living room, exchanging what looked like tense expressions.

"Speaking of privacy..." Dr. Mel said softly, before proceeding to speak at full volume again. "Some people have been hypothesizing about the nature of James and Alan's relationship. There seem to be a few small, subtle moments where there's some tension."

"Oh my gosh, yeah! I thought the same thing!" Mel exclaimed, nodding eagerly.

The scene switched again behind her, showing the awkwardly quiet run with Alan, Hild, and James, in which both men hardly spoke to or addressed one another without Hild's interference.

"Fans have been theorizing about things that have occured off-screen to cause the supposed tension we're seeing. Most people think it's related to Shane. It's about a 50/50 split. Some say it's because James doesn't think Alan deserves Shane, as he and Shane are friends. Others think it's because James is jealous of Alan."

"Jealous how?" Mel asked, but she had a giddy smile, like she already knew the answer, but had to ask for the purpose of the show.

"You know how people can be," Dr. Mel said neutrally. "Two people spend a lot of time together, and sometimes people jump to conclusions. I, however, don't see any proof of a romantic interest between James and Shane on either side."

Mel giggled. "Wouldn't that be wild? The Jane ship wasn't even theorized at the beginning! Now Twooter can't rule it out!"

"Polls are inconclusive on what the popular opinion is," Dr. Mel went on. "But in my opinion, it's likely that James and Alan may just have a few misunderstandings they have to work out. Things are often more simple than we make them to be."

A pause, and then Mel pressed the remote again, and the screen behind her switched.

"Except for James's life, it seems," she said empathetically, as a clip played of James running full-speed out of the bush out into the plaza, fleeing a shadowy figure following behind him. "In movies, they would call this foreshadowing."

"Sheesh! Poor man," Mel said with a sad pout, but then the pout turned huffy. "Well, you're not wrong."

"And his troubles don't end there," Dr. Mel continued, pressing the button again.

Next, the screen showed a few pictures in a slideshow of James, who was caught red-handed. Or pink-handed, so to speak. One involved him running in a hoodie and sweats on the beach.

"Seems those bath bombs didn't treat him well at first," Dr. Mel empathized.

Mel huffed out some more, arms up in the air in exasperation. "If only he used my bath bombs! Then his skin would have been normal!"

"At least he found a solution," Mel commented. "It seems like his plight brought many people together, and though I'm sorry for his misfortune, it's nice to see he had friends to come around him."

The clip then showed several moments of people coming in and out of the Bird Cabin. Eve. Hild. Clarity. Shane.

"Totally. Also, you have to admit, James looked fabulous with pink, sparkly skin," Mel said brightly.

Dr. Mel huffed lightly at that. "Unfortunately, he probably wouldn't agree," she said.

And then she skipped ahead in the footage, cutting to James, face-down in the sand like a beached whale. Lyall was beside him, arguing with visible worry and irritation.

"I'm glad Dr. Elise could get James some sleeping pills," Dr. Mel said. "So hopefully we won't have another instance like this again."

Mel hummed, narrowing her eyes towards the screen. "Is it normal for people to feel compelled to faceplant into the sand after taking sleeping pills?" she asked playfully.

"I believe this was before medication was in the picture," Dr. Mel said with a grin.

"Oh, right, my bad!" Mel said with a giggle. "Then: is it normal for people to feel compelled to faceplant into the sand?"

"Normal might not be the word I'd use for it," Dr. Mel said.

"True. James is weird. But he's a loveable weirdo." Mel then swished her hand over the hand, huffing. "He has to change his hairdo, though. Like, what's with the choppy cut? He looks insane. He needs a makeover and a real haircut, stat."

"Looks like you have your job cut out for you," Dr. Mel said with a smile.

"Har har," Mel said, repressing a giggle at the pun.

"Forgive me," Dr. Mel said with a small smirk. "It appears I've been absorbing the humor of my husband."

"You may have to switch gears to absorbing his brain cells instead, because let's move on to the event yesterday!" Mel said with a smile. "Gosh, the puzzles? Sheesh. Some of them are impossible. I can't believe some people managed to crack them."

"They truly were quite the challenge. Let's take a look at the highlights reel," Mel said, pressing play once more.

Behind them, the video started play, starting with a montage of Cyrin, Lyall, and Alan's party. It started with clips of them talking to the sphinx, and getting "eaten."

"I must admit, Mel," Dr. Mel said. "I've never been skilled at riddles."

Mel repeated the clip of Alan getting gobbled up since he spent no time discussing an answer with his teammates, instead saying a half-baked answer out loud for the sphinx. She giggled.

"Are you sure his brain isn't empty?" she teased.

"We call that naivete," Dr. Mel said. "Not stupidity. Though they can look alarmingly similar."

"Mm! The sphinx was on to something!" Mel said with a grin. "Along with being ambitious, loving, and altruistic. Weird that Lyall didn't share that the answer to the second riddle was Alan."

"He was probably afraid Alan would take offense to it," Dr. Mel reasoned simply. "But it looks like them not knowing didn't stop them moving forward. Cyrin managed to help James and Shane wake from their dreams and things didn't go south until they hit the mirror illusions."

"It really is too bad that they split up with a classic mirror maze. I was really digging their vibes! Breaking into song and saying silly jokes and all." She sighed. "Cyrin is so sweet, though. Maybe too sweet, quick to put himself in harms way for others."

"True," Dr. Mel said, looking back at the screen as it played out Cyrin's wrestling match with Stravos the wolf. "I'm glad they found a way out. Now that was impressive! Finding a 'hole' in the maze."

"Cyrin really did find a 'get out of jail free' card!" Mel said with a giggle. "Let's talk about the other two rizz boys. Where did they end up going?"

Dr. Mel scrubbed through the footage, pausing when Alan was pictured colliding with Clandestine.

"Alan and Clandestine found each other after both being separated from their groups. Despite not accomplishing much as far as puzzles go, they did have a very sweet bonding moment with one another," Dr. Mel commented. "It's good to see them making healthy connections."

Mel happily clapped her hands together, beaming. "I love to see it! They deserve each other!"

"Indeed," Dr. Mel said, scrubbing the footage once more to skip ahead to Lyall, falling through the portal his brother led him to. He was screaming in a high pitch for a few seconds before he landed in the pile of gold, just across from Tula and Alex.

"As for Lyall," Dr. Mel said. "He really got lucky with that shortcut, didn't he?"

"Suspiciously lucky!" Mel said with a hum. "One can even say, with that shortcut, the timing, and the magic he was given... the luck was very, very convenient."

"Sounds like something to ask him about the next time you have him co-host," Dr. Mel suggested.

"Or have lunch with him!" she sing-songed. "We're pals now. Also keep your eyes peeled for a sexy supersuit for fire magic." She winked at the camera.

"I'm sure Kaya will be happy to see that," Dr. Mel commented with a small grin.

Mel snorted. "I'll personally send her saucy pictures if he doesn't do it himself."

Dr. Mel laughed lightly. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it," she said, waving her had with the remote in hand to move them on.

"But before we get ahead of ourselves with his victory, let's rewind a bit," Dr. Mel said. "There were a few other moments that really wowed the viewers. Let's start with Kazimir's impressive display."

The footage wheeled back and cut to the scene where Kazimir manipulated the water in the humid air to douse the roaring flames of Clandestine's fire.

"Now that's the kind of magic expertise the DMV's looking for," Dr. Mel said.

"Yes! He's soooo..." Mel was previously lost in a daze staring at his abs, but then she cleared her throat, smiling. "Yeah. So impressive!"

"Speaking of impressive," Dr. Mel continued, fast-forwarding. "Let's talk about Alex and Tula."

"Wait, wait! We have to talk about the Hendrex ship first!" Mel said excitedly.

"Ah, yes," Dr. Mel said. "I'll let you do the honors."

Dr. Mel handed the remote to Mel, and she happily pressed the button. The next scenes that played were all filtered with a pink lens and exaggerated blush filters. Alexander and Hendrik were close to one another, sharing drinks and exchanging secrets. All of Hendrik's secrets were false, but Alex shared sincere ones related to his magic. Hendrik was getting more and more flushed until they both closed the gap with banter, kissing one another. The frame paused here.

"Look at that! LOOK AT THAT!" Mel said triumphantly, pointing at the screen. "No one predicted this would happen, but I think they would be sooooo good for one another!"

"They do have undeniable chemistry," Dr. Mel agreed. "Though it did come upon quite suddenly, so I'm skeptical as to whether this will be something long-lasting."

"I believe in them!" Mel said optimistically, grinning with her hands clasped together against her heart. "Just look how Alex handled what happened next!"

The kiss clip resumed, showing Hendrik falling backwards on his back and then completely disappearing, leaving Alex completely dumbfounded. But Alex was quick to think on his feet, helping drunken Hendrik up while explaining the situation. He did this for quite some time, actually. For a long time. Too long.

"That's some dedication right there!" Mel continued, in awe.

"That, indeed, is admirable," Dr. Mel agreed. "Seems Alex has a good heart to care for someone as inebriated as Hendrik. It's unfortunate that he eventually lost him because Hendrik didn't know how to stop turning invisible."

"Unfortunate, or fortunate, since he won with the dream team?" Mel sing-songed.

She pressed the button on the remote again, and a montage of clips played with Tula and Alex demolishing every puzzle. They killed monsters with a show of their knife throwing skills, used teamwork to relay and memorize complex patterns, communicated with one another using their new magic, and showed off their impressive dexterity by going through lasers as if it were a spy movie.

"Just look at them go! It's insane what they can accomplish if they really pedal to the metal!" Mel said, in awe.

"That it is," Dr. Mel agreed. "It looks like when they get together, it's all business. They're quite the team!"

"With how hard they worked, I think they deserved to win!" Mel said brightly. "Lyall, however... well, he definitely got lucky, huh?"

"Lucky, yes," Dr. Mel repeated. "But it wasn't entirely something he fell into. He did choose to charm Alex and Tula to share in their victory."

"If you think about it, though... everyone used their magic in the maze at some point, right?" Mel shrugged. "If he wasn't meant to use it against other contestants, then what other use did it have?"

"Perhaps the maze really was a test of their magic," Dr. Mel said. "It certainly is a creative way to push them into thinking differently, giving them magics that aren't their own."

Mel clapped her hands. "You know what it is? Maybe this is a test for Lyall to not use his magic. You know? Tempt him with it, see if he uses it. Maybe Alan feels this kind of pressure sometimes too. Just a theory!"

"Perhaps, then," Dr. Mel said. "It's not much of a victory after all."

A low-pitched "womp-womp" played in the background.

"Speaking of losers!" Mel chirped. "Let's talk about the James, Shane, and Eve team!"

On cue, Dr. Mel pressed the remote, and a new montage started playing behind them with a song playing in the background:



The video rolling passed through a series of events:

First, it pictured the three of them passing through a creepy graveyard, but it all led up to a giant gravestone with balloons on it. There was a dart game they had to play, and it was based on accuracy, so they let James take the lead. When he accidentally hit the wrong balloon, though, it burst on him and splattered him with paint.

Fortunately, they eventually passed the dart throwing test on a second try and made it through. But it took more time.

Next, they were stuck in a room with fake, plastic, cartoonish skeletons. Instructions were to dig up the bones that held the key to the door leading out. Again, this turned extremely tedious, and even though the three of them had shovels, they spent a very long time digging throughout the whole room, leaving them all covered in dirt. It was Shane who finally found the key, but Eve had gotten so exhausted from the effort, that she passed out.

When they entered the next room, it was a room filled with mushroom spores. The way to avoid it was simple enough: hold your breath. But both Shane and James failed this when James sneezed after a spore went up his nose. The spores ended up making them sleepy, and they weren't able to wake up until Cyrin assisted them in their dreams from afar so they could move on.

To add onto the series of failures, their next challenge was to fight a few dummy mannequins with pumpkin-faces. It was framed, however, that James took it way too far when he embraced the magic he'd inherited from Aaron, and he partially turned into the wendigo. Footage of the wendigo form itself was censored, but it was implied that James made a very poor decision in judgement. There was a small flash of James's bare booty as he laid face-down in pumpkin-mush, and Shane scrambled over to wake him.

Then it cut to their last challenge: the only one they actually passed with flying colors. The tape cut back and forth between a lot of footage of James and Shane answering the True or False questions, ruling out what clips were real or not. But then it showed them giving up right after their victory, lazily refusing to move on. Eve, of course, continued her three-hour-nap.

"Uh-hmmm!" Mel hummed as the footage played, innocently swishing a curly ringlet over her shoulder. "Yes, good stuff, huh? Very believably weird times. Nothing suspicious here at all."

"If anything's suspicious, it's that they did a suspiciously bad job at all of their tasks," Dr. Mel commented. But it felt very performative. "It's possible that they never wanted to win from the start."

"Totally! Following simple tasks is just sooooooooooo hard," Mel said with an exaggerated sigh. "Like, holding your breath? Impossible. We need to breathe."

"It is a difficult skill to develop," Dr. Mel said. "Not everyone can maintain it under pressure."

"Definitely. And you know what? My theory is that Eve ragequit herself to sleep." Mel huffed out some air. "I would too if I was with two totally incompetent boys!"

"Seems they all threw in the towel at some point, Mel," Dr. Mel agreed. "But, at least for them, the maze is over. I'm sure they're glad of that at least."

Mel eagerly nodded. "Totally! They deserve to rest it off after a super hard day of not-so-successful work."

"Couldn't agree more," Dr. Mel said with a small smile, and then she checked their run-sheet in front of them on the desk one more time, doing a brief, subtle, double-take.

"Hm. Mel, I think you may be more suited for this next part," she suggested. "It reads: Shirtless Man Counter."

Mel giggled. "Thanks, Mel! I've got it from here!" She waggled her brows, grinning. "But sadly, this means your time as co-host is over, since we're moving on to the mini-game. Last time we brought a third person in, the magic system overloaded, and a giant mouth appeared on the ceiling!"

"Well, no need to poof me away," Dr. Mel said, getting up from her seat with a small smile. "I'm happy to walk."

"Bye, Mel!" she said with a wave. "It was so good to run this show with you! Let's do this again some other time! Also, can you introduce me to your brother?"

Dr. Mel looked over her shoulder with a small smirk.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to meet you, Mel," she said. "I'll see you later."

"See ya!"

Dr. Mel gave a final wave and exited the stage, and gameshow music played in the air as Mel grinned brightly at the camera.

"Wasn't she great, everyone?! Well, this next segment is going to get hot and steamy, so prep yourselves! Starting off with our very own 30 under 30 celebrity, Cyrin Bridger!" Mel announced cheerfully, pressing a blue button in front of her.

Cyrin appeared in the co-host chair, dressed perfectly dashing and sauve in their usual black. The strongest signs that he was not completely composed were his disheveled hair, which gave him that sort of Pretty Boy™ look, and the glass of wine in his hand at 8:30am. His head turned to both sides quickly, assessing his brand new location, before he shrugged and leaned back in his chair, taking a casual sip from their glass.

"Goooooooood morning, Cyrin!" Mel chirped, then giggled. "Welcome to the morning montage show!" She leaned in playfully, elbows perched on the table as she set her chin on her hands, starry-eyed. "You are soooo cool no matter the hour. How are you feeling, why haven't you visited me earlier, and can we wine about it?"

Cyrin let out a calm laugh, seeming to adjust to their new situation on the spot. "Good morning to you too, Mel, but it'll have to be one thing at a time. Worrying about my hair is first." He pointed to it, finding the nearest camera and shooting it an exaggerated look of self-deprecating disappointment. "Can you believe this? I look like I tried to curl it, changed my mind and straightened it again, and then changed my mind again but then tried to curl it with a toothbrush."

Mel giggled, dismissing the thought with a wave of a limp wrist. "Oh, please! You look fabulous. Always so humble, Sir I-am-an-Oolympik-gymnast-and-esteemed-scholar. Can't you be a little vain and say you should be featured in a Lo'reel ad?" She winked at the camera.

"Oh, no, my hair shouldn't be featured in that," Cyrin said regretfully. "It's like a gymnastics routine. Unexpected, full of surprises, and occasionally defying the laws of physics."

"Someone should engrave that in a plaque!" Mel giggled. "Anyways, Cyrin, I'd love to talk some more, but I do have a show to run, and you're in it! You're here to play a super duper exciting mini-game. Are you ready?!"

"Ready?" Cyrin smiled, raising their glass. "I cannot wait."

"Then let's begin!"

Mel pressed the button on the remote, and quick footage began to scrub in the screen at 10X speed.

"This mini-game is called Shirtless Man Counter!" she announced happily with glee. "There are a good amount of men during the event yesterday who took off their shirt. We'll scrub through footage, and any time a man takes off their shirt, you'll hear a ding. We'll pause right before he takes off the shirt, and it's your turn to guess if they took the shirt off or not! Because beware: there are some fake shirtless men among them! So you'll have to keep some shirtless imposters in mind."

Mel clapped her hands, cheerily grinning. "Any questions before we begin?"

Cyrin let out a laugh, leaning an elbow on the table and resting their chin on their hand. "How did you come up with this?"

Mel winked at them. "That secret stays with me. Let's begin!"

She pressed the button on the remote, and footage began to play at 10X the speed again. After only a second, there was a ding and the screen paused at Hendrik, standing shirtless with his hands on his hips, standing next to Alexander who was visibly checking him out.

"Here we are! Looks like Hendrik is first," she said, eyes glued on his abs. "Any guesses on why he's shirtless?"

Cyrin hummed, taking a sip from his wine. "Because he's Hendrik," he answered easily. "The real question is why he's not in swim shorts."

"Correct!" Mel exclaimed, virtual confetti spraying across the screen. "He's silly ole Hendrik who came in without a shirt. Obviously because he's hot." She beamed. "You know, tight pants fit him better, anyways. But he's not going to listen to me, no siree. He's going to keep wearing speedos and weird people out."

Cyrin shrugged. "Well, he got an all-paid vacation to a tropical paradise. Maybe he's just been waiting his whole life to wear speedos on the beach for three months straight."

"Good point! Maybe we'll ask him this in his next interview. Stay tuned!"

The footage continued again, dinging when it paused on a picture of Kazimir, giving a thumbs up, wearing a simple white-shirt that showed off his biceps.

"Here's the next maybe-shirtless man!" Mel said. "Kazimir. He's a pretty beefy guy, isn't he?"

"He is," Cyrin admitted. "I should ask for his weightlifting routine, if he's got one."

Mel nodded. "So! What do you think, Cyrin? Did Kaz lose the shirt in the maze?"

Cyrin swirled the wine in his glass, leaning back in his seat elegantly. "He was wearing one at first. But he could've taken it off, yes."

"I see that! But did he?" Mel pressed, giggling. "I need a more affirmative answer, silly."

Cyrin laughed. "Alright. I'll give this one a yes."

"Correct!" she cheered, more virtual confetti splattering across the screen.

