supernova.

Usually, when Regan felt fae nearby, she tried to get away from the sensation – and the potential threat – as quickly as she could. But this time was different. Right in downtown, between Just Coffee and Just Cocktails, there was something she’d never seen before. The little shrine stood about half as tall as her, and it obviously wasn’t alive. It was decorated with a variety of twigs, flowers, and moss, all arranged around a mushroom centerpiece. While it appeared harmless, the way the fae presence pinched at her nerves made her cautious. Regan glanced around and found a young man nearby. She fixed the collar of her turtleneck, because one needed to ensure they looked respectable when asking about fairy memorabilia. “Hello. You. Do you know what this is? Did you see who left it here?” Maybe it was best she disassembled it if no one knew why it was here. 

—

It was a long, stressful morning for Eden at the library and he figured the least he could do was treat himself to a coffee on his lunch break. He was pleased to arrive at Just Coffee to see a minimal crowd, and even more so when he took the first sip of his drink and it was made just the way he liked it. Maybe things were turning around after all. Eden still had some time left before he had to go back to work, so he figured he would take a stroll along the street. He could never really appreciate the true beauty of the downtown area on his rush to and from work. Right next to the coffee shop, what Eden figured was some sort of art installation had been set up. A little decorative mushroom was surrounded by flora and greenery, and although he couldn’t quite tell what its correlation was with this specific location, it did look quite…cute. 

As Eden admired the decorations, he suddenly heard a voice call out behind him. Turning around, his glance met that of a young woman who looked to be somewhat tense. She started to speak to him, and Eden looked around confused as there was no one else in their surrounding area. “Huh? Me? Uh, I don’t know. I was just walking by and noticed it. Is there…something wrong?”

—

So this wasn’t his… shrine? Structure? He seemed as confused as Regan. “Yes. You. For one, don’t you think it’s rather insulting for someone to put this… display up outside of Just Coffee? The finest coffee shop in town, known for just coffee? They can’t simply… rebrand themselves. What are they going to change their name to? Just Coffee and Strange Art Outside? No one would go to see that. This thing doesn’t even match their brutalist architecture. Humans like just coffee. If they so much as start serving scones they will lose my patronage.” Regan was getting a little off topic now and she knew it, but it wasn’t often she had the opportunity to speak face to face with someone about her favorite coffee shop (and wasn’t it obvious by the way she spoke so positively that it was her favorite?). Though this young man didn’t have the answers, perhaps he could help her take this thing apart. Regan didn’t want whatever fae who clearly built it to be hanging around downtown, where so many humans were at risk. “No matter though,” she said, her tone growing a fraction less stern, “you will help me take it apart, or at least move it.”

—

Though the other woman seemed to get a bit lost in her rambling, Eden could relate to where she was coming from. For someone like himself who had experienced such an unpredictable career up until now, it was the little consistent details about his daily routine that kept him sane. If anyone were to change even the slightest thing about his favorite coffee shop (he was assuming that she could only be so passionate about this place if it was her favorite), he wouldn’t be pleased either. “Luckily for you it, uh, doesn’t seem like this…thing belongs to Just Coffee so there should be no concern about their brand integrity,” Eden said as he tried to offer some sort of reassurance to the woman. He figured that would be the end of their conversation, taking a long sip from his cup as if to wait for her to lose interest and walk away. However, that was clearly not the case as she took a step closer to the structure instead. “You want me to what? Look, miss, if this is some sort of decoration that the town put up I don’t think we should be moving it, let alone taking it apart…”

—

Brand integrity. This young man understood. Regan approved. So he should have no qualms about assisting her, right? Only… he did. “What is your concern? If the town erected this, then they have poor taste and should bear the consequences for it.” She gestured down to the small structure, frowning like it personally committed a crime against her. “Besides, I doubt the town left it here. Someone else did.” Fae – she still felt the presence wrinkling her skin. “Trust me, it would be a good thing for everyone if we just… got rid of it. Or even move it. If you don’t wish to assist, though, I will do it myself.” The second Regan set a hand on the roof of the little structure, it felt like she was stretching out in all directions at once, yet shrinking in on herself. Reality seemed to snap around her, and when Regan blinked a few times to recover from whatever the heck just happened (syncope?), she and the young man were no longer outside Just Coffee. In fact, Regan wasn’t sure where they were. 

—

“I mean, I think it’s kind of cute…” Eden mumbled to no one in particular. The woman seemed dead set on deconstructing the structure. He considered walking away for a moment, but her alleging to someone else putting the structure up worked in piquing his interest. Was this not just a simple holiday decoration? Eden opened his mouth to ask, but the woman chose that moment to move towards the structure with fervor. “Whoa! Okay, I’ll help,” he said as he held out his free hand to steady her. It was a sizable structure and Eden didn’t want her getting hurt moving it on his watch. He placed his coffee on a nearby ledge and reached out to hold the roof of the mushroom house when suddenly, an indescribable feeling washed over him. He let out a yelp; it felt like his head was being crushed while his body was simultaneously getting pulled apart. As quickly as the feeling came, it disappeared and Eden rubbed his forehead with a groan. Was this what aging felt like? 

Trying to ignore what just happened, he turned back towards the structure only to find it not there. The woman was still beside him, but their surroundings had completely changed. They weren’t on the sidewalk anymore, but rather on grass. The streets of Wicked’s Rest were replaced with white walls leading to a split path and while the path was completely sunlit, a tiled ceiling enclosed them in the space. Eden blinked once, then twice, before turning to the woman. “What…the fuck?!”

—

At some point, Regan had ended up on the ground, perfectly (otherworldly) green grass balled in her fists as she pulled herself up. The boy was the only one present, so he was the recipient of her suspicion and ire. “You, what did you do? How did you bring me here? You’re not especially well-muscled. In fact, you appear to be more on the feeble side. Something to work on. Diet and exercise.” She looked around, her eyes falling from one white wall to the next, then down to the blindingly green grass. She swallowed thickly because some part of her knew that he didn’t bring her here. This was something else. Something stranger than Terramoist and a world away from the human simulation incident. 

Needles prickled up Regan’s arms and she didn’t need to wonder what that meant. A small, glowing creature zoomed toward them, pausing in the air in front of their faces. “Steel yourself,” she murmured to the boy, already loathing what she knew was about to happen. Every interaction with a pixie was insufferable.

“You made it, you made it! Stumbling around like the massive, most biggest of ants in a maze. I have such a fun game, you’ll love it, you’ll wanna stay here forever!” The pixie giggled, then did a backflip through the air. “Did ya know there’s two of you here? So do a duet! You gotta sing if you wanna play!”

Regan was so done with pixies. She jabbed a finger in the tiny creature’s direction. “You. Tell Snickers that this is not amusing, and that if Snickers wants its next candle, it better…” she waved, “fix whatever this is, right now. There will be no singing, and there will be no playing.” If the other individual wanted to stay here and play with the pixie, that was none of her concern (though the dropping of her stomach as if it were steeped with guilt said otherwise).

The pixie stared at Regan for a moment, almost like it was being thoughtful, and then it turned her previously-white turtleneck tie-dye. “Nahhhhh.” The pixie zipped up close to the boy now, bouncing in the air. It snapped its tiny fingers, and a pile of gold and silver tokens appeared on the ground between them, each shaped like different things. They reminded Regan of the pieces in Monopoly (where did that memory come from?). There was notably, however, no board.

“Games, games, names, games, names, what should it be? Oh! A riddle game! Or maybe something with… I liked thinking about ants before… oh, what if high stakes? Something dangerous? Ooh, maybe both! I love both! No, just pick! Picking is the way.” The pixie’s glow brightened. "Pick your pieces! Pick, pick, pick! Or I’ll pick for you!" The pixie giggled again, eerie dark eyes gleaming. "I’m a very good picker, you know. I learned from the best of ‘em, Peter Piper!

—

After the initial confusion settled, Eden felt panic. Not only had he just seemingly teleported (which was not part of a siren’s abilities as far as he knew), but the space around him was giving off a strange energy, as if it was all a facade. He pinched himself on the back of the hand and flinched — very much real. His spiral was interrupted by the woman’s accusations, and Eden’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Me? I didn’t do shit! If anything, you were the one who was so insistent on taking down the structure,” he threw back at her. 

For a moment, he reminded himself that panic and frustration never got anyone anywhere, and proceeded to take a deep breath. However, the woman’s next words hit a nerve. “Okay, now that’s crazy. I have a very consistent exercise routine, thank you very much. Not all of us want muscles bulging out of our forehead. It’s about building strength, and sometimes that isn’t visible…” His tangent was interrupted by the zoom of a glowing ball of light that stopped right in front of them. 

The woman murmured to him, then the ball of light started talking. Eden squinted, realizing that the ball of light was in fact…a tiny person? A creature? Whatever it was, its high-pitched giggle and devilish grin served as no comfort to him. He tensed at the sudden mention of singing, but the woman stepped in to his relief. She started negotiating with the thing, and it might’ve well have been gibberish to Eden. Who the hell is Snickers, and why do you already seem to know this little creature? He wanted to ask, but figured it’d be better to stay as inconspicuous as possible. 

Unfortunately for him, he was pretty hard to miss in a practically empty room. The creature bounced over, stopping in front of Eden’s face as if to give him a better look. Despite resembling a human, its pointed ears and beady little eyes started to jog his memory. Perhaps this was one of those…fairies he had briefly read about? He wasn’t familiar with all of the types just yet, he admittedly hadn’t had as much time to do his research as he wanted, but the general physiology seemed to match. 

Whatever deep thought he was in was abruptly interrupted by a gleeful screech from the flying creature, and Eden took a step back as a pile of tokens suddenly appeared on the ground between him and the woman. “Game, game, game!” The thing giggled. “Pick, pick, pick!” Eden was starting to lose his mind. 

“No, no, I think you’re doing enough work here,” he said to the creature. He couldn’t believe he was talking to it, but his lunch break was almost up and he had to start taking matters into his own hands. “I’ll pick. Look, I’ll be so quick.” Without even looking at the pile, Eden mindlessly picked up the first token his hand landed on. “Look,” he said as he held out his palm to the woman and the creature. “Oh, a heart! Like…love. You know, because I’d love…” he stopped himself mid-sentence, eyes falling to the woman who was still by his side. “We’d love it if you let us out of here.”

—

As Regan studied the heart token in the human’s hand, her lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line. Alone, the token seemed harmless. But with pixies, nothing was ever as it seemed, and if whatever was about to transpire had to do with hearts, that was potentially at conflict with, well, staying alive. She didn’t feel a scream pounding in her lungs yet, at least. She mostly felt a surge of annoyance. She hadn’t been planning on playing along with this ‘game’, but the boy was foolish. “Why would you just grab something when told to?” She hissed under her breath. Never mind that only minutes ago she had been attempting to get the human’s help removing the odd shrine, on the basis of ‘I’m telling you to’. Regan liked to think she had more authority than a pixie.

At least the child was trying to talk his way out of this mess, though bargaining between a human and a fae rarely ended in the human’s favor. The pixie was zooming drunkenly through the air, clearly excited about the heart. Which was probably bad. It hovered in front of Regan’s face now, and her whole body tensed, spine so straight it ached. 

“Now you, now you!” The pixie gestured to the remaining tokens, “What will it be! Reach out and see!” Regan smoothed out her now tie-dyed turtleneck, bristling with irritation. Even her skin blazed with it as the pixie only came closer. “I do not play. And this whole thing is absurd. Bring us back to town immediately.” Regan kept her voice low, now addressing the child. “Listen to me. This thing is dangerous and cannot be trusted. Whatever game this is, we are not playing. We find some other solution.” Her gaze went back to the pixie – struggling to focus on it with how quickly the thing was moving. 

“I’m not picking until you tell us the rules. If this is a game, there are rules. They still come with rules, yes?” Her thoughts had summoned a distant memory of Monopoly earlier, and now a couple more titles sprung to mind: Life, Catan, Risk. That made her nearly as uncomfortable as the pixie did. “Explain, or I will not be participating.”

The pixie made a noise like flatulence, and it seemed to be studying Regan “Rules? You want rules? That’s sooo funny, coming from a–”

Regan’s slow heart spiked. “The rules,” she interrupted, “or I will not take a token, and we will wait each other out for an extraordinarily long time. Won’t that be boring?” She knew pixies well enough, she supposed. They liked to be entertained.

The pixie looked like it was considering this, but Regan’s hopes (those foolish things, always, every time) were quickly dashed when she realized it was only another game.

“Nope!” The pixie declared, puffing out its little chest. “You can just share! That’s caring! A heart for you and a heart for you. Love love love lie lie lie die die die.”

Something wet beat in Regan’s hands. 