The footage then continued, showing Kaz taking off his shirt. Although, this scene was clearly manipulated with someone airbrushing his abs, making him look bigger, tanner, and stronger than he really was.

"Kaz took off his shirt to keep Clanny warm, since she was shivering cold. Isn't that super sweet and chivalrous?" Mel said dreamily.

"It is sweet," Cyrin agreed, saying nothing about the chivalrous part. "Poor Clanny. What happened to her?"

"Looks like you're going to have to ask her to find out!" Mel said cheerfully, pressing the next button to continue.

The clip continued to play at super fast speed until another ding was heard, pausing at Shane looking away uncertainly, wearing a flannel.

"Next is our beloved Shane! Cast your vote: shirt or shirtless?" she said.

Cyrin tapped the edge of his glass, squinting at the image.

"Shirt," he said eventually. "I think Shane is less inclined to go shirtless without good reason."

"Correct~!" Mel sing-songed, more virtual confetti appearing. The clip continued, only showing Shane removing his flannel while retaining his white tee. "He only slipped out of flannel to give to a certain special someone."

Cyrin raised an eyebrow. "Knowing how much Shane wears those, it seems a sentimental gift."

"Totally! So, who do you think he gave it to?" she asked.

"My best guess? Alan, but maybe James," Cyrin suggested.

"Oh! Hear that Twooter? More fodder for the tension debate!" Mel said with a bright smile. "Moving on!"

The screen scrubbed through footage again, dinging and pausing to show James holding up a blanket, letting it roll down in front of him. From the camera angle, it was unclear if he was or wasn't wearing any shirt behind the blanket.

"Here's the sassman, mysteriously captured behind the blanket he carried around all day!" Mel said breezily. "What do you think? Yay or nay for wearing a shirt?"

"Nay," Cyrin answered swiftly. "James wouldn't go around wearing a blanket for, as they say, 'funsies'."

"He definitely doesn't strike me as a snuggy man!" she agreed with a nod. "But hey, look at that, looks like you only get half points for this one!"

The screen then jumped ahead to the next picture, which was a suspiciously photoshopped picture of James wearing Shane's flannel, but it was too tight on his arms, and the sleeves ripped. Although, James looked too muscular and chiseled for this to look realistic. His chest was exposed since the flannel wasn't buttoned up.

Cyrin huffed a laugh. "This doesn't look right. Where'd the blanket go? It looked much warmer than this fit!"

"Guess he just wanted to show off his muscles!" Mel said innocently. "Let's move on, shall we? On to the next muscle man!"

The screen scrubbed forward again, dinging then pausing at Alan smiling, wearing a beige button-down.

"Here we go. Your beloved teammate, Alan! What do you think? Did he lose the shirt?" Mel asked.

"Oh, I hope not," Cyrin said, as though devastated. "It's quite a nice shirt."

"Thanks! I picked it out for him," Mel said brightly. "So what's your final answer?"

"Oh, Mel, I have to go with that he kept it. I'll be saddened otherwise," Cyrin said morosely.

"Awh! I'll have the tissues ready if you need them, because our favorite lover boy went shirtless!"

The footage continued to play, showing Alan unrolling his sleeves then unbuttoning his shirt so he could slip out of it and hand it to Clanny. It paused when Alan was smiling, perching up Shrimp who nuzzled against his bare chest.

Cyrin sank back in his chair with a broken-hearted sigh. "This game is too much for my poor heart to bear."

"And it's not over yet!" Mel said brightly. "Let's see who else the shirtless-meter will ding!"

The next ding landed on Jay, on the verge of taking off his poncho.

"Our social recluse may or may not go poncho-less! What do you think, Cyrin? Is Jay showing off his bare chest or not?" Mel asked.

Cyrin sipped from their wine as they watched the screen. "He doesn't show very much of himself in general, so I'm going to go with no," they ventured.

"Correct!"

More confetti splashed across the screen, and Mel pressed the button to move on to the next slide. It showed a picture of Jay flexing with a ridiculously broad, puffed up chest. He was oiled up, flexing his humungous biceps and twelve-pack chest.

"Here's what I think Jay would look like if he did take off his poncho, though. What do you think? Super accurate, huh?" she said playfully.

Cyrin huffed a laugh. "Double the six-pack? You should ask how he pulls that off."

"I totally should! And you should, too!" Mel said with a wave of her finger. "Now, one last curveball to throw at you. Let's see who the shirtless meter will land on next."

The screen quickly scrubbed through footage again until it landed on Aaron, crouching beneath the bushes at a secret camera. His face was up close, giving him a fisheye lens proportion, blowing up his eyes, glasses, and nose.

"Aw! That's an unflattering angle," Mel pouted. "Well, anyways. Have you ever talked to Aaron? You totally should, too! Maybe you can tell him your answer on whether you think he was shirtless or not! What do you think?"

"I'm guessing no, with a similar rationale as for Jay," Cyrin ventured.

"Nope! This man wanted the world to see his bare chest!" Mel said as she proceeded to the next slide, showing Aaron frowning as he walked through the maze, crossing his arms across his chest. "Oh, there you go. That's a much better angle."

Cyrin sighed dismally. "Seems I'm no good at this shirtless men game."

"That's okay!" Mel said with a cheerful smile, the footage fading in the background so they could focus on each other instead. "We can't all be professionals at spotting shirtless men. Better luck next time! Thanks for playing!"

"Thanks for having me," Cyrin said, raising his glass in a toast with a charming smile. "You too, camera crew."

Mel giggled. "Say bye, Cyrin! Don't let the confetti bite on your way out!"

But before Cyrin could get in a word, she pressed the red button in front of her, and he poofed with a burst of colorful confetti.

"That was so fun!" she squealed. "Now, we have one more segment for you: an interview! Oh my gosh, isn't this super exciting?! Today's interviewee turned up in the mini-game, actually! It's our favorite little monster man, Aaron Keller! Let's bring him in!"

She pressed the blue button again, poofing Aaron in. He fell gracelessly to the floor, completely missing the chair.

"Oh no!" Mel said with a gasp, then muffled a giggle as she turned her chair, about to crouch down. "Oh my gosh, I'm sooo sorry! Let me help you up."

"No!" Aaron flailed his hands as he hopped up to his feet. "...Thank you, but no." Almost frantically, he quickly scanned the studio as he dusted himself off.

"Oh no," he muttered once realization sunk in.

"Oh yes!" Mel said cheerfully, arms out to gesture around her. "Welcome to the morning montage show, Aaron! Sorry we had to meet this way. Do you want anything? Coffee? Water? Snacks? A hug?"

Eyes finally landing on Mel, Aaron slowly shook his head.

"Do you want to sit?" she asked with a smile.

He glanced at the camera with open suspicion, but obliged and took the chair beside her.

"...Mel, was it?" he asked stiffly.

Mel eagerly nodded, still smiling. "That's me! Are you're Aaron. Now we can say we know each other! Isn't that great?"

"I..." He trailed off, unable to answer conclusively.

"How are you feeling, anyways? It's a beautiful morning to be stuck inside having an interview, isn't it?" she said cheerfully.

Aaron's stare turned blank. Even a touch dead inside. But still, he mustered a, "Sure."

Mel giggled, hand over her mouth. "You're so funny! You should be a comedian!"

He frowned slightly. "...I was simply going for polite."

"You can do both, silly," Mel playfully chided. "With that, I should politely ask: are you ready for your interview?! I'll guide you with all the questions. You just have to answer while siting there and looking pretty, which you're already doing fabulously!"

Aaron looked back at her as if she'd grown another head. Again, though, he repeated, "Sure."

Mel narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't sound sure," she huffed.

To which he huffed as well, louder. "Let's proceed," he said, mustering a bit more confidence.

"That's the spirit! Just let me know any time you want a break, okay? We can take lots of breaks! Just me and you!" she said with a friendly grin. "Okay, so here's how this works. As you know, everything on this island is just a liiiiittle teeny bit being, you know, televised. So you have some fans out there who adore you! I manage the Twooter account and compile the top questions asked about you. Turns out, you're a star this week! You're super popular! So, are you ready to hear your first question, Mister Popular?"

Another look of complete befuddlement fell over him. "...Sure."

Mel blew up a raspberry, huffing again. "Come onnnn, I know you have more spirit than that! Are you ready to hear your first question, Mister Everyone-Adores-Me?! Let's hear it!"

"I'm ready," he said, sounding slightly more exasperated now.

"Yeah!" Mel cheered. "Let's do this!"

The first question faded into the screen.



"Hey, valid question, though! It's like a million degrees outside!" Mel huffed.

Aaron frowned again, slightly put-off. "I don't wear that many layers," he answered, self-consciously shrinking back into his trench coat.

"Oh, I know! I've seen you without any!" Mel said with a giggle and a wink.

His face turned red as he shrank even further back, arms folded to hide himself.

"But you know, layers are comfy cozy!" she said with a nod, still nodding as she pushed back some laughs. "Is that why you wear your coat?"

"I..." Aaron glanced off. "It has pockets."

"Oh my GOSH!" Mel squealed, standing up to reveal her sunflower sundress, twirling back and forth so her skirt swished. She placed her hands in her pockets, grinning happily at him. "Mine does too! Isn't it the best?!"

Angling the chair slightly more towards her, Aaron blinked and agreed simply, "Yes."

Mel flopped back to her chair, throwing back her ringlets over her shoulder. "You know what's the worst, though? When pockets are fake! Ugh! I'm a fashion designer, and I'll personally avenge every piece of clothing that has fake pockets! It's literally the worst!"

Aaron leaned back, seemingly taken aback a bit by her passion. "It's quite deceitful," he agreed.

"Anyways!" she huffed, smiling back at him. "Speaking of hotness, let's move on to the next question!"



Aaron wilted. "Ah. The trademark question of these interviews."

"Maybe you're the hottest cabinmate!" she offered. "'Cause, you know. You're wearing a coat!"

"Temperature-wise, yes," he replied. "Probably."

"You heard it here, folks! Aaron thinks he's the hottest one! Aw, I love self-love!" Mel said brightly.

Tugging his coat tighter around himself, he hid his chin behind the collar with an incomprehensible mumble.

Mel giggled, beaming. "Let's bring in the next question! I love this one!"



"Ah," he said slowly. "...Yes."

Mel gasped. "Oh my gosh! Can you demonstrate?! Pleeeeease?"

Aaron withered, and amended, "With...assistance, I can. So. No. I cannot demonstrate."

"Me! I volunteer!" Mel said quickly, raising an arm. "I'll assist!"

"No!" he said quickly. "No, it's-- No."

Mel pouted, lowering her arm. "Booooo. Why not? It'll be fun!"

"Unless you have the ability to fly," he said, "then you simply can't. My... I cannot demonstrate."

Mel playfully narrowed her eyes at him, smiling wide. "So you can't fly," she teased.

He deflated even more. "No, I cannot."

She giggled, hand over her mouth again. "Why didn't you just say that to begin with? Now you just look silly!"

Well, now Aaron simply looked thoroughly embarrassed. Again, Mel giggled with a victorious grin.

"Let's move on to a totally silly, not so serious question!" she said.



"Because." Aaron blinked at the camera. "I'm. An introvert?"

"Proposition: an extrovert drags you outside," Mel said with a hum.

He glanced at her with mild dread. "...Which one?"

"Me!" she said with a smile. "I'll drop by so we can have mandatory fun outside!"

Aaron's expression turned blank again. "...Sure," he answered uncertainly.

"Yay!" Mel cheered, clapping her hands together. "I was thinking of giving James a makeover after this. That man needs a dire haircut, anyways! Sheesh. Do you want to come with me? I can give you a fresh cut too, if you'd like! I think it'd be fun! We can all hang out!"

"We. Could," Aaron agreed weakly, with absolutely no heart in it.

"Wooooo! It's a friend date, then!" Mel said with another excited clap of her hands. "But first, let's go through this interview. Let's bring in the next question!"



Aaron furrowed a brow. "Pockets," he reiterated simply.

"Pockets are always the answer!" she said with a nod. "Next question!"



He fell deathly quiet at that.

"Is it scary?" she offered with a empathetic smile, voice quieter.

"I don't... recommend it, no," Aaron muttered, casting a hard stare down at the desk in front of them.

"Well." Mel straightened up, looking him in the eye with a comforting smile. "Maybe not. But at least, personally, I don't see a monster sitting in front of me. And that's what matters the most, don't you think?"

He nervously met her eyes as he tucked back into his coat once more.

Mel's smile warmed, and she nodded. "Let's move on to the next question."



"...Jay," he answered.

Mel beamed, leaning in with her elbows on the table, head perched on top of her palms. "Awh! This is so sweet! Did you guys know each other before the island?"

"No," Aaron said, regaining a smidge of confidence, "we met here, on day 1."

Mel cooed, starry-eyed. "Oh my gosh! I love that! Sometimes you meet someone, and you just know you'll become amazing friends. At what point did you realize that he's your bff?"

"It." He shook his head. "It wasn't immediate--" Then he stopped himself short, and fell quiet again.

Mel tilted her head, smiling. "Does anything specific come to mind?"

After a short pause, he shook his head again. "I shouldn't," he murmured.

She nodded. "That's alright. We can move on, no worries! Let's bring in a silly question!"



"Alright, Aaron! Time to spill the hot tea!" she said with a giggle. "Tell me your inner thoughts on the hot goss surrounding Shane and Alan. Spill the beans!"

His look of confusion returned. Aaron scrunched his nose. "The... I don't have any beans to spill? They're free to do as they please, it makes no difference to me."

Mel hummed, grinning again. "Aw! So respectful. I love that about you! So you probably won't tell me any juicy gossip about Tula or Alex then, huh? They seem awwwwfully close! They even made a good team at the maze!"

At that, Aaron audibly choked. "I'd rather not speculate," he muttered.

Mel giggled. "The adorable man of mystery pleads the fifth! Let's move on!"



Aaron blanched, too stunned to even think.

Mel snorted. "Aw, come on! There's probably someone out there that looks like a snack, huh? Someone you imagine eating breakfast in bed with?" She waggled her brows.

He slow blinked as her meaning sunk in. Then all color returned to his face so that he closely resembled a tomato. "No!" he squeaked.

Mel let out a high-pitched giggle again. "Totally! I believe you!"

His expression turned highly indignant.

"Speaking of meals..." Mel said, gesturing to the screen right when the new question popped up.



Aaron let out a relieved breath. "I suppose sandwiches are...good. A travel-friendly form factor, in which you can assemble any combination of filling to your liking."

"Ooh! Practical!" Mel nodded. "What's your favorite filling? The world wants to know! And me, too. I want to know!"

Aaron hummed quietly in thought. "Cucumbers."

Mel giggled. "Like, just cucumbers? Cucumbers and bread?"

Aaron shrugged. "With butter or cream cheese, to keep the bread from getting soggy."

"Oooh!" Mel nodded eagerly. "That sounds yummy. I should try that sometime. Thanks for the rec!"

Aaron nodded with the barest of pleased smiles.

Mel beamed, waving in the next question.



"What a curiously specific question!" Mel said with an innocent hum.

Aaron's expression quickly turned flat. "I'll take a lifetime of the cheese, hands down."

"Oh my gosh!" she said with a laugh, scrunching her nose. "Eugh! That's gross!"

He shrugged. "The lesser of two evils."

"You're a smart guy! Maybe you can transform the cheese to not be so infected with dead things," Mel said with a smile.

"Well, the mold is irreversable," he said matter-of-factly, "but the ants certainly are an easier fix. If a bit tedious."

"Well, hey! Maybe I'll visit you on this desert island and come by with bread and cucumbers. More ingredients to make a sandwich!"

Aaron nodded, unopposed to this hypothetical visit. Then frowned and asked when it hit him, "Wait, how did you know about the--"

"Wow, will you look at that, time flies!" Mel cut in brightly. "We have one last question! Quick, answer it before the confetti timer goes off! You don't want to stick around to find out what happens! Go!"



Aaron blinked at the question. "Huh." Then looked down at the desk's top in front of them. "Hm."

"What's going through that big brain of yours? I'd love to hear it!" Mel said.

He hesitated. "...It used to be Hawke," he answered honestly. Then gave it another moment of quiet consideration. "I fear the man with electricity," he concluded.

"Oh! Kazimir," Mel said with an eager nod. "He can be kind of scary looking. Personally, I find him to be smoldering! But that's just my opinion!"

Aaron's curious gaze turned blank, causing her to let out another giggle.

"James pretends to act soooo tough, so I can see how you'd think he used to be scary!" she went on. "But he's just a big sassman. Sheesh, he needs to use his brain and not frown at everyone! Maybe after I give him a makeover, he'll be way less scary. What do you think? Maybe you guys could even be friends, you never know!"

Aaron's confusion gave way to something more... actually sympathetic. "I don't believe he can help the frown."

Mel pouted then huffed. "Not with that attitude!"

"It's his default look," Aaron furthered. "Imagine how exhausting it'd be to consciously keep a smile on your face all the time."

While he said that, Mel retained her smile.

"Wow! Jeez, I wonder how that feels! That must be rough!" she said cheerfully.

Aaorn faltered. "No-- I-- Not that-- I didn't mean to--" He hid his face in both hands with a weary sigh.

Mel again giggled at that, but it really did seem like her laughing was genuine throughout the interview.

"I know, I'm just teasing!" she said playfully, then waved her hand in front of her. "Anyways, that's it! Phew. That wasn't so bad, was it, Aaron? I thought this was super fun! Thank you for spending time with me! You're the best!"

Letting his hands fall to the desk, Aaron hesitantly looked back at her. "...No, I suppose it wasn't so bad," he said quietly. "...Thank you, Mel."

"You're so welcome! And the morning isn't over yet, because I'm dragging you for more fun!" she said through a sunny grin. "But let's wrap this up first. Woooooo!"

She threw her hands up in the air, sending illusory sparkles around her.

"And that wraps up the montage! Hope you all enjoyed the show! Now time for our super fun outro! Throw me the kazoos, Cas!"

The cameraman then threw two neon yellow kazoos at her, which she gracefully caught, handing one to Aaron.

"Ready to play a song?" she asked excitedly. "Don't over think it! Just blow!"

After studying the kazoo, Aaron carefully held it up and gave it a singular "toot".

Mel waved as the camera zoomed out. "Bye, everyone! See you next time!"

As the credits began to roll, Mel glanced at Aaron, counting down with him. They both blew into the kazoo, and they both were extremely off key, with Aaron playing one monotonous note, and Mel doing her best to follow the melody.

After lying in bed for an hour or so-- dead tired but unable to catch a wink of sleep-- Lyall hauled himself back up to his feet just as the sky began shifting hues, indicating the sun's imminent appearance. His eyes drifted from his window to the desk beneath it. The contract still sat unsigned in the bottom-most drawer.