She felt the weight of it, the familiar autopsy, placing on a scale weight, the shape, and used her other hand to support the… human heart. Veins and arteries were cleanly cleaved, and it beat with frantic life despite all logic. There was no trace of death on it, which was the only thing keeping a scream from tearing out of Regan. No one died for this. It was not real. This was fake, a glamour, a trick. She reminded herself with each beat, struck by how different it was from the grey stillness of the hearts she held at the morgue, but she only counted four beats before realizing that her companion had a heart in his hands, too. Now she waited to watch that one beat. Expectantly. Only she waited too long, longer than a heart should take to beat. Finally, it pulsed with reluctance and a lazy QT.

When Regan realized what that meant, it beat again with more urgency, still too slow. She looked back down at the heart in her own hands now, then at the boy, no doubt pulsing in tandem with it. The pixie’s words sounded muffled to her ears, though she could hear her own heart pounding in sync with the heart her companion held.

The pixie, displeased with being ignored, made a sharp whistle. “Isn’t this fun? You picked the heart! You love the heart! What’s wrong? Just bring it over there and you’ll be free, you’ll see!” The pixie giggled, twirling through the air, glow turning from gold to red, then it seemed to wink out of existence. When had their surroundings changed? Where there had been blindingly bright grass before, now there was… what was this? Winding paths, vicious wind, and… and still the heart beat with precious life in her hands, and all Regan could think of was how many she had stopped. Regan could explain away all of this as glamours and tricks (gladly, sign her up to be the first to do so), but that – that was real. Organs in an alley, Pubik’s eye huge then gone. Fur exploding, viscera splattered, blood dripping down her skin, scars from flinching. And this heart, the boy’s heart, her next victim.  

“It’s fake, it’s not real, it’s fake, bí iarann, bí iarann, bí iarann.” Regan couldn’t hold onto her own words. Her hands were too busy. “I’m a doctor,” she said, reminding herself and informing the poor child. “This does not happen. It isn’t–” But however tormented Regan was… she wasn’t alone, judging by his expression.

—

“Because I just want to get the fuck out of here, and appeasing your captor usually helps in that,” Eden returned sharply, trying his best not to let his lack of patience show. He always hated feeling like the dumbest person in the room, which was exactly how he was feeling in this moment. Between the automatic understanding that his two companions seemed to have with each other and the woman’s scolding, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of his predicament even if he tried. 

Taking in what she just said to him, he watched in silence as she attempted to bargain with the creature. She seemed to have a considerable amount of knowledge about whatever this little creature was, but how could such a tiny thing be dangerous? No, what a naive sentiment. If there was one thing about Wicked’s Rest that he was certain about, it was that the supernatural were unpredictable. Even the most harmless-looking creatures could be harnessing something sinister within. 

Eden thumbed the heart-shaped token in anticipation as they briefly paused. It seemed like the woman actually had the creature convinced, and the sooner they got the rules to this ‘game’ they were to play, the sooner they could get out of this place. But the creature puffed out their chest proudly as they turned down the woman’s proposal, though the alternative solution didn’t seem that bad either. 

“That’s fine, we can share,” he interjected, though quickly realizing that the creature was paying him no attention. Instead, they continued on their tangent. Love love love lie lie lie die die die.

The jovial tone caused unease to wash over him. Even the most harmless-looking creatures could be harnessing something sinister within. 

Perhaps it’d be better for his companion to safeguard the token. After all, she was clearly much more knowledgeable with the inner workings of this creature. Intending on handing the silver token to her, Eden’s breath hitched when he felt it missing from his tight grasp. The token was gone, replaced with something much heavier. It beat in his hand as if it were alive. 

A pulsating heart rested in his outstretched hand, red and glossy as it were freshly ripped out from a corpse. The words caught in his throat as he watched the organ beat with life, a slick of blood covering the palm of his hand. From the size of it, there was no doubt in his mind that it was a human heart. 

Eden was horrified, but not because of the gory sight. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that a heart, a live heart, had materialized out of thin air. No, he was horrified because he could feel his stomach immediately burning in a way that he knew he needed to satiate, and his answer had just been presented to him on a silver platter. 

“I–” he began, the metallic scent filling his nostrils causing him to lose focus. No, not here. You’re not alone. He had almost forgotten about his two witnesses in the shock of the moment. Forcing himself to look up, Eden eyes widened at the change of scenery. The bright, peaceful meadow had been replaced with a dark forest, several paths winding into the black void ahead. His companion was holding a heart of her own, and the creature zipped about excitedly. 

“Hey!” He finally managed to say, swallowing down his rising nausea. “We’re not doing whatever the hell this is.” He looked at the creature right in the eye, holding out the heart in front of him. He was tempted to drop it on the floor, one, in defiance, but two, so he could get the intoxicating smell as far from him as possible.

“Nuh uh uh! Spork says you must play the game and the game is to protect the heart! Protect it as if it’s your own, hehe!” The thing, Spork, giggled with a cheeky smile, flying into his face. “Get it to the other side. Easy, easy, easy! And make sure you don’t give into temptation,” the creature said with a pointed wink in his direction, and then it was gone.

Eden stood unmoving, as did his companion. She was holding a beating heart similar to his own and she did not look thrilled by it either. As if in a trance, she muttered a mixture of words. It’s fake. it’s not real. A foreign language that he couldn’t decipher. “Well, doctor,” he hissed, his growing panic apparent in his tone. “You seem like quite the expert in whatever our little friend was. Care to enlighten me?” The wind picked up, blowing a chill into the air that only filled Eden with dread. 

The creature was gone, there was no more bargaining to be done. He didn’t dare look down at the heart again, opting to scan the path ahead instead. Except there was nothing to see down the winding paths except for darkness. Any effort seemed futile, and his body was screaming at him. 

EAT IT. EAT IT. EAT IT. 

Feeling dizziness take over, Eden bent over to catch his breath, one hand on his knee while the other remained grasping his vice at a distance. “Just give me a moment…” he muttered to his companion, closing his eyes. 

—

A moment? They didn’t have a moment. Real or not (not, not, not), right now it looked like they had their hands around each other’s beating hearts. And with each breath, Regan tried to keep her lungs from screaming out. Hearts were delicate, so wonderfully delicate, and Regan could feel it shuddering in her fingers even though her scarred palms registered nothing. She was going to destroy it, like she did everything. Making her carry fine china would have been punishment enough, but this—

Cliodhna’s voice, when it came, did not emerge from the bottom of a tar pit. Your face is soiled with emotion, leanbh. You will not turn away or close your eyes. You will not even blink or swallow. Your face will be still as the dead.

Regan’s teeth chattered as she tightened her grip on the heart, only because she’d nearly let it slide through her fingers. Not too tight. Not too— thump, thump. So delicate. Had she moved? Taken a single step? Her eyes barely focused past the heart in her hands, but the ground — however much it had changed before — remained still beneath her feet. She hadn’t taken a single step, then. Her unfocused gaze landed on the boy once more. Regan had thought him stunned speechless before, but it was clearly more than that. He was swallowing thickly as though his mouth watered; Regan could feel his trembling hands as if they were around her own chest.

“Is your moment over yet?” Regan said, and it came out a whisper she would have normally been ashamed of, but one decibel too loud, and it felt as though a life would be extinguished. His trembling continued. It jostled her lungs, her own heart. Could he feel the vibrations coming from her lungs? What she understood intuitively to be true right now did not align with what was possible. Her breath hitched despite herself, and she clenched her teeth against the thrum climbing her throat. It was panic, she knew — something she was not supposed to feel, once upon a time. And panic could explode.

She needed to not blink or even swallow, she needed to remember how to be still as the dead. She needed to focus on the literal precarious path ahead that they were forced to navigate… unless she could work out a deal with the pixie, but it seemed too late for that now. So often it was Jade’s voice in her mind, allowing her so much that she had closed herself off to. So of course it was Cliodhna’s voice again, with iron.

My cailín beag caillte, you do not care about your hands, your stomach, being drowned, being blinded. This is what you care about. 

The boy remained deeply conflicted. Regan was direct on a good day. This had turned out to not be a very good day.

She didn’t dare try to raise the heart up in her hands, but she looked between it and her challenged companion, trying to capture his attention. “This is yours. At least, we are being led to believe as much. The one in your hands…” With its too-slow beat. Regan didn’t finish the thought nor the sentence. “We move and end this, before I lose my balance and this turns into a field autopsy. Fascinating to watch, less so to experience.” Regan had meant the balance allowing her to command her own lungs, but now that she examined where they had to go, it became apt for that, too. The terrain was mountainous, like they had been dropped atop Seven Peaks. But there, in the distance, a large yellow banner waved, balloons and party favors funneling ahead of it. “Unless that — it was a pixie — unless it comes back, there is no way out of this. My grandmother used to say that those who endure…” Survive to serve. “…Endure.”

—

Eden couldn’t care less that his companion’s eyes were boring into the back of his head as he knelt over. He was going to take as much time as he damn neared pleased, and she would probably let him if she knew it was for her own good. He dug the nails of his free hand into his palm in an attempt to snap himself out of his daze, suppressing the urge to take a deep breath of the metallic air. Eden prayed that his reaction came off as plain queasiness. After all, the regular human had likely never handled a heart before, let alone one that still beat. 

He ignored the other woman’s question as he stood back straight, though his eyes remained fixed on the pulsing organ in his hand. The hunger was still stirring deep in his gut, threatening to wrack through him like a full-body chill. No, you won’t eat it. You can’t eat it. Not here, the voice in his head screamed at him. Eden clenched his jaw as he forced himself to think about his mother. 

He thought about the way that she equated every heart consumed to a rise in status, her disregard for the life of regular humans growing as she deemed them weak creatures. He remembered the almost sinister look on her face when she hovered over the corpse in his trailer that fateful night, the way her eyes sparkled in the dark while talking about their next meal.

No, he would not be like her. A heartless individual. A monster. 

Resist. Resist. Resist.

Swallowing hard, Eden finally tore his gaze away from the heart, directing his attention to his companion as she spoke once more. “My heart? But that’s impossible if I’m standing right here.” The heart had to be real with the way his body responded with pure hunger, but the claim that it was his left doubt in his mind. He breathed in slowly, holding it so he could watch the heart in the woman’s hands still. As soon as he let it out, the organ pulsed once more. “That’s impossible…” he said again with far less certainty, wondering if she could feel his pulse quickening with every passing moment. 

He hadn’t missed what the woman was inferring, holding the heart — her heart — in his hands at a distance. No, there was something wrong. For every two breaths that he took, the heart in his hands only pulsed once. She clearly wanted to be perceived as the calm and collected type with how she was handling the situation, but Eden figured that her heart would at least betray her. Perhaps she was actually calm, perhaps this wasn’t as surprising a sight to her as it was to him. Either way, he didn’t like the odds of his metaphorical life being in someone else’s hands, and he was sure she probably returned the feeling. 

“Well we certainly can’t have that, now can we? Luckily for you, I have quite the steady grip, Miss…” he trailed off before letting out a bitter laugh. How ironic that he was holding the alleged heart of a stranger before even catching their name. At least seeing the heart’s owner standing in front of him helped to somewhat quiet the voices. Eden did not want to begin to imagine what draining a person’s life with his own hands would feel like. 

Still, his hunger had yet to be satiated, but he had to sober up — not just for his own sake, but to quell any suspicion from his partner. The only way that he could do that was to keep distracting himself. Keep moving. 

“Pixies…I’m not entirely familiar, but I’ve read a bit. Notoriously causing mischief, right?” No shit, he thought as he examined their surroundings. Quite a predicament they had found themselves in. “I certainly have some strong words for that Spork when we see them again,” Eden cleared his throat, taking a step towards the ominous landscape in front of them. Beyond the rocky road, what seemed to be a party was set up in the distance. He squinted, trying to see if he could identify a flying creature zipping around. “But if they won’t come back to us, then we go to them.” 

Eden brushed the hair out of his face with his free hand while his other remained gripping the hot, pulsing heart. “That is certainly…a true statement from your grandma. And endure we will. I hope you enjoy hiking,” he said as he eyed the terrain. “Usually it’d be smart to come up with some sort of plan before moving, but I highly doubt that will help us in this situation, so…” He forced himself to put on the emotional mask that he was so familiar with putting on and finally looked the woman in the eye, the previous unease gone from his face. “Shall we?”

—

Of course it was impossible. And when they finished here, when they reached those streamers and punished that pixie, they could spend the evening dissecting the ways in which this could not be happening. An autopsy for the shattered mind. Regan was getting better at that, delaying her incredulity. Was it character growth, or numb acceptance? For many years, she could not discern the two.