He finally grabbed a change of clothes, and padded out to the bathroom. He had to scrub himself of... whatever the hell had happened out in the forest. Both physically and mentally.

Lyall stood in the shower for an undetermined amount of time, watching the dirt and his thoughts spiral down the drain. His head felt literally cotton-stuffed. His limbs were like lead as he stepped out, and sluggishly wiped down an irregular circle in the foggy mirror. Gods, the bags under his eyes...

"What the hell has my life become," he muttered at his reflection.

A sharp, familiar shiver wracked his body. Through the bathroom window, the sun peeked up over the horizon.

Their magics finally switched back.

Chilled to the bone, Lyall hastily dressed for the day. He wrapped the cut on his neck, left by the mind reader-turned-beast, then tugged a hooded sweater over his head. Then threw open the window to air out the restroom, and quietly headed downstairs.

None of the lights downstairs were on. So the kitchen sat in relative darkness. Lyall was able to confirm his own powers had been fully restored when he could make out every dimly-lit detail. The stove, the sink with a smattering of dirtied utensils, the bowl of fly-covered fruit...

With the cabin east-facing as it was, the living room at the front was best lit. Silently venturing out, Lyall found his good friend Cyrin reclining in the armchair. The tangerine light of the rising sun fell across their tired face, and created a radiant halo effect of their elegantly disheveled mane. An empty wine glass sat on the coffee table by their propped up heel in front of them.

After scanning his friend a second time, he was relieved to find that Cyrin appeared completely unharmed, if a bit hungover.

"My dear Bridger," Lyall greeted, voice quiet as he mustered a grin. He shuffled in, and perched on the couch adjacent to the armchair. "Did you get any rest at all?"

Cyrin slowly leaned back, tilting his head over the edge of the armchair until he was looking at Lyall upside down. It was impressive the vertebrae in his neck could manage that.

"I am very restful," he drawled.

Lyall's grin warmed with fondness. "The very picture of serenity," he agreed.

Lingering worry still gnawed at his gut, though. What if there was a wound from the wolf left somewhere hidden?

Lyall had no choice but to directly ask, "How did you fare, after we got separated?"

Cyrin let out a little huff, hooking his legs over the other armrest. "I pulled a Howdeenee."

"A Howdeenee," Lyall echoed with a huffed laugh through his nose. He drew his knees up to his chest. "I don't imagine I'll get a direct answer, then, if I asked how you escaped? Magician's secrets, and whatnot?"

"That's true, a magician's not supposed to share," Cyrin muttered. "But luckily I'm only a mere escape artist. I have no secrets."

Lyall quirked a brow. Then, tone softening, he gently pressed, "You weren't hurt, were you? From the. Wolf."

Cyrin frowned. "No," he said, then pointed at Lyall's neck. "...But you were, unless that's a new scarf."

Grin faltering, Lyall folded his arms over his knees, and rested his chin on top. "Very astute observation," he answered vaguely.

Cyrin raised both his eyebrows-- or really, lowered them, since his head was upside down.

Sighing, Lyall relented, "Tis but a scratch. Nothing to worry about, my dear Bridger, it will heal itself in practically no time at all."

"But there's so much grass in the world, as a wise man once noted," Cyrin observed, "and only one you."

Ah. Shite. They had him there.

Lyall barked a wry laugh. "An endless well of wisdom, that man," he joked. "Sadly, nary a blade of grass in sight, at present."

Cyrin squinted around the room, as if to verify that it were true.

"We should go outside, then," he said, even though he looked inextricable from that armchair.

In which case, Lyall was content to stay where he was as well.

"I shan't argue with the true medical professional within this residence," he said amiably, leaning back to tuck himself into the corner of the couch.

"Ugh, you," Cyrin complained, stretching and sitting up. "Alright, two choices. One, we go find some weeds growing around this cabin, and I tell you the thrilling tale of my escape in return. Or I pick you up and haul you over myself."

Lyall pouted at him. "But it's so restful in here. Can't you just regale me with your tales of grand escapism now? No walking or carrying necessary."

"I could do that first, I suppose," Cyrin mused, "but not in lieu of proper healing."

"Sounds like we've got ourselves a deal, then," Lyall said diplomatically. "You tell me how you got out, and I won't fight you on a wellness swap with the weeds." He settled further back into the cushions, grabbing a pillow to hold and warm up with. "The floor is yours, mate. Spare no detail."

"I'll keep the armchair, but thank you," Cyrin said smoothly.

Lyall cast him an unamused stare. "Proceed," he demanded, an affectionate smile showing through.

Cyrin grinned, shifting in the chair to face him, arm now draped over the back, one foot resting on the armrest, and the other leg splayed out.

"T'was the night of the maze," they began, "and our protagonist was stranded and alone, up against a vicious wolf and an aggravating reflection." They paused. "Okay, too dramatic. Restarting."

Cyrin drummed their fingers against the chair thoughtfully.

"Once we got separated, I had to keep wrestling with it for a little while," they said. "By the way, I should share the moral of the story, which is that charging a wolf is a bad idea, and no one should do it, ever."

Tilting his head, Lyall managed an amused grin. His brow still furrowed with worry, though. "Then why on this good green earth, oh great Howdeenee, did you do it?"

"At no point did I claim to have good ideas," Cyrin said casually.

Nodding, Lyall had to concede this much. Such claims were in fact never made, thus no one could decry fraudulence.

"I do have ideas that work, though," Cyrin added. "Which are better than good ideas. Casper's reflection vanished after not too long, which allowed me to think. I had the wolf in a headlock, and while I was managing to keep my arm, my hand and fingers out of its jaws, I was going to need more than just luck." Cyrin paused. "The wolf did get the upper hand for one moment, and when that happened, it threw itself and me into one of the mirrors. But when it broke, I noticed something strange about it. There was something glowing in the cracks of glass, like a magical light."

Huh.

Lyall leaned forward again. "...Probably what powered the maze," he murmured in thought.

Cyrin nodded. "I had to take a guess on what it was specifically," they said. "The mirrors were magic, of course-- they had to be, in order for the illusion enchantment to work. But if it were only that, it wouldn't make sense that we couldn't hear Alan with nothing but a mirror between us, or that I couldn't hear you anymore. We had to have been separated. And so it seemed like they also had to contain portal magic."

Raising both brows, Lyall cast him an impressed grin as he started to draw the next natural conclusion concerning Cyrin's escape. "Clever thinking, despite the circumstances. How did you turn this to your advantage?"

Cyrin grinned back. "I got a sort of half-baked plan," he said. "I needed the wolf to tire out first, so I held on, waiting for it to give up slightly. When it did, I let go and then ran like the wind. It chased me, of course, but I had enough of a headstart to weave through the mirrors, causing it some confusion of where I really was." They paused again, but it seemed to be for dramatic effect. "The wolf charged me, but it was really targeting one of my reflections. I was safely waiting around the corner. When it did, it shattered the mirror entirely, revealing this wall of that same magic behind it. I took my chance, thought really hard of where I wanted to go, which was the cabin, and jumped through. It worked."

Lyall let out an awed breath. "Brilliant," he said. Then gestured loosely to Cyrin. "And thus, you made it back, completely unscathed?"

"Sure did," Cyrin said with a playful smirk. "Too bad no one was around to witness it."

"I'm sure there were plenty of cameras," Lyall said with a huffed laugh, sinking deeply into the couch cushions again, "capturing all angles of your magnificence."

"I can see it," Cyrin said, more dramatically. "The moment of a frozen, silent pause on the screen. Then the quick panning of a camera to a completely different location."

Lyall leaned his head sideways on his hand, idly scratching at his still-damp hair as he cast Cyrin a fond grin. "Just as the one and only Cyrin Bridger tucks and rolls into a superhero's landing. On our front porch."

The corner of the couch by now had cozied. Warm. Lyall felt his eyelids grow a touch heavy.

Gah, wait, Cyrin might not have been done with his story.

Though... maybe Lyall could use this to his advantage. Simply. Fall asleep, or even pretend to i he must, to put off the promised healing. It was such a small thing, it really would do fine on its own--

"Ah, nope, no dozing off," Cyrin said warmly. "That's the deal. Being carried is still on the table, if it must be."

Lyall frowned deeply and whined, "In a few minutes, it's so comfy here..."

And he meant it. He'd get up. In a few moments.

He just. Wanted to close his eyes. Just briefly.

"Alright, being carried it is," Cyrin said amiably.

Lyall blinked himself back to alertness, just a millisecond too slow. Arms slipped around his back and under his legs, and Cyrin steadily lifted him from the couch. Tensing, despite the slow, careful pace, Lyall clutched the pillow tighter to his chest with a surprised yelp.

"I said I'd walk!" Lyall said indignantly.

"Didn't hear it," Cyrin said teasingly but gently, carefully letting Lyall stand.

Well. Lyall didn't feel like walking either, actually.

Tiredly, he leaned with his head pressed against Cyrin's arm. "Must we?" he groused. "Can't it wait till... the end of time or something?"

"Yes, we must," Cyrin said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Because you shouldn't stay hurt for a second longer than you need to be."

Lyall sighed. Undeniably touched by the sentiment, he yielded once more and gestured for Cyrin to lead the way. "Let us find some weeds," he said, "oh masterful Howdeenee."

Cyrin grinned. "Fabulous. Right this way."

A deep, peaceful slumber. Finally, Alan could rest again. It felt like he would go days with little or bad quality sleep, then crash and sink into a deep, voidless space where he could feel at peace.

But in the arms of another, wearing his matching set of pajamas, on his bed, with a cat purring and sleeping squished between them... he felt like he could sleep for a whole day, if he wanted to. Or perhaps the life of a cat was inspiring his head too much, considering he had spent the whole day talking to Shrimp.

These were his thoughts as he woke up slowly, so slowly, trying to process and think through where he was.

Alan was laying on his side, head nestled against a chest. Someone was holding him, embracing his back and the back of his head.

It was peaceful. At least, for a minute.

You know what this could lead to. Right?

Suddenly more alert, Alan felt his heart rate spiking, a wave of dread pooling inside. He could hardly even think about where this was coming from or why. The feeling and thought suddenly hit him with no warning.

Go ahead. Give up your body. Please him. Then ask him again how much he wants you.

Alan didn't know what got into him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and in a wave of panic, he pushed off of the body holding on to him, not sure where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. Why he was thinking this.

The push was forceful and aggressive as Alan shoved the person away, at the same time, rolling off, trying to get away. Because-- because--

Threat. Threat. He's a threat. He's going to hurt you. Stop him before he does.

"No," Alan moaned, then grunted as he hit the floor, rubbing his head. Ow.

God, where was he? Who...? Wasn't he...

There was no time for this. He didn't know what happened, but there was shuffling. Movement. A meow. And...

Threat! Attack! Defend yourself! Stop him! He's coming after you!

"No!" Alan breathed out more panicked, scrambling to his feet, more alert.

God, he couldn't see. Where was his glasses?

No, he had to get away. He had to get away!

Attack!

No! He didn't know what was going on! He had to get away!

Alan felt his body move on its own, the world blurrying around him in a daze as he quickly crawled to the balcony with shaky hands. He had to-- open! Just open!

The door opened. The sky was so, so bright. Blindingly bright.

Jump!

No, he wasn't going to jump off a balcony!

Heart pounding against his chest, got up on his feet, reaching out to hold the balcony railing and keep himself from shaking uncontrollably.

Leave. He had to leave. He had to--

Jump!

No. Climb. He had to climb.

Alan blinked, and suddenly he found himself already holding on to the side shingles of the cabin, staring emptily at his shaky grip. He was... already climbing. He just had to--

Jump!

No!

Stubbornly, Alan reached for another shingle, and he thought it was fine. This was fine. He would climb down, and he could find his way out of... whatever and wherever this was.

But the air was knocked out of him, and for a moment there, he felt like he died. Because everything was so silent, and black, and--

Pain.

Alan's felt his finger twitch first.

Sand... damp, wet sand.

Beach...

Sky.

Island.

Birds.

Wind. Waves. Ocean.

Sun?

Shadows.

Silhouettes.

People.

Weapons.

Blood.

Alan snapped his eyes open, his head throbbing as he felt the world blurrily spin around him. This wasn't real. This didn't feel real. He had to be dreaming.

"Alan!" someone screamed at him from above him.

Oh, god. He had to get away. He had to get away!

They're going to catch you!

Who? Who was going to catch him? Why was he--

It didn't matter!

Shaking, Alan bit back the pain from falling-- he must have fallen, right?-- and crawled back, first on all fours, then on his legs after he realized he was making little progress in increasing distance.

He ran. He ran, and he ran, and he ran.

Where? He didn't know. Who? He didn't know? What? He didn't know, either.

He just ran.

And he almost ran into a building. No. A cabin. Whose cabin was this?

Fuck it, he didn't care. He didn't have any keys. Maybe-- maybe this was his. Maybe. Maybe, maybe. Maybe.

Alan almost wanted to laugh.

No.

He did laugh. He heard himself laugh.

But was he laughing? He wasn't laughing.

He was breathing.

Heavily. Shakily. Loudly.

Too loudly.

Why was everything so loud?

"Stop it," he whispered to himself, tightly closing his eyes for a moment as he grasped on to another shingle. "Stop it!"

But the voices didn't stop, taunting him, whispering to him. Telling him to run. Telling him to fight. To take what was his. To hurt others. To see everyone around him as a threat. To keep himself safe. To trust no one. See no one. Recognize no one.

Alan fell on the floor. Floor? Was he...

He was back on the balcony. The balcony floor. Whose? Where? How...

He climbed. He climbed here. To...

Alan heaved a breath, biting his tongue to hold in a wail, burrowing his head in his shaky arms. He had to get himself together. He had to get himself together.

Where was he?

Wind. Warmth. Sun. Floor...

He whipped his head up, remembering that he climbed on top of the balcony. Whose?

Alan stared at the glass door, recognizing the bed. The color of the walls. The furniture.

His room. Thank god. He was home. He was safe. No one could hurt him here.

Alan leapt on his feet, immediately grasping on to the glass handle, pulling it to the side. Hurriedly stepping in, he slid the door closed, slamming it shut with such force, he felt the walls shake.

Or maybe that was his vision. Everything was shaky. Shaky, blurry, wrong.

His head was pounding, his heart racing, his lungs heaving for air. It felt impossible to breathe. Impossible to think. Impossible to trust anyone or anything. Not even himself.

What was wrong with him?

Alan stared straight ahead, realizing something that caused another rush of panic to sweep through him: his door was open.

Close it! Close it now! They're going to get you!

He was by the balcony one second, by the door the next, slamming it again with such force, the sound hurt his ears. But at least, for a second, it calmed down the voices. The voices telling him he needed to attack or to run.

After locking the door, Alan sighed and fell to the ground, trying to calm his beating heart.

Alan was safe. He was safe here.

Right?

But he heard it again. He heard his name being called. There was a knock on the door. Who? What? Why?

"What do you want from me?" Alan whispered with a wavering voice, but he was already crawling away.

He wasn't safe here.

He had to get out.

Run.

Shane breathed in deep, holding on to the warmth in his arms with closed eyes. Shoulder blades, a spine, the back of a neck where soft hair gave way to softer skin. Alan was still against his chest, his temple to Shane's collarbone, his arms thrown around Shane's waist. He felt a smile move over his face, and he breathed in again, basking in the feeling of protecting while being protected.

If he opened his eyes, he'd want to study the way the light of sunrise reflected off Alan's hair, or wait for him to wake to find every dark fleck in his eyes. But for now, the remnants of sleep weighed on his eyelids, and he stayed still. There was no rush. It seemed like nothing would ever change, like maybe they could stay here until the summer ended. In the peaceful silence, Shane waited for its fall.

Alan did tense a little eventually-- a gentle reminder that time wouldn't allow them to stay here forever-- and hazily, Shane thought of something to tell him. Good morning. How'd you sleep? Any sweet dreams?

He parted his lips to ask-- and then suddenly, he was being violently shoved, heels of hands thrusting into his chest just below his ribcage.

Shane wheezed, doubling over from the violent force as he was pushed across the bed, the words dying on his tongue and escaping as a breathless grunt. He had the air knocked out of his lungs a second time as his back hit the wall his bed was against, hard. And in perfect demonstration of the law of conservation of momentum-- why did he know about that? When was the last time he'd taken a physics course?-- Alan was thrown back in the opposite direction, falling off the bed with a weak "No!" and a heavy thunk.

"Alan?" Shane gasped, but Shrimp's meow of panic drowned out his faint voice.

"No," Alan whispered, but it sounded like it... wasn't in reply to him. Shane managed to lift his head, craning his neck, while pressing a hand to his stomach. Was Alan... staggering to his feet? He was. And he was darting for the balcony.

Shrimp yowled, jumping at Shane in a panic, and he had to remember that his cat had probably gotten pushed too. But before Shane could grab him, Shrimp leapt away as quickly as he'd pounced on him, sprinting to some other corner of the room, and he couldn't keep track of him in the chaos.

Alan crawled the last few feet to the balcony, flinging the door open, and Shane didn't have time to process before Alan moved outside and clung onto the wall.

"What--?" Shane breathed, cut off by another wheeze, forcing himself to his feet and running to the balcony.

Alan was climbing down the cabin, movements erratic, limbs shaking, a crazed look in his eyes. And before Shane could shout a warning to him, Alan suddenly flung himself off the wall, jumping backwards with flailing arms.

"Alan!" Shane screeched, leaning towards him and reaching out an arm. But all he managed to do was fold himself over the railing and receive another sharp blow to the gut, this time in the form of a metal bar. He spluttered, tumbling to his knees on the balcony floor with a helpless choke.

He could see Alan sprawled on the ground through the bars, frighteningly still and slumped in an unnatural position. No. No.

"Alan!" Shane screamed, using every last bit of air in his breathless lungs, begging that he'd move.

And Alan did, springing up to all fours and hastily crawling through the sand before staggering to his feet and stumbling across the sand in a sprint. Aghast, Shane had little time for relief as he watched Alan run with staring eyes all the way back to his cabin, where he climbed up the side in the same feral manner, flung the balcony door to his room open, and slammed it behind him with such force that he could hear it across the beach.

Gasping, and frankly not awake enough for this shit, Shane collasped on his back, lying down on his balcony as he willed his lungs to breathe normally again.

No, no time for air. Where was Shrimp?

Shane rolled over on his stomach and forced himself up to his hands in what was the most difficult pushup he'd ever done, clambering back inside while still winded. Panting for air, he glanced desperately around the room, looking for the cat who had previously been a comet.

No sign, until he heard a faint meow from under the bed.

With a sigh of relief that was mostly a wheeze, Shane crawled over, poking his head under the bedframe. A pair of glowing eyes stared back at him from the near-darkness.

"Shrimp," he called softly in Aphiran, knowing he understood that name better than his name in Common. "Shrimp, it's okay." It probably was not.