“It is impossible. I cannot claim that it’s real. But we must proceed as if it is.” As much as she hated it. Refreshing, in its own way, to hear another person speak sense, rather than believe everything in front of their eyes. Every beat of the heart in her hands brought questions; if she was going to be free of them, they had to finish this.

Oh, was the child asking for her name? Regan hesitated. She watched her heart beat once, red staining the boy’s fingers. “Regan is fine,” she said. Given the circumstances, it might have been preferable he not know her full name, or the fact she was a doctor. “Yourself?” Pleasantries, now, like they were standing around a giant worm statue, engaging in social palaver like two banshee clans exchanging novel brutalities. Far too casual for their situation.

Questions were better. Regan knew the answer to this one. “If you call this mischief. Their definition is rather loose. They’re some of the most precise yet inexact creatures you will ever encounter. Every word matters, but none of it means anything.” She started forth, intentionally keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her. She didn’t want to peer over the edge of the apparent cliffside. She didn’t even want to think about it. There was enough space for her to walk comfortably without the need to sidle against rockface, which was one small gratitude. “They’re fae,” Regan added, “and you might as well know your tormentor. If you have anything iron on your person, I suggest you use it once we find them. I don’t believe a deal to be likely.” Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Her heart thrashed. Both of them.

Comparing this to hiking was both generous and delusional. They scuttled past a rocky bend—Regan did look down and did regret it—and squeezed through a pile of rocks with only a cramped tunnel. Keeping hold of the heart was difficult there; she had drying blood beneath her fingernails for her clenching. The boy seemed unharmed by the grip, or maybe he was skilled at feigning bravery. More than once, Regan caught him staring at the heart, his expression difficult to place. Not horror. It was almost familiar. Like her own face when a fresh decedent was resting and waiting before her. Eagerness, maybe. Or temptation.

The sky took on a jaundiced yellow hue as they descended. It was heavy and thick, or perhaps she was only feeling the difference, and the air above had been thin and elusive, had contributed to the way her lungs had been seizing before. (Maybe it wasn’t all her. Maybe she wasn’t completely at fault, completely broken.) “I don’t suppose you have a functioning clock?” Regan asked him, finally. Her phone had gone black. She had no idea of the time, but it felt like they’d been here for hours, and Jade might be waiting for her at home. If Regan didn’t deal with Spork herself, she had a feeling Jade’s fury at the pixie might be worse.

Something heavy shifted below. A deep rumble. A release of friction. 

Regan froze. The boy had heard it too. Regan didn’t turn to look at him; she didn’t have to—his heart frenzied in her hands. “What was that?”

—

A part of him did not want to even utter his name within the confines of whatever cursed space they were in. But he had asked the woman for hers, and he was not one to lose his manners just because he was under some slight duress. (Though, he was quite sure that this situation qualified as major duress.) “Eden,” he said simply, politely nodding in Regan’s direction as he steadied himself. “I’m sure this goes without saying, but I do wish we had met under different circumstances.”

He did not say a word as Regan explained the workings of fae, just listened intently as they began to traverse the rocky terrain. Luckily for Eden, the height of the cliff did not bother him in the slightest. A siren with a fear of heights was basically unheard of, and his colony had taken it a step further by cementing their home amongst the mountaintops. Catching a glimpse of the drop to his side did nothing to him, which meant that his fraying nerves were focused solely on the heart in his hand. 

Eden kept a tight grip on the slow-beating organ as they navigated twists and turns, though the blood caking under his fingernails did make him grimace. As if the morality of feeding hadn’t been enough reason to sour his mood, the mess of it all had always been a deterring factor for him. However, his current grimace was a result of both disgust and simultaneous hunger. If only he could lick the dripping blood clean off of his arm, tongue leading to his palm where the pulsating heart waited for him. Fresh, beating, alive — even just one bite…

Focus, focus, focus. Eden squeezed his eyes shut for the briefest moment, holding the heart at an arm’s length as he forced himself to take a deep breath. He swallowed hard, hoping that Regan wouldn’t notice that nor the way that his heart was likely beating rapidly in her hand. “Quite a long drop down, huh?” He remarked, hoping that the words would be a convincing enough reason for any future erratic heartbeats. 

As for the time, he cursed the fact that this had been the one day he chose not to wear a watch to work. He slipped his free hand into his pocket, trying not to think too hard about the blood that was streaking the screen as he tapped frantically. “Nothing,” he finally said after a few seconds of trying. “My phone was near a full charge upon entering this hellscape, so I want to blame it on the fae.” In fact, he was pretty confident that he could blame everything on the fae at this point, though he wasn’t sure how the ladies at the library would take that explanation, especially if he were to show up to the rest of his shift with bloodsoaked hands. 

They were nearing the bottom of the chasm — halfway through their trek — when the rumbling started. For a moment, Eden thought it was his hunger finally taking over, his stomach screaming for the fresh heart in his hands. Taking one glance at Regan though, she mirrored his surprised expression, and the vibration of the ground below them suddenly became much more real. “I have no fucking clue,” he finally said, eyes wide with panic as they darted around his surroundings. They only managed a few more steps when a particularly strong jolt shook the ground, their balance especially hard to keep with only one free hand each. Eden could feel the heart shifting in his hold, instinctively digging his nails into the slick organ to keep it from falling. He glanced over in Regan’s direction to see if she reacted to the sudden pressure, only for his gaze to fall to some new movement behind her. 

“There’s something…” he trailed off, squinting into the darkness from which they came. The something was getting bigger, getting closer. The sound of something hard scraping against the rocky terrain rang through the void, and Eden vaguely made out a spherical shape in the shadows before his survival instinct kicked in. “Go now. Faster,” were the only words that he could manage before quickening his pace, Regan and his heart trailing close behind as they stumbled down the deep descent towards a wide clearing at the foot of the cliff. 

—

The heart in her hands thrashed in her fingers, now sticky with blood. That marvelous organ had to be approaching 120 beats per minute. Tachycardia territory. Regan looked to her side at Eden as the rumbling groaned on. He didn’t know the source either. But the body—the heart—knew what the mind did not: danger. She and Eden both looked back over their shoulders. There was something. Big, fast. Round. 

Oh, feces.

When Eden barked, Regan listened. “Running.” Big rock. Spork’s doing. The diagnosis didn’t matter right now; only the treatment. So what was the treatment? Regan’s shoes pounded the rocky path, her lungs hammering, and she wished she had more of Jade’s athleticism. They were going to be flattened unless something changed. So what could she do—fly off the side and let it pass? Would not work. Eden. Necklace. The hearts. Jump? Even worse; they wouldn’t survive a fall at this height. Scream, shatter the boulder? That only ever made things worse. So Regan reached the same conclusion Eden had: run, run, run. 

The boulder was gaining momentum, knocking smaller rocks and snags off the edge. She could feel it in her feet, closer and closer, so close now she didn’t even dare look over her shoulder again. Her grandmother would have blown it up with a whistle. Regan could not even protect this child.

Up ahead, the cliff curved. There was an alcove. They had to reach it. The heart was going to launch itself out of Regan’s hands at this point, a blood-fueled rocket. She tried to cling on to the organ—so much easier when they did not beat. “There!” She shouted to Eden, and she could tell his eyes were on that slight depression, too, thinking the same thing. Regan had never moved faster. She grabbed onto Eden’s arm, which was perhaps not as heroic as she wanted—he was faster than her. They threw themselves into the niche, braced flat against the side of the alcove, boulder almost grazing Regan’s feet. Her lungs recognized how close that had been, like they were grasping for a death scream that was no longer necessary.

The boulder rolled past, massive and still too close to their noses. The rumbling grew quieter, more distant, and there was a crash of some kind from below. Gone.

Regan panted, trying to keep each breath from straining too high and too loud. “That… was just… like in Indiana Bones.” The back of her head thunked into the cliffside. She sank against it, heart cradled to her chest with one hand, fingertips latching onto the hard surface with the other. “When we catch up to that pixie, I am going to put it in an iron jar. It wants a deal so badly? Fine. It can promise to never do this again if it will ever see freedom again.” 

She looked at Eden. Winded, yes, breathing ragged, and… there was something else, that strange expression on his face again. Like the world had narrowed to the heart in his hands. Still too sluggish, still too in synchrony with what she felt beneath her sternum. Regan could understand such a fixation; sometimes, bodies were all that existed to her. But Eden’s eyes were glossy with need, mouth open. It was not only cold shock. 

Cautiously, she tapped his shoulder. “Are you harmed?” A beat. Visible. “Eden.” Would he snap out of it? “We need to keep going. There is no telling when the next boulder is going to come rolling, or something worse. Remain composed.” Always composed. “We must be nearing the bottom”. 

She looked at her own heart, or at least the facsimile of it, pulsing in Eden’s grip. He had held onto it through all of that. And the heart in Regan’s care remained intact despite the threat of her lungs. She tapped him again, with none of the natural ease she reserved for her decedents. “We have this, Eden. We are almost there. Stand up. Use your feet. This is a pep talk.”

—

Part of Eden wanted to match Regan’s slightly slower pace so that they could fall in line — not because he was necessarily concerned for her wellbeing, but because he wanted to ensure that his heart survived. But even without turning his head, he could sense the presence of the boulder right on their tail. They could not afford to slow down. At least as long as he continued to run forward, he could assume that his heart was still in one piece.

Of course, he couldn’t go expecting her to keep his heart safe without returning the diligence. Feeling Regan tugging him in the direction of the alcove, Eden tightened his grip as hard as he could without puncturing the organ. Their whole predicament was bullshit — who said he had to follow the rules? What if it was all just some elaborate fae prank? How the hell did they get here in the first place? Yet, his body was obeying anyways. Cupping both hands now around the heart, he launched himself towards safety. 

With no free hand to steady his fall, Eden thudded onto the ground with a force that vibrated through his bones. He bit his tongue to keep a pained groan from escaping. “What the fuck is Indiana Bones?” He asked in an attempt to distract himself from the bruising pain in his tailbone. Leaning his head against the cliffside, he squeezed his eyes shut as if it would allow him to wake up from this tiring nightmare. Regan was going on about the pixie, but he couldn’t muster the energy to reply. He took quick, shallow breaths, his body needing a second to regroup. 

Only, each breath left his body shaking. No…it wasn’t from pain, or even fear for that matter. Now that he wasn’t running for his life, Eden’s mind couldn’t help but focus on the rumbling hollowness in his stomach. Did the blood smell sweeter now that he’d exerted so much energy? His hands were properly stained red now — how many hours would he have to spend scrubbing to rid his skin of today? How long until he’d get another opportunity to sink his teeth into a proper meal? 

The tap on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t alone. Eden licked his lips, steeling himself before looking up at Regan. “I am unharmed, just recuperating. Not as young as I used to be.” He took one hand off of the organ, bracing it on the ground as he shifted into a kneeling position. His tailbone was throbbing, and the scent of copper was making his head spin. He hated feeling weak; he hated feeling like a starved animal.

But he had no time to wallow. Regan was right, and he wanted to escape from this place as quickly as possible. “Something feels off about your pep talk. You don’t usually have to specify that you’ve given a pep talk after the fact. But I don’t think that I could give a better one right now, so I appreciate your efforts,” Eden said as he finally stood, wincing at the dull pain in his…for lack of a more elegant term, ass. “Alright, let’s get this over with. This blood is starting to drip down my forearms and I’d like to try and preserve this shirt.”

The walk across the bottom of the chasm was a much easier journey — perhaps suspiciously easily, but Eden was going to take what they could get. He did his best to keep his eyes forward or on Regan when she talked, but his gaze always found a way to sneak back to the heart in his hand, the slick organ still taunting his dull hunger. Despite the excitement of their boulder escape, Regan’s heart had remained pulsing at a steady, slow beat. If anything, it was strangely calm. Eden mentally tracked his own pulse, brows furrowing when his own heart beat much faster in comparison. Had he caused damage to it earlier? “Regan, do you feel any pain? Your heart seems to be bea–” He was cut off by a sudden rattling from behind, another boulder coming clunkering down the path that they’d descended earlier. Although it tumbled off to the side, Eden instinctively quickened his pace. “I think we’re safe over here, but I’d rather not risk that rock flattening us like roadkill.”

The cliffside on this side of the chasm was much easier to maneuver, as if stair-like steps had been carved into the rock for easy travels. Another suspicious convenience, but they were making a good pace now, and Eden was hoping that they’d get to the top before any other obstacles could be thrown their way. “So…how are we going to deal with this little creature when we get up there? I think you should be the one to speak, since I’m almost certain that you have more experience conversing with pixies than I do,” he said as he glanced up, spotting the small flying figure gleefully weaving in between balloons.