The cat slinked out from under the bed, jumping at Shane with a scared mrrow, and he got on his knees and caught Shrimp in his arms, snuggling him to his chest. He could feel the quiver in Shrimp's legs, and he couldn't remember the last time his cat had been this terrified. Thunderstorms, fireworks, barking, and motors couldn't do it. But this had Shrimp trembling like a leaf.

"It's okay," he whispered breathlessly. "It's okay. It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. Scooping Shrimp up with him, Shane stood and raced back to the balcony, even the slight effort making his empty lungs burn.

For a minute, he could only stand helplessly at the railing, watching the other cabin and wondering what in the names of the Saints was happening in there. He got no hints, but suddenly Alan reappeared at the balcony, and Shane realized what was about to happen even before Alan hopped the railing.

"No!" he shouted as Alan jumped off the balcony for the second time.

This next fall didn't appear to knock him out, but Shane clapped a hand to his mouth in horror when he saw the way Alan landed on his ankle. It twisted underneath him in the sand before the rest of his body hit the ground. And then as Shane watched in shock, Alan pushed himself up, turned towards the rainforest, and started sprinting towards it on his injured ankle.

Shane could only stare helplessly, clutching a shaking Shrimp to his chest, as Alan disappeared among the trees. He was still reeling, physically from the blow and mentally from the whiplash.

"What the..." he muttered.

Common needed some stronger swear words than a simple fuck. He went for the fiercest one in Aphiran that he knew instead. Even that one fell short.

Ohhhhhh, fuck Tula. Alex was over it. When he came home, she was waiting for him in the living room like a parent, smirking and sitting in the lounge-chair, watching the door as if he'd been out since curfew.

"We have each other's magic," she said as a greeting, expecting him to jump to his own conclusion.

Alex closed the door behind him, letting out a long sigh as he observed her for a moment.

She'd seemed tired when she stormed off to the cabin, but now her eyes appeared alit with curiosity. It was more of a sadistic curiosity - the kind he was used to seeing in her, since she hardly showed any real emotions when it was just the two of them aside from contempt or annoyance.

Pursing his lips, he felt he was reaching the limits of his patience. Tula acted like he was her servant. Constantly ordering him around, acting like she was his superior and never like an equal. Even in the maze, she only wanted him around to use him.

He folded his arms, tilting his head as he waited for her to use her words and explain more.

Communicate like an adult. She needed to stop expecting him to read her mind.

Tula already seemed irritated that he wasn't reading her mind. She crossed her legs, her smirk fading into a frown.

"We could explore each other's magic on our own," she said innocently. "Or we could work as a team."

"You're suggesting we use it on one another," Alex said. "But you already did that to me in the maze."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Because the whole world is watching, sweetie." The devilish smirk returned. "Imagine what we could do in private."

Alex winced at that, hissing through his teeth as he began to stroll across the room.

"Yikes. Hm. I think I'd rather not," he said.

Tula huffed, getting up to bound after him. "Don't be stupid, Alexander. You can use my magic to spy on anyone you desire. I know you want to do it. I can teach you. It will be so easy."

Alex paused in his steps, glancing at her over his shoulder.

Okay. So maybe he did want to spy on someone.

"I knew it," Tula said, grin in her words as she came to a stop behind him. "All I want in return is to let me use your magic on you. A simple joy ride is all I ask."

Alex narrowed his eyes at her as a mirthless smile grew on his face at her use of phrasing. Joy ride. With her? Psh. He'd stopped being interested in that the moment she revealed she was a BLEEP.

"I assume that means I can use your magic on you as well?" he asked diplomatically.

"With my consent, yes. Consent goes both ways," Tula said with an empty smile.

"Naturally," Alex said with his smile thinning. "Well. If that be the case, you can spin your sand and give me dreams tonight. But do not make me sleep again."

Tula smirked. "Only because you asked nicely."

But maybe he should've asked nicer.

That night, Tula subjected him to the most disturbing, nonsensical combination of uncanny valley and reality-adjacent occurences. It felt like Tula found every possible idea she could based on his subconscious impressions and instead of picking one, she ran with them all. It felt like the most chaotic mashup of unrelated things in his life he'd ever seen. And none of it was enjoyable.

It was tasteless. It was done with no intention. No poetry. There was no art to it, no nuance. She didn't even try to write something with feeling, or plot, or even something that would move him - be it to terror or fascination. Instead it felt like a child clanging on pots and pans, calling it music when every tone was dissonant and uncomfortable.

He supposed that's what he should've expected from a woman who was obsessed with torturing a singular man for no apparent reason. Her whole mind was a clanging symbol, only moved by petty vengeance. Or jealousy. He felt like it was the latter for some reason, not that he thought there was anything to be jealous of James for.

Regardless, Alex was disappointed, and he woke up with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. As he laid in his lavish bed and stared up at the curtains draping overhead, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how other people felt when they woke up from his dreams.

Did they wake up with stomach aches too?

He huffed, trying not to let himself ponder on it too deeply, lest he lose the joy of it. He got up to the sunrise and was relieved to feel in-tune with other's sleep again. He could sense that Jay and Tula were sleeping nearby, and Aaron was absent - which he honestly expected.

And he preferred it that way. Aaron was a thorn in his side and a wendigo to boot. He'd rather the small man stay away.

Moving over to his vanity, Alex took the time to meticulously gel and tousle his hair as he always did, treating his morning routine like a religion. It helped clear his head of the lingering annoyance with Tula, and his overall situation, but this morning, it didn't fix everything.

The discomfort of the dream still lingered, and he didn't like how he felt about that.

It was like... he felt...

...Bad.

Huffing, he took out his clay facemask jar and started pasting it on. Just as the mask was beginning to set, he heard a heavy knock from downstairs.

Whipping around, Alex frowned at his bedroom door. Well, he almost did, but then righted his face so the mask wouldn't crack.

Narrowing his eyes, he waited, hoping someone else would get up and get it. But when he heard no signs of life from his other cabin mates, and then the knocking continued - more insistent, and obnoxious - Alex let out a long sigh.

Fiiiiiine.

Dragging himself out of his seat, he pulled his bathrobe around his waist and tied it off for decency, and then came down the stairs at a stubbornly normal pace, listening to the unending rapping on the door until he finally opened it, and it stopped.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting.

Aaron, maybe, if he'd been locked out. Or possibly Lyall - though he wasn't sure why that came to mind.

But instead, it was Hendrik. For once, he actually looked... nice.

Hendrik was dressed in a navy polo, tucked into khaki pants. His dark hair was slicked back with gel, his beard neatly trimmed. Alex was aware that he'd been caught off guard and was staring.

Upon seeing Alex, Hendrik straightened up, his eyes flicking up and down the robe.

"Alexander," he greeted gruffly. "Morning."

Trying to quickly collect himself, Alex flashed a minimal smile, feeling the mask on his face crack around the creases of his mouth.

"Well hello, Hendrik," he said. "It's a surprise to see you - looking well, no less. Had I known you were coming by I'd have at least washed my face before coming down. I thought you were a cabin-mate."

Hendrik let out a "hmph" and shook his head.

"No, sir. Came all the way down from over yonder." Hendrik gestured back at his cabin further down the shoreline.

Alex leaned forward a tad to peek out the doorframe and follow his finger. Then he looked back to Hendrik.

"When did you wake up, exactly?" Alex asked more seriously, dropping the usual lilt to his voice.

"Sunrise. That's when I got my legs again," Hendrik said, then fiercely frowned. "The hell kind of puzzle is that? Making me turn invisible sometimes. How the hell was I supposed to get out of that damn maze?" He tsked, shaking his head again. "Damn game was rigged from the start."

"That it was," Alex said, tilting his head as he looked Hendrik up and down, this time not just to observe his physique, but actually out of curiosity. Hendrik must have run home to change before coming to see him. Why had Hendrik been compelled to clean up?

And... had Hendrik even been conscious when the winners were announced?"

"So you wear face masks?" Hendrik suddenly asked. "Makes sense. Your face is as soft as a baby's ass."

Alex has to fight not to smile at that. Hendrik's humor was often very jarring, but it greatly amused him.

"It won't be if you keep cracking jokes like that," Alex said, briefly waving a hand over his face in an attempt to keep himself from being too expressive. "Smiles cause wrinkles, you know."

"Well, it's your lucky day, 'cause I'm not here to make you smile," Hendrik said as he cleared his throat, standing up straighter and more upright like a soldier. "I'm here to apologize, comrade. You took care of my drunk ass last night. That was a disgrace, but you did your best. No good deed goes left unsaid. So, sorry about that, but also, thank you."

Alex stared at Hendrik for a moment, finding himself once again caught off guard at the very direct and open expression of gratitude. He wasn't sure what came over him in that moment, but if he had to describe it, he supposed he'd say he felt... endeared? Strangely warmed?

No, that was too... touchy-feely.

He let out a small laugh.

"Oh, Hendrik," he said. "It's nothing, really. I'm just sorry that I lost you. It was, quite honestly, very difficult to keep track of you. Which is saying something, since my regular job is to track things."

"I gave you a run for your money. Better luck next time." Hendrik huffed through his nose. "There won't be a next time, though. 'Cause I'm not getting drunk like that again." He patted his belly. "Not with this liver, I'm not."

God, it was so hard not to laugh at the man. Something about Hendrik's straight-faced unironic delivery tickled Alexander to no end. The desire to laugh, however, quickly died when Hendrik appeared to... well. Was he actually swearing off alcohol? No.

Alex tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, admittedly quite skeptical.

Hendrik was merely saying he couldn't get drunk like that again, because now his powers were back. And well, that was honestly alarming. Indestructable liver or not.

"Hendrik," Alex said more slowly, hoping that the man could hear the severity of his tone as he levelled Hendrik with his eyes. "You do realize that just because you can't die from alcohol poisoning doesn't mean your alcoholism is any less of an issue."

A beat.

"Right?"

At first, Hendrik stared at him with a frown, matching the same level of seriousness. But this only lasted for a second before he let out a guffaw, bellowing out a loud, deep laugh. Reaching over, Hendrik gave Alex's shoulders three firm pats.

Oh god. Hendrik was really that deep in denial, wasn't he?

"Good one, flamingo," Hendrik said, still chuckling.

"I'm not joking," Alex cut in. "Alcoholism affects far more than just your liver. And it's more than just a bad habit. Tell me truthfully - when was the last time you were willingly sober?"

"What is this, an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting?" Hendrik sneered. "Spare me the lecture, baby face. I know already."

"You resorting to insults and condescencion won't work on me," Alex said flatly.

He got enough of that from Tula.

"I know you don’t think your alcoholism is an issue because you’ve never had to deal with the consequences of it. But I hope last night gives you some kind of wakeup call - because if you take away your powers, you’re one more drink away from killing yourself. If I'd left you to your own devices last night, you would not be alive right now. And you don't strike me as the kind of man who actually wants to die."

The humor was quick to wash away from Hendrik's face, instead being replaced with... impression.

"I like you. You've got spunk," Hendrik said, pulling down his lips and nodding. "Noted. Thank you for your concern. You've got my back, I've got yours. You can count on that. No drink required."

Alex held his breath for a moment, not sure if Hendrik was taking Alex seriously or just giving Alex a pat answer. Alex didn't expect to "fix" Hendrik, but he had to be honest. Hendrik would've drunk himself into the grave if Alex hadn't been there. It wasn't about spunk. Hendrik was being foolish.

Alex took in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, letting the severity in his eyes soften.

"Well... good, then," he said. But then added: "I hope you haven't forgotten anything you said last night."

"My useless liver failed me. My head did too. Memory's a black hole," Hendrik said with a clenched jaw.

Alex slightly pursed his lips. He didn't want to admit how disappointed he was at that.

Oh. Well... that was too bad.

"Have you eaten yet? Was wondering if you'd be open to filling me in during breakfast," Hendrik went on.

Disappointment lifting, Alex felt a small smirk grow on his face, and he leaned against the doorframe. Was Hendrik asking him on a proper date? No, he knew he couldn't call it that, but he ashamedly wanted to. Unless... Hendrik did dress up for more than one reason?

No. Alexander shut that down and whipped up a bright, easy smile.

"As it turns out, you caught me just before breakfast," he said, with of course a touch of sarcasm.

He thought it'd have been obvious based on his appearance.

"Mmhmm. You need time to get ready. I can wait," Hendrik offered.

Stopping himself short of asking Hendrik to come with him upstairs while he got ready, Alex amended and instead said: "Would you like to wait downstairs?"

Hendrik, at least, could stay downstairs. That was... proper and gentlemanly, right? He felt so.

"Is flying man awake? If so, I'd rather not. He gives me the creeps," Hendrik said, frowning.

"Thanks to the return of my magic," Alex said, aware that Hendrik wouldn't remember their secrets shared. "I can confirm he is still sleeping soundly."

Hendrik nodded slowly, arching a brow. Connecting puzzle pieces, but struggling.

"Right," he said slowly. "You got coffee?"

"In the kitchen," Alex confirmed. "You can help yourself."

"Then you take your time looking pretty, buttercup. I'll wait for you with my cup of joe."

Chin angled up, Lyall leaned closer to the restroom mirror to inspect where the cut on his throat used to be.

"Completely gone," he murmured with open fascination. "Nary a trace."

Cyrin, who was standing over his shoulder, smiled back at him in the mirror. "I didn't know if you wanted a cool guy scar, so I made sure it didn't."

Lyall met Cyrin's eyes through their reflections. "Much appreciated," he said, cracking a grin. "I'd rather leave my stunning complexion unmarred, yes."

Cyrin let out a laugh. "You're welcome for keeping it stunning."

Twisting around, Lyall leaned back against the sink to face his friend directly. "So, transferring from me to weeds didn't cost you anything, right? Aside from... energy, perhaps, or braincells, or what have you?"

"Honestly, it didn't even really cost me that," Cyrin said. "Only a few seconds of time. The only real requirement is focus, which is proportional to whatever I'm transferring. Of course, if it's being transferred to or from me, it can feel like it's draining my energy, but that's really only because of the injury's effects."

Lyall nodded as he listened intently. He folded his arms and quirked a curious brow. "And how often do you find yourself using your ability in this way?"

Cyrin gave him an almost bashful half-shrug with one shoulder. "Not as much as I used to. When Magnus was young, he'd get injured all the time. That kid had a knack for running into everything." They let out a faint, soft laugh. "I was soft on him. For a few years, I went around with a scattering of various bruises and scrapes, but I didn't mind. He got to be a kid, without any worries." Cyrin gave him a small grin that was almost shy to show itself. "Although he was the most adorable thing back then, I can't lie that I'm glad he's moved on from tripping over every patch of air."

Lyall felt his grin soften with open affection. "We ought to nominate you for the Best Big Brother award," he said warmly. Then teasingly added, "You can hang it by your medal of foolishness."

Cyrin grinned wider. "Oh, those would be the only two awards I have that actually matter."

"They are to be cherished for the rest of time," Lyall agreed. "No greater accomplishments could be had."

"Ah, ah," Cyrin said, holding up a finger. "Surely your stunning complexion deserves an honorable prize."

Huffing a laugh, Lyall bowed his head with a little flourish of his hand. "I should like to thank my mum," he said grandly, "the entire medical commumity, and most of all, my dear friend Cyrin Bridger. Were it not for him, I would not be standing before you today, nearly as physically flawless as I am currently."

Cyrin laughed. "My contribution was pretty minimal. All I had to do was not do a rushed job and tell you not to squirm."

"I was quite still," Lyall playfully shot back. Then asked, curiosity instantly piqued once more, "So, it could leave a mark?"

"It can," Cyrin confirmed, "if I'm too hasty or instinctive about it. Which has really only happened a couple times."

Did Lyall dare ask which times?

"For instance?" he did indeed dare to ask.

Cyrin paused, a brief distant look flickering over their face, as if they were recalling something.

"There was one time with Magnus," they said. "He was five, I was eighteen. He got a cut on his arm from mishandling some scissors. It wasn't serious, but it looked dramatic, and I remember freaking out when I saw the injury. I don't remember trying to heal it, but I must've on instinct, because it healed rapidly, and that's how I learned it can scar if I'm not deliberately taking action about it."

With a hesitation, Cyrin then rolled up their sleeve to their elbow, pointing to a mark on the underneath of their forearm. It was a small line maybe an inch and a half long, lighter than the skin around it.

"It scarred for him, and then me too when it healed up on its own," Cyrin said. "I felt bad at first, but Magnus actually liked it. He said he feels like it makes him look tough, and now we have matching scars."

Tilting his head, Lyall studied the scar-- a mark that declared bolder than ink and the spoken word the sheer amount of love Cyrin held for his younger brother.

"And the award for best big brother officially goes to," Lyall said, soft yet playful as he met Cyrin's eyes again, "Mister Cyrin Bridger."

Cyrin's smile was soft as they rolled up their sleeve, but their voice was teasing. "Is that a reaffirmation of my earlier award, or is it one that can be won more than once, like a No Bell Prize?"

"You were only nominated and in the running just a moment ago," Lyall corrected with a grin. "Now the public has cast their last votes. The scores tallied up in your favor."

"Ah, thank you. I thought it was a battle already won, but you've spared me the worry of paying attention to the final count," Cyrin said with a sigh of mock relief.

Lyall huffed in amusement. "It was a close call," he went on. "Competition was quite fierce. Lot of--"

Through the wall to his left-- from Alan's room-- a door slammed, and things clattered loudly to the floor.

Brow furrowed, Lyall glanced questioningly to Cyrin. "I guess Alan's back?"

"Maybe," Cyrin muttered.

But something felt off.

A second door was whipped shut, louder than the first.

"That's the door to his room," Cyrin said quickly. "Is he slamming it over and over, or was that first time the balcony...?"

Lyall pushed off from the edge of the sink, alarm starting to set in. "The first time sounded more distant," he uttered as he slipped out into the hall.

"And neither sounded good," Cyrin muttered, quick to follow on his heels.

Lyall slid to a stop at Alan's door. He tested the handle. Locked. He uttered a curse under his breath.

"Alvaro?" he called, urgently tapping his knuckles to the door. "Everything alright?"

He could have sworn he heard Alan's voice inside. But his response was so faint that Lyall thought for a split second he simply imagined it. What he didn't think he imagined were the sounds of loud clattering behind the door.

"Let me try," Cyrin said urgently, reaching for the doorknob.

Without question, Lyall stepped aside.

"Alan," he tried calling again, "what's going on? Are you hurt?"

When he caught the sounds of frantic scurrying and glass shattering on the other side, Lyall actually started to panic. "Alan!"

Cyrin looked away from rattling the doorknob, shooting Lyall a very concerned look over their shoulder. "Check the distance between your balcony and Alan's," they said urgently.

Oh, shit, was Alan actually going to jump?

With hardly even a nod of acknowledgment, Lyall bolted for his own room.

"Wait!" Cyrin said suddenly, shoving the door open. "It wasn't locked properly."

Skidding to a step by his own door, Lyall cast them a look of confusion for just a split second.

That didn't sound right. It was most certainly locked when he tried it.

Cyrin didn't wait for him to stand around and be perplexed, though, because they darted inside Alan's now-accessible room. Without sparing it a second thought himself, Lyall slid in close after him.

The room was empty, with his balcony door wide open, sheer curtains blowing in the breeze. Papers and books were scattered around the floor, along with a broken lamp, shards of glass glinting against the floor.

Alan was nowhere to be found.

He actually jumped.

Cyrin led the way out to the balcony. Skidding out, and roughly hitting the railing, Lyall glimpsed Shane across the way. He likewise stood outside, in flannel pajamas with his hair mussed, and face in utter shock as he held his cat close to his chest. His head was turned down and to the side, and as Lyall followed his gaze, he saw Alan stumbling over the sand at close to running speed, bolting towards the trees until they swallowed him up.

Cyrin muttered something fierce sounding that wasn't in Common, and might not have been in Aphiran, either.

"Alan!" Lyall yelled uselessly. Then stood back dumbly, hands raking through his hair as the realization of what had just happened hit him full force.

Someone had to go get him. He had to have broken something, right?

What the bloody hell was Alan thinking, flinging himself from the balcony? Was he even thinking?

"Lyall! Cyrin!"

It was Shane, hollering across the distance between their cabins, waving his arms. He sounded breathless.

"Something's wrong with Alan!" Shane shouted.

"What in the holy hells happened?" Lyall called back, arms spread in an incredulous shrug.

"I don't know!" Shane yelled. "He jumped out of here, too!"

"Fuck!" Lyall threw his hands skyward as he turned away, pacing in his distress.

That was twice, then!

Oh, gods. Poor Hawking must have been just as shaken by all this, if not more so. He looked like he'd just been asleep mere moments ago, so this had to have been a very rude awakening for him.

He turned back to Shane. "Are you alright?" he called with clear concern in his voice.

Shane hesitated for a long moment.

"Are you hurt?" Cyrin called to clarify.

"Not really!" Shane shouted.

Lyall frowned deeply. "Elaborate?" he asked, voice pitching with worry.

"I got..." Shane paused, seemingly catching his breath. "Shoved. I should be okay."

Lyall nodded, gaze drifting back down to where Alan had landed in the sand.

What in the actual hell was going on here?

Something had gone severely wrong, between last night when Lyall last saw Alan-- who was practically skipping with glee between obstacles-- and now. The musician most certainly did not have a track record of recklessly flinging himself off of buildings. Perhaps he was a little short-sighted and a touch impulsive, sure. But not borderline suicidal!

Had Alvaro gotten any sleep at all? Even if he hadn't, sleep deprivation wouldn't have wrought out of nowhere this level of utter insanity--

The memory of that mind reader's plaque-covered smile and maniacal laughter flashed across the forefront of Lyall's mind. He'd used Alan's influence to steer him away, since Stravos couldn't be convinced without it.

Consequences. But, they were withheld, he thought? Lyall mentally skimmed back through the terms and conditions.

...Shite. It never mentioned a time frame. Everything must have been hitting Alan, now that the maze was over and done with.

Dashing back through Alan's room to reach ground level, Lyall determined to fix this mess. Somehow.

"Wait, wait," Cyrin said, hurrying after him. "Who are we finding? Alan or Shane?"

"'Wait'?" Lyall echoed incredulously, but hesitated in the hallway. "For what? Alan just threw himself from the second floor!"

"We don't know why he's acting like a rabid animal," Cyrin said hurriedly. "And when someone is acting like one of those, I prefer to know why they're acting that way before I approach them."

Lyall glanced desperately at the stairwell. "There's no way he didn't hurt himself," he said urgently. "We need to find him sooner rather than later."

"And do what when we find him?" Cyrin urged him. "We need a plan."

Beckoning him along with a nod, Lyall started down the stairs. "Which we can figure out on the way, once we grab Shane to give us a rundown of what happened."

He ran out the door, neglecting the concept of footwear entirely. Cyrin mumbled something, but dashed after him.

"Where are you going?" Shane shouted as they came into view.

"To find Alvaro!" Lyall answered, coming to a stop under Shane's balcony. "Did anything in particular startle him into such a panic?"

Shane shook his head. "No. I thought he was asleep, and--"

A look of awkwardness passed over his face, like he didn't much feel like sharing this.

"--out of nowhere, he shoved me, fell off the bed, ran for the balcony, and jumped out," Shane finished, much more quietly.

So, Alan just. Woke up all discombobulated and insane. Right out the gate.

Lyall scrubbed a hand over his face. Timeline-wise, it tracked. The sun had made its full appearance by now.

"I didn't do anything," Shane said weakly. "I swear, I didn't."

Lyall looked back up, compassion drawing his brows inward. "I don't doubt you, not in the least," he called in earnest. "You're absolutely sure you're alright?"

"Yes. Just..." Shane adjusted his hold on Shrimp-- who reappeared to be clinging to his chest without need for support-- to wave a hand helplessly. "Worried."

Nodding, Lyall glanced back to the trees where Alan disappeared. He bumped his hand to Cyrin's arm. "You coming, or staying?"

Concern slipped over Cyrin's face, and his thoughts were clear in that moment. He still didn't think Lyall should go.

Setting his jaw, Lyall nodded resolutely once more.

That was fine. He had an obligation to fix this, though.

Just as he took his first step toward the forest, though, one of the filming crew popped out from the shrubbery, waving an arm.

Lyall determinedly marched out to the treeline.

"Whoa, hey," the cameraman said, meeting him halfway with his hands held up placatingly.

Lyall threw his hands heavenward with a frustrated noise as he tried side-stepping him. "Does no one here understand that he's probably hurt--?!"

Caspar held out a long arm, effectively blocking his way. "I do," he said, tone steady. "I'm on my way to grab help for your friend. So the longer you fight me on this, the longer it takes for him to get proper assistance."

Lyall pushed his arm away. "You found him? Where is he?"

The cameraman obliged and stepped back. "With a friend of mine. We have healers on staff. He'll be okay, and back soon." Taking long strides backwards to the treeline, he waved for Lyall to turn back. "Check on Mister Shane in the meantime!" And, without further ado, he disappeared back in the trees.

Cyrin jogged up to Lyall, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You heard him," they said softly. "He's going to be taken care of. We can help him better by staying back here."

Running both hands over his hair, Lyall exhaled slowly.

Fine. Okay. They had healers. Alan was in good hands then. Far, far better hands than Lyall's...

"You're right," Lyall murmured, allowing Cyrin to steer him back, "you're right."

Cyrin gave his shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze as they returned to below the balcony, where Shane was still watching.

"Do you want to come over to our cabin?" they hollered up. "Talk over what just happened while we wait?"

Shane paused. "Can I bring Shrimp?"

"Of course," Lyall answered, shaking himself from his thoughts.

Shane nodded. "I'll change and meet you there," he said quickly, turning inside and closing the balcony door.

Slowly tugging her headphones down, Shay stared wide-eyed at the now-empty balcony-- the second of which Alvaro fucking yeeted himself from in the span of two minutes. Beside her, her buddy lowered his camera in a similarly stunned silence.

They shared a look. Then threw down their equipment to give chase through the forest.

"He had to have broken something," Caspar muttered as they ducked through the trees.

"Dude's built like a damn bird," Shay agreed.

A roadrunner, in particular. She was actually breaking a sweat, breaths hard as she tried at least keeping him in sight.

Up ahead, Alan veered left.

"Then why can't we catch him?" Caspar asked incredulously.

Shay smoothly swung the corner. Cas made it, albeit less gracefully, but still keeping up.

Shay just shook her head, now having to split her attention between not tripping and falling onto her face, and formulating a game plan for when Alan finally slowed down. Guy was acting like some spooked critter, which was so far out of his ordinary. So she had to be careful in approaching.

"Go get Bo!" she said, waving her buddy back. "I've got Alvaro."

The yelling caused Alan to trip, just barely catching himself as his hands shot out in front of him, landing on the dirt. He was shaking like a leaf, whimpering in pain. Her yelling must have alerted him, but still, he didn't even glance back.

He just ran. This time, even faster. Like he was trying to get away from them now.

Another turn for the two in pursuit.

Grabbing a low-hanging branch, Shay followed.

Cas slid shoulder-first into the tree, but quickly pushed off again. "Shouldn't we get Elise?"

"No," Shay answered firmly. "Bo."

With a nod, Caspar fell out of step with her, and quickly disappeared over a ridge for the staff area.

Just you and me, Alvaro, Shay thought, determinedly pushing on.

It was only for another couple minutes, thank god. She caught a limp starting to weigh down on Alan's pace.

Her first instinct was to yell for him to fucking stop already. He was hurt! But he was also scared out of his mind, so she bit it down.

Turns out, that wasn't necessary. Passing a thicket of trees, he slowed to a stop on his own, completely out of breath. But he wasn't out of breath because of the run-- he was hyperventilating.

Shakily placing a hand on the tree trunk, Alan stood there taking in jagged breaths, head hung low. With every passing second, he was biting down more pain, and his whimpers turned to moans as his knees buckled. He got down on all fours, shaking with heavy breaths at the base of the tree.

Shay slid to a stop-- nearly overcorrecting and falling on her ass. Leaning back probably ten-ish feet away, she fought to catch her breath as quietly as possible.

Alright, how to approach now without scaring him off again?

Straightening, Shay maintained that distance, walking a wide ring around him so that he might see her before hearing her.

Then realized, shit, the dude didn't even have glasses on.

"Alan?" she called gently. "Buddy, you look hurt."

Alan was still gasping for air, bowing his head so low, it nearly touched the dirt.

"Stop," he breathed out with a wavering voice.

It was supposed to be a demand, but it sounded more like a plea.

"It's just your pal Shay, alright?" she explained, crouching low as she slowly crept closer. "What's spooked you?"

At her name, Alan slowly raised his head up toward the direction of her voice, visibly tensing. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his brown hair clinging to his skin. His eyes were bloodshot and brimming with an unexplainable source of deep fear.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said hoarsely, beginning to crawl away from her slowly, moaning with pain.

Shay stopped in her tracks, hands held up non-threateningly. "You can't, I promise," she said, light and reassuring. "I got muscles of bronze like a fucking Oolympian."

Alan only whimpered in response, viciously shaking his head as he took another step with his elbows.

Softening her tone again, she went on, "You're okay, Alan. We're good here. You're safe with me."

"No. No, no, no. Stop!" he suddenly cried.

Crouched over, Alan violently slammed his head against the dirt and frantically ruffled his hands through his hair, still shaking his head while his body trembled.

"Shut up! Leave me alone!" he wailed with a raw, hurt voice. He took in a shuddered breath, sobbing and softly moaning, "Please. Stop."

Shay frowned deeply. She wasn't doing or saying much else.

He was probably exacerbating his injuries in this panicked state. But she couldn't just touch him, he'd probably react poorly. Make it worse.

She inched closer, slowly, to gauge how well he could sense her presence. When that didn't ruin anything, she closed the distance and hovered a hand over his shoulder.

"Alan," she said, trying to bend down within his field of very-limited vision, "what's bugging you? Talk to me, okay?"

But Alan only cried in response, head hung low as he quietly sobbed, shaking his head. He wasn't seeing her.

God, it was fucking awful to see him like this.

Shay warmly rested a hand over his shoulder. "I got you, alright buddy?" she murmured, "help's on the way--"

But upon her touch, Alan immediately tensed up, snapping his head back up with sheer panic. On instinct, he swung his arm around to shove her hand away, but Shay pulled away before he could hit her.

With sharp, jagged breaths, Alan crawled again, now making it his mission to move away from her. He was now seeing her as a threat.

"Dude," she pleaded, staying firmly in place, "we're fine. You'll be okay."

But he wasn't hearing her. Alan was still slowly crawling away, panic and fear present in his hyperventilating breaths and trembling body.

Okay, no touchy.

Still keeping close by, Shay dug through her jacket pocket to shoot off a text. A friendly reminder that there was in fact a man suffering from getting plowed over by the struggle bus, with a small hint of 'hurry the fuck up' in her tone. Because there was no way to over-emphasize the urgency of this situation.

Cas replied incomprehensibly-- a consequence of being a big old dude running with a flip phone in the 21st century. Shay got the message, though; he and Bo were close.

"You're doing alright," Shay murmured encouragingly, turning back to Alan. "Sit tight, my guy."

To keep the guy from flying off the fucking handle again, Shay quickly resorted to rambling. About the tides, the weather-- or lack thereof. She wanted more rain, dammit. Maybe even a storm, make surfing more of a challenge. Give the film crew a fucking day off too.

Alan's breathing evened out a bit. A good sign. So Shay continued to fill the silence.

She talked about how she thought Mel was so damn adorable, but quickly found the fashionista was also insanely boy-crazy. So that ship probably wasn't sailing this century or the next. Then she wondered aloud if that had anything to do with the fact that Mel had two dads.

"This ain't my first rodeo, you know," she eventually explained amicably. "I gotta baby cousin back home. Night terrors practically all the time. Rough block, so kid hears stuff, right? Anyway. Talking through this kind of thing helps him a lot. Grounds him. Guess it's working so far with you, too."

She hazarded a glimpse at Alvaro.

Aside from the constant short deep breaths, Alan's breathing had returned to normal. He was crouched on the ground, hanging his head low so that his short hair concealed his face. He was quiet, but at least he was still, and he was steady.

Shay glanced behind her when there was a faint rustling. It must have been Bo and Cas sprinting through the forest now. Finally.

But just as she was finally about to pass the baton, Alan finally spoke.

"What's wrong with me?" he whispered with pain in his voice, barely audible.

"We 'bout to figure that out together," Shay promised him, "don't worry, Alan."

Then she heard footsteps approaching behind her, and the tall figure of Bo was spotted through the trees. He flashed Shay a look of gratitude in acknowledgement as he turned to Alan with concern. He nodded quietly, as if to dismiss her while he slowly and calmly approached Alan, coming around into Alan's field of vision so he could be seen. Shay nodded in turn, but stayed where she was. Just in case.

Bo crouched down, leaving a few feet between him and Alan, and he ventured no further. Instead, he sat down, mirroring Alan's small posture, and he tilted his head to the side with concern and empathy.

"This is really scary, isn't it?" he asked softly. "I'm so sorry."

Alan tensed at the sound of his voice, slowly angling his head up, first taking in his shoes, then finally, Bo's face. Panic and fear quickly ramped up again, coursing through him as he turned to wobble on his feet, ready to make a run for it. Bo moved forward with a quick but careful pace. Before Alan could get to his feet, Bo steadied him, holding him still by the shoulders.

"Hey," Bo said. "I know. I know it all hurts. I don't want you to hurt yourself more, okay?"

"No," Alan moaned, biting back a sob as he weakly attempted to pry Bo's hands off him. "Leave me alone!"

"It's not kind to leave someone who's in pain alone," Bo said softly, still holding Alan steady. "And it looks like you're really hurting, Alan. I know this is overwhelming, but we'll find a way to help you. We know this isn't you."

But the words weren't sinking in. Alan thrashed under his grasp, flailing as he grunted and yelped to get free, scratching at his arm like a feral animal.

Bo reached around Alan, gently grabbing him in an embrace. He lifted Alan up off his feet, letting Alan flail and scratch where he could, but Bo was undisturbed and didn't put him down.

"I'm sorry I can't transport you with more dignity," Bo apologized. "But we need to get that broken bone looked at. I think you'll start feeling a lot better once you're not in physical pain. I know it won't fix everything, but it will help some."

Even though Alan clearly wasn't comprehending or responding to Bo's words of comfort, Bo continued to say them calmly and softly, much like a parent to a child throwing a tantrum.

"I think you should meet my wife," Bo said. "She should be able to heal your leg for you. And we'll get you something non-pajama-y to wear. Maybe some tea, if you're up for it."

This went on for some time, with Alan desperately trying to free himself by flailing in Bo's grasp while scratching at his arm. He moaned the same thing over and over again: no, please, leave me alone, I don't want to hurt you.

And to that, Bo's constant assurance was: can't do much hurting that can't be healed, and I'm not hurting nearly as much as you.

After several minutes of this, Alan lost the energy to fight back or say much else, finally letting Bo embrace him as he sobbed in his arms with a trembling body.

"Okay, buddy," Bo said softly. "Let's get you some help now."

Bo make eye contact with Shay, giving another small nod as he started to walk, carrying Alan back the way they came. Jumping upright, Shay flashed Bo a sad but appreciative smile.

She bumped shoulders with Cas with a joking, "Took you long enough," as they fell into step behind Bo.

Caspar's amusement quickly faded, replaced by that usual guilty, morally-troubled grimace of his. "...I think we lost some of the balcony footage," he mumbled slowly.

Shay nodded, catching his drift. "Sand got all up the camera's ass. Can't be helped."

Shay overheard Bo murmur something else ahead of them, but it was too quiet to catch. He must've been talking to Alan. It was unclear if Alan was truly hearing him, since he limply attempted to push himself free, quietly sobbing.

It now was a matter of time before he'd get the help he needed.

The day was sunny. The air was warm. Ingrid hadn't had a vacation like this in years, and she was fully embracing it: sunbathing by the pool, laying back on the chairs in her bikini with her face to the sun.

God, there was nothing better than an all-expenses paid vacation to a tropical island, with cruise-ride included. Problematic ex be damned, she was going to enjoy this.

A server came around, setting her martini on the table beside her with a short greeting.

"Thank you," she said with a relaxed smile, sitting up as the server walked away to pick up the glass, swishing it in front of her before taking a sip.

She let out a satisfied sigh. They really had the best of the best here. Even the drinks were top of the line.

A young woman was making her way across the deck, in a bathing suit and with sunglasses on her face. She didn't seem like she was there to swim, though, judging by the book she took with her, marking a page with a finger. The title indicated it was something about solar physics. She came to a stop at a lounge chair near Ingrid.

"Is this seat free?" she asked.

Ingrid waved her hand loosely in invitation. "I don't need two."

The woman nodded, sitting down and resting her legs comfortably on the chair. She didn't open her book immediately, instead resting it on her knee with the pages open as she scanned the sky with an impassive gaze.

Ingrid watched her for a moment with idle curiosity. Though the cruise ship was massive, all of the visitors that had been invited to guest star on Island Magic were kept in the same wing. She'd already seen this woman a few times from afar, or passing through the same halls. Ingrid had already concluded that all of them were invited because of their connections to the Island Magic's "stars." So the recurring introductory question between any of them that met was always the same.

Who were they there for?

"I don't think we've met," Ingrid said. "My name's Ingrid. What's yours?"

The woman glanced her way, giving her a slight, polite flicker of a smile. "I'm Alex. Nice to meet you, Ingrid."