—

Eden was not well, and Regan didn’t think it had anything to do with his age, as he claimed. She also didn’t want to bring that up, because she looked younger than he did but was probably around the same age, if not older. His coccyx was injured, and that much was obvious by his gait. Probably not a fracture, but that bone was particularly easy to contuse. And then there was that glossy-eyed look she kept seeing take hold of his face. Both hearts slowed (more noticeable in one than the other) as the boulder rolled past, and allowed them an easy stroll the rest of the way down. So Regan had been explaining the plot of Indiana Bones, and she didn’t think Eden absorbed nearly any of it owing to his focus on the hearts. Which was unfortunate—it was a modern classic, and probably better than any pep talk Regan could offer (though her first one hadn’t been so bad).

“I think it’s too late for your shirt. Even if no blood gets on it–-which seems unlikely—pixies notoriously hate shirts. This was a perfectly good, black turtleneck before Spork went and tie-dyed it!” That might not have been true of all pixies, but at least two pixies had destroyed her shirts in the past. One destroyed a winter coat. Jade was pleased. “I could probably get blood out of it, actually. I am good at removing blood from fabric. It’s impossible for it not to leave a trace, though, even an invisible one. Some BlueStar…” His eyes were on the hearts. Again. 

“Any pain? Not—why?” She had been about to ask what prompted the question, but it was clear he’d noticed her heart was too bradycardic. Even a heart at rest was more enthusiastic than Regan’s. A second boulder spared her from answering, but it didn’t feel like much of a savior. She could feel it roll in the bones of her feet, making her legs tremble. And her heart—well, it didn’t react much. The boulder crashed on the path behind them. “Agreed. Let us keep moving. But… what is your problem with roadkill? We should all aspire to it. It’s all we can do.” It wasn’t Eden’s fault that he didn’t appreciate roadkill (though it was a clear character flaw); some people were not raised properly. Denied flattened possums in their tiny hands despite the fact children adore roadkill.

They were getting closer. Regan was starting to feel that fae presence rake against her skin, disproportionate to the size of the pesky pixie. They started making their way up an incline. The plateau above was ready with banners and balloons and a pixie who owed them the way home. After it fixed her turtleneck. “I will handle Spork. Do not worry.” She recounted her plan again: iron. But right now, she didn’t have any, and their priority needed to be getting out of… wherever they were stuck at the moment. Trapping the pixie would come later, and it was out of concern for everyone’s safety—it had nothing to do with vengeance, which she was above. “Just do not make any further deals or promises. It owes us right now. We accomplished its task.” Her voice lowered, muttered. “Became entertainment. Do not give it an inch.”

She and Eden were both panting by the time they reached the top, and she was fairly sure she heard Eden’s stomach make a desperate rumble more than once. The heart in her fingers sped up each time she heard it. Jade’s heart also probably picked up its pace when Jade was hungry. Regan had learned about ‘hanger’. 

“Spork!” Regan called out. Some of the balloons popped, which actually startled the creature into showing itself. It flitted around them and then perched on top of Eden’s head, ready to bolt the second he inevitably swat. “You made it you made it! And you brought the hearts. I heart you both so much.” The pixie drew a little heart in the air, and it turned red before dissipating like mist. “So silly! Why didn’t you eat them? Or toss them off the cliff? So silly. And with the boulders!” 

Spork launched itself into the air again, landing on top of one of the balloons Regan actually hoped her voice would pop. But right now she looked at Eden questioningly. Back up at Spork. “They’re our hearts, are they not? Not that I believe in—-this is some kind of trickery, obviously. But pixies are capable of harm. Since they represent—I mean, they even beat like—”

Spork flew over and tapped each heart. Both melted into a dibbling, dripping puddle of what might or might not have been real blood. And Regan was still standing, and Eden was still standing. Could they have just abandoned the hearts in the first place? She hated pixies. “Whatever. Let us out.”

“New game! Through the home hole! Spat spat splat!”

The hole? Before Regan could ask, swirling holes formed in the air—dozens of them. She jumped sideways as another started forming where she’d been standing. Several more stretched across the ground in front of her. Holes even appeared high up in the sky. Regan was not about to randomly jump into a hole when she couldn’t even see what was on the other side. She had always enjoyed holes (it was a hobby), but she didn’t desire peering into a hole in the ground that possibly went nowhere. Or had an impossible, infinite depth. The thought made her legs wobble. “Eden, investigate the holes. Carefully. Do not fall.” 

“Don’t worry!” Spork cheered them on. “They’ll all get you home!” 

—

There was no way that Indiana Bones was a real movie. It did not sound remotely like a real movie, but then again, many people got away with making whatever they wanted nowadays. Well, Eden was glad that people were able to make the art that they wanted to, although if Indiana Bones was as real as Regan was insisting, then it surely bordered on some sort of copyright infringement. 

Even if she wasn’t right about some strange sounding movie, she was undoubtedly right about his shirt. A perfectly good cotton stained with splotches of crimson blood, how tragic. It wasn’t like he couldn’t just buy another shirt as a replacement, but it was the reminder of why he’d have to replace the shirt which made him grumpy. He wouldn’t have had to if this whole hellish scenario hadn’t happened in the first place. But as Regan said, at least there was the chance of it getting removed, unlike her tie dye which seemed fairly permanent. Although the ease in which Regan went on about blood removal raised some alarm in Eden. “Well, uh, you sound very experienced in removing blood, Regan. Good…skill to have?” He stopped himself before he could ask more; perhaps ignorance was bliss.

She claimed to feel no pain, which he was relieved about. She’d be able to do the rest of the walk up on her own. It still didn’t feel healthy to him how slow her heart was beating, but perhaps Regan was just a very calm person. Eden could only wish to be like that — he was good at looking calm (at least, he thought so), but was always far from actually being calm. What did Regan do in her spare time? Meditation? Gardening? Roadkill, apparently. “I have no issue with roadkill as long as I am observing it from a distance and its odours are not assaulting my nose,” he said, his nose scrunching in disgust just at the thought of it. “I simply do not want to become roadkill today. We did not go through all of this effort just to get flattened. There’s a phrase in Cantonese, actually. Lam mei heong, to fall at the last hurdle. How unfortunate would that be?”