"You as well," Ingrid said with a small nod and a brief lift of her drink. "I've noticed you around the ship. You're one of the 'guest-stars,' aren't you?"

Alex let out a slight laugh, shaking her head, but not in a way that meant 'no'. "Is that what they're calling us? I figured we were just a shipment of people likely to cause more drama. But yes, that would be me. You?"

"Me too," Ingrid said. "I think what we're officially being called on paper is just 'visitors'. But 'guest-star' sounds so much more exciting, don't you think?"

"It does," Alex agreed. "Like we're featured on a season special episode, but for a full week."

"I'm quite positive we'll become small-scale celebrities after this," Ingrid said with a small grin. "Island Magic is talked about religiously on every media outlet. Even if people are trying to avoid it, they won't be able to."

Alex chuckled. "Oh, we will be. You can expect some attention after this. Hopefully that's your kind of thing."

"What, are you hoping to stay out of the limelight?" Ingrid asked, taking another sip of her drink.

"No chances of that," Alex said, flicking up her sunglasses to rest above her forehead. "I was a small-scale celebrity for a while because of a relationship that, surprise, is why they're bringing me on here. So looks like that'll come to light again."

Intrigued, Ingrid tucked her legs up and brought them around the chair, sliding them off the side so she was facing Alex. She leaned back on one arm and rested her elbow against her thigh to held her martini aloft in front of her. She flashed Alex a faint smile of curiosity.

"Well now you have to tell me who it is," she said. "I'm dying to know."

Alex laughed, grinning slightly as she held out a hand in front of her, spreading her fingers like she was revealing something. But there wasn't anything to show-- which seemed to be the point.

"I was engaged to Shane Hawking," she said with a shake of her head. "For two full years."

A giddiness tickled her. Oh, so this really was about starting as much drama as possible.

"You know, now that you say that," Ingrid said. "I think I recognize you. You two showed up in the news every now and again. Alexandra Harlow, right?"

Alex nodded. "Just Alex, please. But that's me." She shook her head with another slightly rueful chuckle. "I believe that. Most of those news articles were about if we'd ever go from being engaged to married. Spoiler alert, we did not." She lowered her hand.

Ingrid put on a small pout.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it," she said. "Unless you're glad for it, then you have my congratulations instead of sympathies."

Alex shrugged casually. "It's a mix. It's weird that things aren't that way anymore, but its loss isn't devastating, either. The only hurtful part about it is that he's denying my existence on this show, but honestly? That looks way worse on him than me."

Ingrid perked up at this, because she could remember all of the controversy Shane's denial sparked online. It really did make Shane look bad.

"Totally," Ingrid agreed, and then pointed to Alex with her drink. "Is that why you're here to see him? Give him a piece of your mind?"

Alex's head fell back with her laugh. "I'm here to enjoy myself, but that's one thing I'll have to do to have a good time. I'm guessing the show wants it to happen, too."

Ingrid lifted her drink, waving it loosely to the side.

"Oh, yes," she said. "And who are you to deny them of a good time? I, personally, would like to see it. I can't believe he straight up denied you even exist. That's a dick move."

Alex huffed. "Right? I never thought I'd see that from him, much less have it be a perfect performance. I don't know who he thinks he's fooling."

"Like, what did he think he was going to accomplish?" Ingrid piled on. "The whole world knows he's lying. At that point, he's just being cruel to be cruel. Like, at least have some decency to acknowledge you even if he doesn't like you anymore."

"It's absurd," Alex agreed. "Like, he should just say he's moving on with someone else and go, not try to gaslight the world."

"Exactly!" Ingrid agreed wholeheartedly. "And, god, don't get me started on his whole situationship with that pretentious music nerd, Alan. God, I'm so sorry, you've probably been watching that whole trainwreck happen, huh?"

Alex made a gagging expression. "Oh, it's the worst. I've gotten so much secondhand embarrassment from it. Like, I didn't think he was intent on turning his personal life into a dumpster fire, but live your truth, I guess."

Ingrid shook her head with a sigh.

"It's almost sad to watch," Ingrid said. "I'd feel bad for him if he wasn't doing it to himself."

"Me too," Alex said with a sigh of her own. "I don't hate him or anything, but I'm also happy I dodged that bullet before he decided the deep end was for him."

Ingrid nodded with emphasis.

"You made it out alive," Ingrid said. "Now you deserve to gloat about it. You're better without him."

"Hear, hear," Alex said, raising an imaginary glass.

"Do you want a real drink?" Ingrid said, already waving over the server who was wandering around. "Sounds like you could use one."

"I sure could," Alex agreed with a nod.

Hurrying over, the young lady on the clock came up beside them, dressed in the blue striped uniform. She flashed Ingrid and Alex a small smile. After getting Alex's order, she was off to prepare the drink, and Ingrid turned back to Alex with a small nod.

"So, what about you?" Alex asked curiously, crossing her legs. "Who are you here for, and are you also here on karma's behalf?"

Ingrid took in a deep breath, mirroring Alex's posture by tucking her legs up on the chair as well, leaning on her arm to one side again.

"You know, I kind of wish I was," Ingrid said. "But I'm probably a lesser woman than you. I'm here because of a past relationship as well. It sounds like you've been following the show, so you probably already know of James Hawke."

Alex leaned forward, intrigued. "Really? How interesting. It looks as though our exes are friends now."

"God, I know," Ingrid sighed. "Can you believe it? The irony."

Alex clicked her tongue. "Well, is he getting a piece of your mind too? A taste of his own medicine, perhaps?"

Ingrid looked off to the side wistfully, wishing she could say the same, if only to sound more dignified about her situation.

"He already got that a long time ago," Ingrid admitted, and it was mostly true. "I'm actually hoping to make amends this time."

Alex nodded. "Ah, yes. Not all of us have to cause problems here. I hope he'll be receptive to that."

"Me too," Ingrid said. "I'm just hoping I don't make a fool of myself on TV, you know? Where it's remembered forever for everyone to see and re-watch."

Alex waved her hand in dismissive reassurance. "Worst-case scenario, it cannot be more foolish than whatever Shane's up to. I think you've got this."

"Well, I'm glad to have your confidence," Ingrid said. "I'm going to need it. I don't know what kind of headspace James is in, but he's... well, you've seen him."

"A little off-kilter?" Alex suggested.

"He's a hot mess," Ingrid said with a sigh.

"I was thinking something more like that," Alex admitted.

"I'm honestly worried about him," Ingrid said. "I don't think he was even remotely prepared to be thrown into the spotlight like this. I mean -- well, how much do you keep up with politics these days? You know he's from Nye, right?"

Alex snapped her fingers like she was remembering something. "Wasn't he that guy who basically turned the Moonlight Kingdom on its head? The whistleblower?"

Ingrid tilted her head back with a long sigh.

"Yep," she said. "That's the one."

Alex clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. "Look at us and our influential ex-men."

Ingrid laughed at that. "I know, right?"

And for a moment, she admittedly did look off into the far distance, imagining him, when he was less of a bad-fashion icon. At the peak of his military career and strength. Gosh, she missed that...

Blinking the thought away, she looked back to Alex. The server had returned, handing Alex her drink politely before leaving them be.

"I've been trying to mentally prepare myself to see him again," Ingrid said.

Alex hummed. "Has it been a while?"

Ingrid nodded, letting a small pause pass to build the tension.

"Almost three years," she said. "The last time I saw him was right before all that shit went down. And then he was in prison."

Alex's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "That's a long time," she remarked. "But if it's been that long and after that much reflection, you still want this, that's a good sign."

"That's what I keep telling myself," Ingrid said. "I just don't like going in blind. But... I guess that's all I can do."

Alex nodded, then paused. "Does he know you'll be here?"

"I tried texting him, but he didn't respond," she said. "So I don't know."

"That's rude of him," Alex lamented. "I'd have texted Shane, but I know he blocked me."

"I guess we'll both be surprises to them, huh," Ingrid gathered.

Alex smiled faintly. "Hopefully you'll solve as many issues as I cause."

"That, I think I can do," Ingrid smiled.

Perhaps the nightmare shouldn't have come as such a shock. The botched maze run, after all, was a source of great distress. Compounding factors included but were not limited to: losing her memory library in order to receive a far inferior gift-- mind reading, with a shockingly low accuracy rate and no way to block the unwelcome thoughts of anyone with a twenty foot radius, losing every team mate she gathered within the first half hour of beginning, and then never even seeing the finish line, even from a distance. Hild got hopelessly lost after the fog, and terribly discombobulated within her own mind.

The only indication that the nightmare was not the natural resurfacing of her own subconscious, was the sheer, vivid gruesomeness of its entirety.

Waking in a cold sweat, Hild threw off her covers to agitatedly pace her room. Mentally scouring through a list of every substance she consumed and its exact source within the past few days. She quickly ruled out food, or any other type of poisoning.

Gods, there was so much red every time she so much as blinked. She rubbed at her temples. By no means was she was squeamish, but the imagery now seared into her restored long-term memory was beyond disturbing, and bizarrely lacking any proper context.

Movement from the corner of the room caught her eye. She tensed, but quickly relaxed as she watched Buster roll out of his bed to stretch himself awake.

This was a new day, yes.

She'd simply have to lock away the horrors, tuck them into the deepest, least-accessible corner of her mind.

As she went through her usual morning stretch routine, Hild went on to file away the events of the failed maze run into an unorganized box of miscellaneous things, to carry with her as she combed through her memory library more broadly. Ensured everything was back in place and indeed accessible.

Bending over for downward dog, Hild was shaken from the depths of her archives when an elated Buster greeted her. He gave her face happy little paps. The lingering tensions from the bizarre, inexplicable night terror melted further away.

With a quiet giggle, she gave his fluffy head a small kiss. Then came upright again and dipped into warrior pose. Buster rolled and sprinted little circles around her feet, before launching himself toward the bedroom door.

Hild checked the alarm clock on her night stand. Buster's internal clock was sharp as a tack.

Since she woke later than normal, she supposed the rest of her routine would simply have to wait a few minutes longer.

Buster scratched incessantly under the door.

"You always act so starved," Hild mused under her breath as she obliged and eased it open.

And just like that, he was off like a shot. Already plopping his way down the stairs. As Hild descended at a more relaxed pace, she found Miss Clanny already set up in the living room with a bowl of cereal and a lounging Jimbo sprawled at her feet.

Buster spun circles by the island, before shooting himself off to greet the newfoundland. Jimbo, patient as ever, tolerated Buster as he jumped on top of him.

"Nice to see you back in your usual attire," Hild said in greeting, offering a quick grin.

Clanny looked up to Hild with a closed-mouth smile, since her mouth was full. She nodded, hurrying to chew and swallow before answering: "Yeah, it's nice to feel warm again. Never thought I'd say I miss humid heat."

Clanny pointed her empty spoon at Hild. "When did you get home? I missed you. I was pretty wiped when I got home because I'm normally not up that late, so I didn't last long and went to bed."

Hild hummed as she swept into the kitchen to first arrange Buster's meal. "Good. I'm glad you're well-rested."

Buster hopped off Jimbo and bounded into the kitchen when he heard the scrape of his bowl.

"Frankly, I spent more time than I ought to have," Hild went on honestly, setting his food down, "hunting down my coward of a brother, after it was all over and done with."

He couldn't have been fully aware of Tula's true nature. James said he hadn't told anybody else. However...

"Oh, that's right!" Clanny said with more genuine cheer on Lyall's behalf than was deserved of him. "He won! I mean, along with uh, the others. But yeah. Did you find him? How'd he find the pumpkin?"

Taking an apple from the counter, Hild joined Clanny on the couch. "He ran off before I could ask him myself," she muttered.

Previously curious, Clanny's expression shifted to worry.

"He ran?" Clanny asked with visible concern. "Is he okay? Did he get a magic that messed with him too?"

Hild took a bite of her apple, crunching deliberately as she turned over the thought that... perhaps should have occurred to herself sooner. She picked through that miscellaneous things box of the maze event in her mind.

Lyall didn't seem out of his mind, or thrown by some unfamiliar force... Just justifiably fearful as Hild approached him.

"I know him," Hild concluded resolutely. "He was fine. He simply didn't want to face what he did."

Clanny blinked, and it was clear she wasn't quite following.

"Are you... mad that he won?" she asked hesitantly.

Hild felt herself deflate at Clanny's uncertainty. "How he won," she clarified. After a pause, she added, "And with whom he aligned himself."

At that, understanding clicked in Clanny's eyes, and she nodded slowly, chewing over another spoonful of cereal before responding.

"I meant to ask about that," she said slowly. "Are you and Tula, like... good? When we ran into her in the maze you seemed to be really at each other's throats. It made me kind of nervous honestly. I felt like I missed something. Did something happen with her before that you didn't tell me?"

Oh.

It was rather an ill-timed back and forth. It had occurred to Hild in the moment, but she let her anger cloud her judgment, and thus forgot Clanny's presence.

Shifting so that she faced Miss Clanny more directly, Hild allowed her expression to soften with regret. "I truly hadn't meant to put you in that position. I'm sorry I wasn't more mindful in the moment."

"I've already forgiven you for it," Clanny said with a small, soft smile. "I figured you weren't feeling like yourself anyway. Not being able to filter out other's thoughts sounds so overwhelming. I know a little bit of what that feels like, I guess, when I'm around a lot of vocal creatures. So I'm not mad or anything. I just haven't seen you like that before. Getting that vicious, I mean. I feel like you're so intentional with your words, so I can't imagine you'd lash out without reason. So I guess I'm just wondering... what was the reason?"

Tilting her head, Hild studied her with some open fondness. "You are a wonderful soul, Miss Clanny," she said warmly. "With good instincts."

She glanced off to the side as she searched for a good way to explain.

"I don't know how much I'm at liberty to divulge," Hild started honestly, voice lowered just slightly to convey this was serious and highly confidential.

"Oh! If it's none of my business," Clanny interjected apologetically. "You don't have to tell me. I didn't know it was that serious!"

"And I won't give you details," Hild assured her. "But, if you plan on further involving yourself with Miss Tula, I need you to know that you should be careful."

Clanny looked deeply discouraged by that. She frowned down into her cereal bowl with a pout.

"Oh..." was all she said.

Hesitantly, Hild reached out and gave Clanny's arm a small pat. "I simply want you to stay vigilant, for your wellbeing."

Clanny nodded slightly. "I planned on bringing her her favorite food today," she said quietly. "As a kind of... peace offering."

Ah.

Hild was deeply uncomfortable with the notion of Miss Clanny approaching someone who willingly resorted to extreme violence recently. And seemingly indulged in violent fantasies on the regular.

"I had a feeling that something was off about her," Clanny admitted softly. "I don't necessarily plan on letting my guard down completely but. I don't know. I guess I just want to show her kindness whether or not she deserves it. Maybe she just needs a friend. A positive influence... you know?"

Clanny frowned deeper, looking up at Hild with the equivalent of puppy eyes.

"I sound so naive," she said. "Don't I?"

Less consciously, Hild softened further. "Better; you sound hopeful." She sighed quietly. "I won't tell you what to do. I only want you to stay safe, in whichever it is you choose."

"Well if it's safety you're worried about," Clanny said, smiling a little. "I'm a lot more capable than people think."

Hild smiled, fully and warmly. "I always have, and always will, maintain full confidence in you," she said firmly.
Clanny smiled even wider.

"Thanks, Hild," she said. "I really appreciate it." Then, after a pause and a glance into her bowl: "I really trust your opinion and advice. So I'll try to be as careful as I can."

"That's all I ask," Hild said with a nod.

"Rodger that," Clanny said, jokingly giving Hild a salute.

Humming a laugh, Hild returned the salute as she leaned back again.

"So uh," Clanny said. "Your memory is back to normal?"

"Fully restored," Hild confirmed.

Clanny sighed in relief.

Hild glanced at the stairwell when she heard Buster excitedly yap in greeting. Miss Clarity was walking down the stairs with a tired look, rubbing at her eyes. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she blinked down at Buster, who was running laps around her, before carefully picking him up and joining Clanny and Hild in the living room, sinking into an armchair.

"Good morning," she mumbled tiredly, patting Buster's head. After a few licks to her hand, Buster happily settled into the crook of her arm.

"Good morning, Miss Clarity," Hild greeted, taking in the chemist's unusual posture with a quirked brow.

"Good morning!" Clanny echoed warmly.

"How was the maze for you?" Hild asked curiously. "I recall you ventured in alone?"

"Nah, I started with Tula, actually." Clarity yawned. "I got the least helpful power to have in there, and one that was only interesting to study after the maze. Hendrik's."

Clanny shot Hild a concerned glance. Only flicking her gaze back to Clanny, Hild shared in her apprehension.

"He turns water into wine," Clanny said. "Or beer. Right?"

"Any kind of liquid into any kind of alcohol," Clarity said. "Which is weird. I mean, chemically, that doesn't work! I should know."

"Did you... conduct experiments, post-maze?" Hild asked, openly fascinated by the concept as well.

"Of course," Clarity said proudly. "But no luck. I swear, it was like blinking and there suddenly were new atoms in existence."

"Some people's magic does kind of break the laws of nature like that," Clanny said with a shrug. "Doctors still can't explain why I understand animals."

Clarity raised an eyebrow. "It's because you're special."

Clanny stared at Clarity for a moment, then she let out a short fit of giggles and sunk back into her chair with a flattered little smile.

Hild felt herself grin faintly, for just a moment. Turning back to Clarity, she evenly asked, "What was working with Tula like?"

Clarity shrugged, scratching behind Buster's ears. "I mean, I don't know. Decent, I suppose. I only really said yes because she asked me to team up when I was distracted by how the bottle of water in my hand was now a bottle of vodka."

"Oh man," Clanny empathized. "Was it hard to control?"

"No, thankfully," Clarity said. "How embarrassing would it be to go 'Help, I can't stop turning things into whiskey'?"

"Okay that would be kind of funny, though," Clanny chuckled.

Clarity cracked a smile. "You're right. It would."

Hild grinned faintly too. Taking another bite of apple, she did go on to wonder briefly what it might have been like for Hendrik upon first discovering his ability.

"Tula mentioned you guys got separated in the mist," Clanny said. "Is that what happened?"

"...Oh, yeah," Clarity said with a nod. "I found Kaz, who got my powers. He was pretty capable with them, actually."

"Oh my gosh! Dude! Yeah!" Clanny sputtered with excitement. "Okay, Clarity, you should've seen him! He did this thing -- he took water out of the AIR and made it like a hose! It was so cool! I bet you could probably do that without thinking, huh?"

Clarity leaned forward, interested. "He did? I mean, I can easily now, but I wasn't always able to. It took some practice."

"Do you think techniques for the wielding of different elements are easily translated between each other?" Hild asked. "That's what my brother figures, but I don't believe he's had opportunity yet to deeply discuss it with others."

"Hmmm. Well, wielding oxygen gas tends to be different from wielding liquid mercury, for example--" Clarity paused, blinking. "Oh, you didn't mean those kinds of elements. I would figure there's some similarities that would be familiar between different elemental wielders, but there's probably large differences too. I bet lightning, which Kaz probably has to create himself, is different from my way of manipulating fluids that already exist."

Hild hummed in fascination. "Perhaps, then," she said slowly as she considered this, "since Kazimir is accustomed to summoning lightning with next-to-nothing to work from, he was thus able to draw upon what little moisture there was to begin with, with relative ease."

"Ohhhhhh," Clanny hummed. "That would make sense!"

Clarity nodded thoughtfully. "That seems about right," she agreed.

Clanny nodded too, but then her expression fell as she glanced about their cabin, eyes flicking to the stairs.

"Hey," she said. "Did anyone see Eve come home later at night?"

"Oh," Clarity said, sitting up. "Yeah, I think I saw her and James on their back. She looked... unconscious? Or maybe, very, very tired. He was carrying her, but she woke up before they got in here."

Hild straightened with a hint of alarm. Unconscious?

Clanny looked worried. "Oh. Did... so she didn't come home?" she asked.

"She did. They both did," Clarity said slowly. "I think they..." She pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. "I don't remember a whole lot," she finally admitted. "But they might've been here for a bit, and then both left again."

"It did look like Eve used the shower," Clanny murmured in thought, rubbing her chin.

Nodding slowly, Hild decided, "I can simply inquire after her whereabouts when I visit James later."

"I just hope she's okay," Clanny said. "It sounds like... well if she was unconscious, that's not good."

"Agreed," Hild said, somewhat grimly as she finished off her apple. "Though I'm sure she and James likely had the good sense to tend to it, and take proper precautions for recovery."

"I hope it's not a concussion," Clanny said with worry. "Those can be bad!"

Standing to make her way back to the kitchen, Hild silently agreed.

"We can ask her when she gets back," Clarity suggested. "She might be at James's place."

Clanny nodded in agreement.

If the two spoke anymore at length about anything, Hild simply. Tuned it out. While she poked through the kitchen for breakfast fixings, she decided she may as well unpack last night's events sooner rather than later. Organize everything properly within her mind.

The night terror flashed briefly in her mind. Unwanted imagery that she needed to better wrangle if she were to focus--

Ah.

James and Shane had determined someone was actively tampering with their dreamscapes. A reason wasn't made clear-- they didn't seem to know who or why either.

Hild made a note to bring it up with James when she visited later.

The kitchen busied further when Miss Clanny joined with her own cooking efforts-- that promised food for Tula, most likely-- and Clarity took a seat by the island to share in the first meal of the day.

Hild was in the middle of scrubbing down pans and theorizing what even brought on her brother's last-minute team-up with Tula, of all people, when the front door to the cabin eased open.

It was Eve, entering with joggers and a sweatshirt, which was more relaxed than her usual loungewear she wore during the day. Her dark hair was frizzier than normal, too. Hild wondered if perhaps she just woke up.

She silently entered, holding a paper that she held against her side as she quietly closed the door.

"Hello, everyone," she greeted a little awkwardly, seeing everyone's eyes on her.

"Eve!" Clanny chirped by the oven. "It's good to see you're okay. We were worried about you."

Eve nodded, slipping out of her shoes. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm okay."

"Miss Clarity mentioned you seemed unconscious at some point during the maze," Hild said, drying off a plate as she faced Eve with a furrowed brow. "Did you sustain a head injury?"

Eve hesitated, glancing down at the paper she held, still standing by the door. "No, I'm okay. I wasn't hurt. Just asleep. It was a part of the puzzle."

"You had to sleep for a puzzle?" Clanny asked, closing the oven beside her and rising with her hands on her hips.

"...Yes," Eve answered slowly.

"But Clarity said James was carrying you," Clanny went on. "Were you not able to wake up?"

Eve glanced at Clarity, but it was impossible to read her expression. "That seemed to be the case... yes," she said slowly, then quickly added: "It was fine, really. The puzzle required Connie's dreamwalking magic, which Cyrin had. We were able to move forward because he was able to infiltrate James and Shane's dreams. I was able to wake up later, obviously."

Hild nodded slowly. "...But they couldn't infiltrate yours?" she asked.

"I suppose not," Eve said, then flipped around the paper she was holding, revealing a flyer. "Have you seen this, by the way? It was on the door. There seems to be another event this afternoon."

Hild frowned at the not-so-subtle change in subject. She set the plate and dish towel down to fix an intense look on Eve. "Were you forcibly made to sleep?"

She figured, yes. There was no reason for them all to willingly let their guards down to such an extreme extent. She simply wanted confirmation, to be as sure as possible of what the three had faced.

"What? No. I mean--" Eve snapped her mouth shut, a bit unnerved with everyone's attention on her. She took in a deep breath, lowering her arm. "No one forced me to sleep," she corrected. "I just..." She shifted her weight to her other foot, crossing one arm. "We fell into it."

"Doesn't sound like you wanted or meant to," Clarity noted, not unkindly. Eve gave her a flat stare.

"Thus, it was thrust upon you," Hild furthered with a nod, "against your wills."

The fact that Eve hadn't been able to shake it when James and Shane had felt like a point of concern. What was the common denominator between the two men? What was missing-- or added-- in Eve's circumstance?

"So wait, was it like, you were put under a sleeping spell or something?" Clanny asked, leaning on the kitchen counter as she looked at Eve with concern. "Magic stuff involved?"

Eve let out a long sigh. "I know you're all concerned," she began evenly, giving them all brief eye contact. "But I don't have all of the answers. I really don't know what exactly happened, but I promise you, I'm okay. There's no need to be alarmed or worried."

This did nothing to actually assuage Hild's concern. Putting someone under, either via magic or a sedative, was nothing to sneeze at or simply brush off.

Eve held up the poster again, pointing at it.

"This, however-- I am worried about. It seems that new people are arriving on the island this afternoon," she finished.

Clanny got up and scuttled over to Eve, curiously looking at the poster in her hand. Buster and Jimbo, both seemingly stirred by her movement, followed after her around her feet, tails wagging as they also looked up at the poster. Buster jumped up on Eve's legs, tiny tail moving rapidly as he licked her pants. Jimbo sat down, panting at Eve in greeting.

A little overwhelmed, Eve wordlessly gave the flyer to Clanny, instead bending down to give the dogs hesitant pats. Buster was elated. Jimbo was content. When Buster had his fill he sped back off to Hild's feet, as if to show off to Hild that he'd received affection from Eve. With a fond grin, Hild picked him up and tucked him into the crook of her arm.

Clanny looked the poster over, walking back over to Hild and Clarity, showing it to them. She set in on the counter, and Hild looked over to read.



"Why's it got you worried?" Clanny asked, stepping back to pet Jimbo, who'd followed her back. "It sounds like a good thing."

"Just..." Eve slowly stood back up from crouching down for the dogs. "I don't know. It could be anyone. We don't know who's coming."

Clanny pursed her lips in thought, looking off to the side. "I don't know who they'd send for me," she murmured. "I don't really have that many people in my life."

Hild hummed as she scanned the artwork behind the text. "Likewise."

Her best guess for herself was... Vik or her father. She'd gladly accept either.

Now that she thought of it, Miss Eve and Clarity hadn't ever mentioned anyone within their inner circles. Neither by name nor even in vague reference. Perhaps they were simply very private people, but over the course of three weeks? Sharing a residence? Absolutely no mention of anybody? It was curious.

Clarity raised an eyebrow, staring at the flyer. "Same here," she eventually said.

"Maybe another pet?" Clanny mused, scratching behind Jimbo's ears. "But, you seem under the impression that they're going to send people who are, uh..."

Clanny looked at Eve.

"...bad?" she asked.

Eve mustered half a smile, slowly moving away from the door to the sofas, just barely sitting on the edge of the arm of the couch.

"I don't know anything. It could be bad, it could be good." She lightly shrugged. "Could be anyone."

"Well, if it's bad, I say we all lean on each other," Clanny said with determination, standing up. "If someone comes to visit that's a bad figure in your life, I think we should let each other know so we can support each other and help out."

Clanny lifted up a fist, squinting off into the distance.

"If you need me to beat somebody up for you, I totally will," she said.

Hild huffed through her nose in amusement. "Hopefully we won't have to resort to violence," she said. "But the sentiment is deeply appreciated."

"And Eve--" Clanny said, which gathered Eve's attention, albeit hesitantly.

"We should go to the docks together, I think," Clanny said. "Just in case."

Eve glanced back at Hild and Clarity. "All of us?"

"If y'all are cool with it, I think it'd be a good idea," Clanny offered.

"That's... fine by me," Eve said, then glanced down at her phone. "The boat docks at 2pm. We have a few more hours until then."

"I'll be ready," Clarity agreed.

Hild glanced back at the stove clock. "That gives me plenty of time to work through my to-do list for the morning," she said. "We should all meet back here fifteen to twenty minutes prior to the boat's docking. Allow ourselves time to gather our wits about us, and walk there at a reasonable pace. Even chat on the way, if we felt so inclined."

Clanny clapped her hands together with visible excitement.

"Sounds like a plan," Clanny said.

"Okay. Here it goes," Clanny said with a small sigh. She stood up a little straighter, knocking on the door of Tula's cabin for what could hopefully be the start of reconciliation part 2.

For a moment, there was no response. Clanny waited a second, but heard nothing on the other side of the door. She didn't know who was home, but... well, someone had to be, right?

With a small huff, she knocked again. And then again. Now she just felt obnoxious.

But at least it worked.

The door swung open quickly, revealing Tula in more relaxed attire, her curly hair tied back in a low ponytail. She was annoyed before even seeing Clanny, obviously distraught from the obnoxious knocking, but she was even more unimpressed when she recognized her.

"What?" she greeted snippily.

Clandestine's expression softened, not because of the poor welcome, but because she figured Tula was probably tired from the night before. She figured everyone was, but Tula had been part of the winning team. Clanny imagined she probably wore herself out working hard and rightfully slept in.

"I just wanted to come by and bring you a gift," she said. "I hope it's alright that I asked Alex what your favorite food was. He said you really like spicy lamb curry, so I asked Bo for a good recipe. I like to cook, so... I made you some."

She lifted up the paper bag with the tupperware, offering it out to her.

"I figure you're pretty tired after yesterday and it might be nice to not have to make anything today," Clanny said.

And she really didn't want to bring up their weirdness right now, actually. She didn't want it to feel like this gift had strings attatched. But it seemed like maybe she'd have to. Tula crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway as she stared suspiciously at the paper bag, completely skeptical of her intentions.

"Oh, how sweet of you," she mocked. "Bringing me food and even choosing my favorite dish to win me over. And after winning, no less." She scoffed. "Nice try, sunshine."

Clanny smiled faintly with a small shrug.

"You can choose whether to believe me or not," Clanny said softly. "But it really has nothing to do with your victory. I think it's really impressive, actually, that you guys won. That maze ended up being more confusing than I think most of us anticipated. But... if you're feeling skeptical, I'll admit I did want to make you food as a show of good will. Just because things have been weird, and I want you to know I'm not angry or anything. Food gifts are just the easiest way I know to show I care."

A sly smile tugged at Tula's lips as her unimpression faded into smugness. "Hild put you up to this," she said with a smirk. "Didn't she?"

Clanny blinked.

"Huh?" she asked, genuinely confused. "Hild?"

"Drop the act, sweetie. It's disgusting," Tula mocked. "You know what I'm talking about."

Clanny frowned.

Tula had a very cynical view of the world. It was really sad to see, and Clanny didn't know what kind of life Tula lived that made her this way. But she felt sorry for her that she was so blinded she couldn't appreciate a genuine gift.

"If you're suspicious of the food," Clanny said. "I could eat it with you to prove that it's safe. But I do want you to be able to enjoy all of it."

Tula slightly tilted her head, amused as her smirk grew. "Then do it. I hope you can handle spice."

Clanny huffed, mustering a small, sincere smile. "I like spicy food," she said. "I'll be okay."

"Is that so?" Tula innocently mused. "Then perhaps you'd like to eat it with a special sauce I make myself. It enhances the flavor. I implore you to try."

Clanny shrugged, offering a small smile. She knew that Tula was just trying to goad her into something painful, but Clanny really did have a really high spice tolerance. She was used to having to tone down all of her recipes by a lot when cooking for others.

"I can try a little bit," Clanny said. "But I'd like to hear your opinion on how the curry turned out without anything added first."

And in this, she knew she was opening herself up to Tula saying something harsh just for a reaction, but she wasn't going to guage Tula's enjoyment based on her words. She was going to measure it by how much she actually ate.

"Then why don't you come inside, sunshine?" Tula said with feined innocence, stepping out of the way as she broadly gestured inside. "Please. I insist."

"I'll accept the invitation," Clanny said with a small smile. "Thanks, Tula."

And as she walked in, she was hit with a wave of aroma pouring out of the kitchen. She noticed Jay - whom she didn't think she'd even spoken to - busy in the kitchen, paying attention to neither of them. He had a huge pot over the stove-top and it looked like something was in the oven. It smelled hearty. It definitely had the good stuff: garlic and onions.

"Jay," Tula called as she closed the door behind her. "We have a visitor. Have you met Clandestine? I'm sure you'd love her. Say hello."

Jay glanced over his shoulder, regarding Clanny with a rather neutral expression, and then he nodded. Ah, yes. Another stoic-type. Clanny understood those. Robin was that way too most of the time, especially with other people around.

Clanny waved with her free hand.

"Hey, Jay," she said. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Jay said plainly, turning his attention back to his food.

"Is it cool if we eat in here?" Clanny asked.

"I live here too. So yes, it is indeed, 'cool,'" Tula said as she strided to the table, motioning for Clanny to sit.

"But with all the spice we'll be eating," Clanny joked as she set the bag of food on the table. "It'll be 'hot.' Haha."

Tula stared at her, unimpressed. Now that she was by the table, she gave Clanny no mind as she strided into the kitchen, also ignoring Jay as she opened the fridge, taking out a jar. She also opened a cabinet drawer, pulling out two spoons and two bowls before heading back to the table.

When Tula returned, Clanny had already set the tupperware containers of rice and lamb curry on the table, popping them open.

Tula sat down across from her, offering her a spoon. "You eat first," she said sternly.

Deciding not to judge Tula for her severe trust issues, Clanny just shrugged and smiled.

"Don't mind if I do!" she said, scooping out some rice into her bowl and then putting the curry on top. She was quick to take a bite, happy to discover that it turned out as well as she'd hoped. Nodding to herself in approval, she waved to Tula.

"Okay, not to toot my own horn, but that's not too bad if I do say so myself," she said after chewing. "Come on, you gotta try some!"

Instead, Tula popped the lid open of her spice paste, scooping out a big spoonful of it and slopping it down into Clanny's bowl. The paste was thick and red, filled with pepper seeds.

"Now try," she said with another sly smile.

Clanny paused for a moment, looking at Tula more squarely.

"Tula, you really could learn some social skills," Clanny said. "Like, asking before doing stuff like that. Don't get me wrong - I don't mind it, but I'm trying to like, be normal."

Tula slammed the jar against the table, snarling. "Eat the fucking food," she hissed.

"Okay, maybe we should slow down and talk about why you're so angry first," Clanny said, putting her hands up. "Is it me? Is it the food?"

But instead of answering, Tula picked up the tupperwares, ready to throw it at Clanny's face with glee. But Tula underestimated Clandestine. She was used to dealing with monsters far faster and far more wrathful than Tula's pettiness. Clanny blocked the splash of rice with one arm and caught the glass container in the other, keeping a cool head even though Tula had clearly flipped her lid.

So, this was the Tula that Hild was trying to warn her about. The real Tula, it seemed, behind the polite mask.

What was causing all of the anger inside of her?

Sighing, Clanny set the tupperware down on the table.

"I underestimated you, sunshine. You're quick," Tula said, observing her with the same smugness.

"It's kind of sad that you just wasted food," Clanny said, looking down at the rice that had splattered all over the table.

"Sad, isn't it?" Tula mocked innocently. "A lamb was slaughtered for no reason."

Clanny furrowed her brows, looking up at Tula with honest confusion as to how Tula's brain worked.

Was Tula trying to... guilt Clanny? For cooking? People literally did this all the time. Clanny didn't feel guilty about it. And Clanny wasn't the one who'd wasted the food, so she wasn't going to take that on herself. That was Tula's responsibility.

"Watch your back, sweetie. You don't know what's coming," Tula went on. "You may leave now."

Clanny slowly stood up, wiping rice off her shirt.

"I'm sorry that something inside of you is so twisted up that you're not able to enjoy a freely given gift from somebody, Tula," Clanny said - and it really was with no ounce of bitterness.

"You may leave now," Tula said again, this time through her teeth and a fake smile. "If you do not leave, I will have to forcibly remove you. And we don't want that, do we?"

"No need for that," Clanny said, raising up her hands, walking away from the table.

Clearly, this was going to take a lot more work than she thought.

Satisfied, Tula sat still on her set, arms neatly set on the table with her fingers clasped together. She didn't let Clanny out of her sight, eyeing her on the way out.

Clanny made her way to the door, but paused while it was open to look at Tula over her shoulder.

"I know you're upset," Clanny said softly. "And that's okay. But I'm not going to give up on you."

And she didn't feel like she had to explain herself today. Tula wasn't going to want to hear it, anyway. Still, Clanny offered Tula a genuine smile.

"Thanks for inviting me into your home," she said. "I'll see you later."

"Get the hell out of my cabin," Tula said cooly instead, obviously impatient.

Clanny just sighed. Tula had zero social skills.

Closing the door behind her, Clanny decided that even if try two had been a bust, there was always next time.

An urgent knocking noise woke James with alarm. Jumping awake, James felt his whole body object to being upright as his muscles and joints ached and his eyes burned from exposure to the morning light. Headache already formed, James hurried to his feet, lost in a worried daze as he stumbled out into the hall and down the stairs.

It sounded like something was wrong. Whoever was knocking hadn't let up since the moment he heard it, and no one on the island usually did this to get their attention.

Good grief. What time was it?

It was so bright.

Having no regard for his just-woke-up-from-a-dead-sleep appearance, James rushed to the door and pulled it open.

"What's wrong?" he asked urgently, but the question died once it left his mouth and he saw Mel of all people standing on his doorstep.

Cheerful, fresh-faced, and holding... a hair care kit?

Right behind her was Aaron.

James's eyes felt bloodshot and got stuck on the twiggy man's cowering face behind Mel's hair.

...What?

Mel beamed, waving at him. "Good morning, sunshine! Just woke up? Well, rise and shine, sleepyhead! Today I'm going to make you look like a star!"

She then glanced back and gestured behind her with her head, stepping out of the way to fully reveal Aaron. The smaller man stiffly waved.

"Oh, and I brought a buddy. Can we come in?" Mel finished.

James hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder, taking a quick scan of the living room. He saw evidence that Connie was already gone. Eve must've left at some point while he was asleep. And as for Shane... His door was open, but he didn't appear to be inside, or around the cabin.

"You don't have to say yes," Aaron said, voice rough from lack of sleep.

Mel scoffed playfully. "Um, yes you do. I say so." She smiled, then poured gave James pleading eyes. "Pleeeeease?"

"I think... no one's home," James mumbled. "I... um."

He was not nearly awake enough for this.

"Makeover?" he asked to clarify.

"Yes! Thank you!" Mel said brightly, squeezing herself past James to go inside. "Come on, Aaron!"

Oh. That hadn't been an invitation. But upon brief physical contact as Mel squeezed in, James naturally retreated, and well. By that point Mel was inside already, and his brain was not functioning enough to tell Mel to come back later in a kind manner. James stood a bit frozen in the doorway, watching as Mel began to verbally unpack all of her "makeover" plans for both James and Aaron while she immediately made herself at home. She was turning their living room into a hair salon, setting a tarp on the floor and plopping two chairs beside each other. Somewhere in the back of James's mind he felt obliged to help for some reason, but instead he slowly turned to look at Aaron, who was...

... Still in the doorway.

James made eye contact. Aaron just glanced off, shuffling in place.

Mel was still talking nonstop.

"...Hi," James said quietly.

Meeting his eyes now, Aaron inclined his head. "Salutations," he replied, matching his volume.

James had a feeling it was better to take the path of least resistance this morning, despite his desire to go back to bed and sleep all day.

"How about you, uh..." James said. "Come in."

Aaron stiffly nodded again. "I shall... do that, then."

After another second's hesitation, he toed off his shoes, nudging them to the side, and walked in with his head held low. James habitually scanned the beach for cameras and other people before he closed the door behind them. When he turned around, Mel had already set up the coffee table and side tables around her set up, unpacking her things.

She whirled the spinning stool around, patting the cushion and smiling at James and Aaron expectantly. "Sit!" she said cheerily. "Everything's ready to go."

Now from beside the door, Aaron simply scanned the room with uncertainty. Deciding that at least one of them had to set an example as a willing, if exhausted participant, James followed Mel's beckoning and took a seat on the stool in front of her.

"I assume this is because of my hair," James said lowly, realizing his voice was still very much not awake as he felt a cough in the back of his throat. He cleared it awkwardly.

"More like because of your hairstylist," Mel huffed, throwing on a thin cover to drape around James to prevent any hair from falling on him. "What's up with the choppy cut? You look like a cross between a cast of The Running Unalive and a knockoff Teddy Bund."

James was not quite awake enough to think of a proper comeback to that. Squinting, he cleared his throat again, merely muttering: "Wow. Okay."

Mel giggled, leaning in so her head was over his shoulder, staring at him through the mirror. "Who cut your hair, anyways?"

James hesitated, then looked at the floor.

"Me," he admitted.

Mel pursed her lips, pulling away and spinning James's chair so he faced Aaron.

"What do you think, Aaron? Would you let James cut your hair?" she teased.

James blinked slowly as he looked at Aaron across the room. He hoped his face read: "it's fine, I can take it." But it probably read: "I'll kill you," like it always did.

Still by the door, hands tucked into his coat pockets, Aaron quirked a brow at James. Still a little uncertain looking, but at least he didn't seem to feel like a cornered animal anymore. "...No."

With a triumphant grin, Mel swiveled James back around to face the mirror. "Not saying you suck at cutting hair, but." She innocently shrugged. "You suck at cutting hair."

Sighing, James accepted his defeat.

"I wasn't trying," he said. "But point taken."

"All good, because we're going to glam you up now!" she said excitedly, touselling his hair with her fingers. "What are we feeling? Anything specific? Please don't say a fringe or a mullet. I know it's in style, but I really don't think you can pull it off."

"I'm open to anything within reason," James said with a shrug.

He didn't really care too much at this point. He'd had almost every haircut under the sun.

Mel hummed, pulling his hair back as she studied his hair. Then with a sunny smile, she turned her head over her shoulder to say, "Hey, Aaron! Can you come closer? I need a second opinion, since I don't trust James's hair instincts."

Blinking, Aaron hesitated before shuffling over. "I'm unfortunately fresh out of hair opinions," he mumbled.

"I'm fine if you chop it all off," James offered.

Mel gasped, deeply offended. "Eugh! You'd look terrible bald!" she scolded.

"Well, I didn't mean bald," James clarified. "I'd like to keep my hair still. What I meant was I don't care about keeping any length."

Mel hummed, touselling his hair again. "Okay. Then picture this!"

Then magically, the mirror in front of them contorted, with James's fading into a large, green mohawk that stuck straight up in the air, bald on the sides.

This was her sense of humor, he gathered.

"You look like a rock star! Opinions, Aaron?" Mel asked sweetly.

"It's certainly..." Aaron raised both brows. "...drastic."

"How about something more subdued?" James asked.

"Subdued, you say?" she hummed. "Okay. How about this?"

The mirror changed again, this time with James's hair turning into a big, fluffy perm.

"Trendy!" she chirped, grinning. "The 90s are coming back, and you can be the face of it. What do you think of this, Aaron?"

"It looks like a bird's nest," Aaron commented plainly.

James just sighed.

Mel giggled again, the illusion dropping. She tapped her chin a few time before beaming. "Okay! One last try."

The illusion changed his hair on the mirror again, this time showing a more reasonable look. It was an average haircut, for one. Faded on the sides from his beard into his hairline, and a little longer on the top, leaving an inch or two of length as his hair swept back with a few layers. The illusion showed his beard was trimmed too.

"Easy, breezy, cover James!" Mel said. "Simple and poised, too. What do you think now?"

"Works for me," James agreed, but Mel looked back at Aaron for confirmation.

At that, Aaron cast her a somewhat bewildered expression. James made brief eye contact, mouthing: "She wants your opinion." Aaron just looked more perplexed by this.

"Now that's a look of approval!" Mel said happily, winking at him.

Okay, so Mel just wanted to include him. James huffed through his nose.

Mel hummed a cheerful melody, pulling out her brush to detangle his air. "Feel free to sit, Aaron~" she said in-tune, smiling but not looking over at him as she continued to brush through James's hair (which James was glad now, that he'd washed).

Aaron glanced sideways, seeming to assess the chair and how to even approach it at first. Then, stiff as a board, sat down with his arms folded.

"So!" Mel began, moving on to the other side of James's head to brush through. "When are your birthdays?"

"November 28th," James answered simply.

Aaron mumbled incoherently. James did not catch that.

"What's that, Aaron?" Mel called brightly.

"13th of October," Aaron grumbled.

Mel hummed, touselling his hair again, now grinning. "So, James, you're a Sagittarius, and Eve is a Pisces," she mused.

Oh.

Oh god, no.

James felt his cheeks immediately start to burn. No, no, no, no, no.

"I think it fits!" Mel went on brightly. "You both have a way of conversation, that's for sure. And I think you both complement one another emotionally. Your values, beliefs, and interests in activities do, too. Huh!"

This was not a conversation that needed to be had! James didn't even believe in zodiac signs! Good grief - how many people were - oh, what did they call it - shipping him with other people? He didn't want to think about this. He was just trying to manage having friendships. He didn't want... he couldn't handle something romantic right now. He knew he was not in a good place for it. Mentally. Emotionally. Everything. Why did everyone keep dropping hints? Or, like Mel, they'd just... say it.

Ugh.

"See, you're more straightforward and candid, while Eve, a Pisces, is a lot more emotional and intuitive. Trust me, I've seen it myself!" Mel continued anyways, even though James knew she saw him go red. "Pisces are deeply emotional and empathetic, you know." She shrugged innocently. "Sagitarrius, though? Detached and philosophical about emotions. Who'd have thought? At least they'd balance each other out in a relationship!"

"Uh," James swallowed. "Mel..."

His face was burning.

"Hm?" she hummed innocently, making her first cut.

"I'd rather not talk about my romantic compatibility with anyone at the moment," he said stiffly.

"Fair enough!" Mel said with a smile, still focused on the hair. "And you said your birthday is October 13th, Aaron? That makes you a Libra." Her expression then brightened as she cast him a gleeful smile. "Hey, I'm a Gemini! We're astrologically compatible!"

Aaron's uncomfortable expression turned completely blank.

"Maybe we should switch topics," James suggested quickly.

"Good idea," Mel said with a nod, still with a teasing smile. "So, Aaron, if you're a Libra, that means you must have a lot of interests and hobbies. What do you like to do in your free time?"

Glancing off, there was a flicker of irritation in Aaron's eyes. Then he looked back to Mel, schooling his features as he answered firmly, "I have a log."

Mel barked a laugh. "A log?" she giggled. "What does that mean?"

James had a feeling it was literally just a log. As in, a piece of wood. Tree.

"Like, you log stuff? Like a diary?" Mel went on anyways, running with the other defintion.

Aaron deflated with open embarrassment. "I... It's a log. I'm... growing molds on it."

"Oooooh," she cooed, cutting away. "Cool! Are you growing mushrooms?"

James didn't turn his head so as to not interfere with Mel's scissors, but he did cast Aaron a sidelong glance.

Mold. What kind of mold?

"I've had the good fortune to cultivate a variety species so far," Aaron answered. "Lichen, skullcaps, bird's nest, shelf..." He shrugged.

"Huh!" Mel said with a hum. "So, whatcha going to do with the mold? Anything in particular, or is it just for fun?"

"Research purposes," he said simply.

James bit his tongue at that. Research purposes was alarmingly vague, but James didn't feel it was his place to interfere at the moment. He just hoped Aaron wasn't planning on using any dangerous fungi to cause anyone harm. And if he already had... well, no one had died yet, at least.

It was possible that fungi was literally just a special interest, but--

"Oooh, yeah! Aaron, you studied pharmaceutics, didn't you?" Mel said as she cast him a sunny smile. "You must be super smart."

Well that, James didn't know. So it was possible that there was more to it. Fungi were curious, sure, but Aaron came from a background of medicine. He would know full well what different molds could do to the human body - which meant he was hopefully handling them safely, but also... he could just as easily weaponize them.

Then again, James had no real founding for suspicion of Aaron. It was Constantine he was worried about. How much of this was influenced by the wendigo, and how much of this was Aaron?

If Aaron felt at least free enough to share it, then maybe it wasn't all ill-intentioned. He would've kept it a secret if he was actually keeping a lab in his room to grow deadly spores. Unless this was a partial truth. But James didn't want to jump to those kinds of unfounded conclusions.

For all James knew, Aaron literally just had a log with mushrooms on it, and that was all.

"I have an average IQ," Aaron slowly replied.

Mel scoffed. "So humble! Just admit you're a smarty pants!"

"I'm... Technically, I am not a 'smarty pants'," Aaron insisted.

"You're educated," James offered.

"Of course the other smarty pants comes up with a better word," Mel teased.

James pressed his lips into a line, not able to give Mel the look he wanted to since she was behind him.

"Did you know that James knows fifteen languages?" Mel said, glancing at Aaron.

"It's-- it's not that many," James interjected.

Aaron raised a brow. "How many languages, then?"

"Right! He knows fourteen!" Mel went on.

"Ten," James corrected in a mutter.

At least, that he was fluent in.

"Still... impressive," Aaron offered quietly.

"What's your native language?" James asked Aaron, looking at him through the side of his eyes again.

It occured to him - was it possible that he could communicate to Aaron without Mel understanding? Or... even Con understanding? He didn't know how many languages Con knew if he was an ancient being, but the slim chance seemed at least worth the ask.

"Common," Aaron answered, glancing sideways at James. "But I know a smattering of older tongues originating in the States."

"Which ones?" James asked.

"From the North and Western regions?" Aaron said, shifting his gaze down to his shoes.

James squinted slightly. Fine. He would test this. He picked a northern tongue. Kennesaw. It was one of the more common ones.

"Do you understand this?" he asked, not feeling bad that Mel would be left out of this conversation if it worked. She'd been trying to get them to talk anyway, and was busy with his hair.

Aaron flicked a slightly guilty gaze Mel's way, but quickly replied, "You have the dialect down. You continue to impress."

"Does Constantine speak Kennesaw?" James asked.

The smaller man's gaze drifted back down to the floor, realization lighting up his eyes. "...No. He only knows two languages: Common, and Grook."

"How confident are you that you can keep this conversation protected in your consciousness?" James asked seriously. "Do you think you can keep it private if you compartmentalize it into Kennesaw, so that it's inaccessible to him?"

"...Not incredibly," Aaron admitted weakly. "Some... translating of thoughts is automatic, and he pieces together context sometime or other."

"How beneficial would it be to discuss matters concerning him this way?" James asked. "I believe, at present, I'm the only one on the island who may understand your current situation experientially."

"I told you to stay away," Aaron said curtly.

"You came to my cabin," James retorted. "And I know the risk--

"Not with the intent of you becoming involved," Aaron cut in.

"It's too late for that," James said. "I'm already involved, whether I wanted to be or not."

"Stay away," Aaron repeated emphatically.

"Visitors are coming today," James cut in. "Haven't you considered that one of them could be the monster in person?"

He'd seen the flyer on his front door when he'd come home to go to bed. It took him forever to fall asleep after that.

Aaron finally fell quiet again. He muttered under his breath, too softly to catch, and switching languages once more.

"I know I'm not immune to the threat he poses," James went on.

"And imagine," Aaron said, voice still quiet, "what absolute havoc he could wreak with someone of your abilities."

"I know," James said. "But I don't think all of this was an accident. I fear that last night was foreshadowing. If he is coming as I suspect he might, I'm not going to have the option to avoid him. He will seek me out regardless. I need to know if he has any weaknesses. Anything at all that I can exploit. I know he has a target on Cyrin's back too. This isn't just about you."

Huffing through his nose, Aaron glanced hesitantly toward Mel again, who only knowingly smiled despite not understanding the severity of the conversation. He took off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

"I... wish I knew," Aaron said despondently.

James's jaw stiffened.

So it was hopless, then. At least, it was in Aaron's eyes. That just meant that James was going to have to figure this out without him, and maybe it was better that way. Aaron, because of his current connection with Constantine, was going to be a liability. It was better that he wasn't involved in conspiring against the wendigo. That only put them

"I say, start with some research," Aaron slowly offered after a quiet moment. "Because of the oral traditions of my area, the mythos and tales surrounding his kind are inconsistent for our purposes. But cross reference as many materials as you can. Even the less reputable ones."

Research.

James's mind began to run at full speed. Myths. Mythos. The plaza library was unreliable because it belonged to the DMV. The internet was inaccessible. But there was Cyrin.

Cyrin was a scholar in these matters. James remembered this about him. It was something he never thought would become relevant, but today, he'd need to draw on Cyrin's expertise.

A plan started to unfold in James's mind. They had to get ahead of this as soon as they could. Constantine wouldn't have had Aaron targeting James and Cyrin if he wasn't planning on actually pursuing them. Even if Constantine wasn't coming today, they had to prepare.

"Hopefully you'll catch something I didn't," Aaron finished in a murmur.

"Thank you, Aaron," James said quietly.

Aaron looked away.

"And, though we don't know each other, you should know..." James said slowly. "I am committed to doing everything in my power to free you from this evil, and there is nothing you can say to convince me to do otherwise. I know that he is a formidable foe, but if anyone can face him... put a little faith in a man who's survived worse."

Gaze fixed on the floor, Aaron stayed silent for a moment. He set his glasses back on and looked James straight in the eye. "Do not, under any circumstances, seek me out after this," he said, low and desperate-sounding.

"I won't," James promised, because he knew exactly why.

Constantine would use Aaron as a weapon, and Aaron didn't want that to happen.

A stiff silence sat between them. Mel had continued cutting away, though James had noticed that her cuts in the last minute was drawn out, like she had been waiting for a natural lull to continue. Now that there was a natural lull, she smiled and set her scissors down, hands on her hips.

"There ya go! How's that?" she asked.

Honestly, James had forgotten for a second he was getting a haircut once he started plotting murder.

James blinked, staring at the mirror that Mel held in front of him.

It... well, it looked nice. Really nice. Probably one of the nicest haircuts he'd ever had, actually. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. His mind was not doing well with the dramatic tone-shift, and he found himself merely staring.

"Uh--" he forced out. "It's-- it looks amazing, Mel." But he couldn't muster up much energy behind it. "Really. You're an artist."

Mel beamed, pleased that he liked it. "Glad you like it, I'm happy to help! Next, I'd like to help trim your beard and make you look real spiffy, but first--" She turned to Aaron, clapping her hands. "What do you think? Second opinion, remember?"

James's gut sank. This was emotional whiplash like no other. Aaron blinked, visibly reeling from it.

"Professional-looking work," he managed, mustering a fleeting grin. "Well done."

Mel pouted, shifting her weight to her other foot and swaying her hip. "Aw! I'm looking for more for you, but you know what? Maybe it's your eyes. We have to do something about that." She smiled, skipping over to his chair behind him, offering her hand out closer to his face, poking the frames of his glasses. "May I?"

Aaron flinched back slightly. "May you what?" he asked nervously.

"Take your glasses, silly. They're broken!" she exclaimed. "But not to worry, I have a new pair for you. Surprise!"

He frowned slightly with confusion. "But... You don't have my prescription?"

A valid concern. Though Mel probably did have his prescription. The DMV knew everything.

"Why don't you wear the new pair and see for yourself?" Mel said playfully, reaching in and pulling away his broken glasses, bending the frames back. She gasped. "Aw, Aaron, it's a shame I'm even given you a new pair! You have such pretty brown eyes!"

Shrinking back, Aaron's face flushed red as he looked askance. Mel seemed to be endeared by him flustering up, giggling as she bent down to exchange the old pair of glasses with the new one.

"Here you go!" she announced, wiggling his new glasses on his face as she peered over his shoulder, smiling at his reflection on the mirror. "What do you think?"

Turning to look more directly now that James wasn't held hostage by hair clippers, he took note of the new frames Mel had put on Aaron. For one, they weren't cracked like Aaron's former ones - that itself was a huge improvement - but also, the round shape was rather flattering for his face. It was always hard to find glasses that felt like they worked in James's experience, so he was impressed that Mel was able to narrow it down for Aaron without even having spoken to him.

Blinking up at Mel, Aaron tentatively tapped the frames. "They're... intact," he said. He looked up at the ceiling, brows raising in mild surprise. "And they work."

"And they look great!" Mel added, beaming. "The new frames are super flattering on you." She glanced at James. "Right, James?"

James nodded.

"They are," he agreed.

Aaron cast another self-conscious glance down at the ground.

Mel clapped her hands together, satisfied. "Beautiful! Okay, I'll finish up with James, and then you're next, Aaron! Sit tight, I have soooo many ideas for your fresh new look."