Eden swore he could hear Spork zooming around like a pesky little fly as they neared the top. He nodded silently at Regan’s direction, deciding that he was going to keep his mouth shut for the majority of the negotiations. After all, he couldn’t say anything wrong as long as he didn’t say anything at all. Reaching the last step, he could finally get a clear view of the colourful balloons and crooked banner that adorned the clifftop. In any other scenario, they would’ve been cute decorations. Similar to something Wren would set up at home. But Eden was tired and his stomach was screaming for the heart in his hand; he had no desire to appreciate the decorations from the creature who put him in this situation in the first place. 

Regan called out to the pixie, but it flew right past her and perched itself on his head. Eden frowned grumpily, his hand instinctively going to swat it away. However, he caught himself. They needed the pixie as happy as can be if they wanted to ensure they were getting out of here, and swatting it away from him would undoubtedly make it mad. So to his displeasure, Eden stood still as the little guy pulled (albeit it weakly) at his hair. 

Perhaps a good thing that he couldn’t make eye contact with the creature on his head, because the sneaky bastard would’ve definitely commented on how the siren’s eyes widened at the mention of eating the heart. Eat the heart?!? The pesky thing surely knew more than it was letting on, and Eden needed to get himself and Regan the hell out of here before it exposed too much. 

He felt a tickle on his head as Spork zoomed off again, doing loop de loops around a balloon before presenting himself back in front of them. With a snap of its fingers, a thick liquid suddenly fell from Eden’s own hand. “What th–” he looked down, the pulsing organ gone from his grasp, melted into nothing but dark red goo. It trailed off of his hands into a puddle on the ground, joining the spot where Regan’s own melted organ dripped. “The hearts!” Eden felt his pulse hammering in his chest, panic starting to rise as he realized that the organs were destroyed. The hearts — their hearts — that they were tasked with protecting or something terrible would happen, gone in an instant.

Only, nothing happened. The liquid continued to drip, and Eden and Regan continued to stand alive and well. “Wo de tian la, are you fucking kidding me?” He yelled at Spork, hand balling into a fist as it continued to grasp at nothing. Nothing, because nothing happened, because none of this was real. It couldn’t be. Only, it had to have been, because Eden’s stomach rumbled. He hungered for the hearts — fresh and beating, just like the colony elders used to rip them out of their victims. 

A sound involuntarily left Eden’s throat. A laugh? Definitely not from humour. Was he manic? Deranged? Desperate to go home? He clenched his jaw shut as he met Regan’s gaze, trying to compose himself before she attempted to pry. “Okay! You are hungry, plus angry, equals hangry! Spork thinks it is time for you to go home now! Congratulations, you won the game!” Eden wanted to grab the little creature out of the air and shake it around, but he controlled himself, god forbid it change its mind about letting them out. 

Several holes manifested out of nowhere littering the sky and the ground. Eden stumbled back as one appeared just a few inches from his feet, cautiously peering down into a black abyss. “You’re kidding, right?” He mumbled to himself, only loud enough for Regan to hear. What a situation he and his new companion had found themselves in, looking at her while shaking his head in disbelief. However, his eyes widened even more so at her next instructions, his brows furrowing. “You’re kidding, right?” He repeated again, this time in disbelief that she’d send him off on his own. But Regan did not waver, and Spork was still grinning, and Eden was done with everything.

“Fine, fine, fine,” he grumbled as he stepped up to the closest hole on the ground. He couldn’t see where it went, but perhaps he could jump down into it and shift once he was out of sight. His wings would undoubtedly help soften the landing, but what if it led him to a place packed with people? That wouldn’t do. Eden started thinking of an alternative solution, well, as much as he could until stupid Spork started flying circles around him. “I am seriously so done with you and your games,” he told the pixie firmly, his annoyance only fueling the creature’s giggles. “But sir, Spork hearts you!” It chirped, flying one more quick circle before landing on Eden’s nose. The siren groaned in pure frustration, stepping away as he swatted at the thing with force. “Get off of me! I swear to go–”

He was falling. His foot had slipped off the edge and he was falling. Eden’s stomach lurched at the feeling of a freefall, the siren yelping as he tried to collect his thoughts. Shift now? Shift at all? Regan can’t fly and she’ll be fine. She’ll be fine, right? 

He made his decision — it’d be better to shift. Better shift and deal with the consequences afterwards than break every bone in his body. Eden closed his eyes as he usually did when he braced for a shift, only to feel his eyelashes scraping against something solid. “Wh–” his voice was muffled by the surface he was lying facedown on. He wasn’t falling any longer, his body completely still against the ground. Hardwood? Not his hardwood floors. Who knew what was going on anymore, Eden definitely didn’t. 

The siren let out a loud groan as he rolled onto his back. He could spot a couch out of his peripheral and framed photos lining the walls, but he didn’t care to get up and look closely. He opted to stare at the atrocious popcorn ceilings instead, questioning his existence until a pop echoed to his left. Eden turned his head slightly, uncharacteristically unfazed to see Regan had manifested out of thin air. Perhaps nothing could faze him after today. “Nice house you got here, besides the atrocious ceiling.” Well, if it wasn’t his house they landed in, he could only assume it was hers.

—

Eden fell into one of the holes, which he might not have even been near had he not listened to Regan. She jumped in after him without thinking. Perhaps that should have been alarming, but she’d concern herself with that later (or, like all of this, she’d file it away to examine never). That same vertiginous feeling from before stretched her out like the Vitruvian Man or medieval stretching rack. Fly? Should she fly? Her fingers found her necklace, but her stomach threatened to empty and she closed her eyes, and before she could make a decision, her spine smacked into a hard floor.

The room—there was a room now—spun, and needed a second before opening her eyes again. “I hate pixies,” she grunted, slowly testing raising her neck. The room slowed a little. Good. “Have I mentioned that? I detest them. I loathe them. I’m going to trap Spork in an iron cage and…” She trailed off as she realized she didn’t know where they were. A house, surely Eden’s. But he refuted that as she was thinking it. 

“My house is far superior to this.” Regan narrowed her eyes at the ceiling which was, actually, not so bad. The texture kind of reminded her of gastric slurry. Then she realized the implication of Eden’s comment, and sat up with a jolt. “Wait, this isn’t your home? Where are we?” The photos on the wall were of no one she recognized—just some idyllic, nuclear family; their bright and happy faces made every muscle in Regan’s chest contract. Actually, there were a lot of different faces. With a wince, she got to her knees and rose, palming the wall for support. She hesitated only a moment before extending a hand toward Eden. “It does not matter. Let’s just leave before the owner of this home returns and finds two strangers who seemingly broke in.” She turned to lead them out, but there, by the door, she saw more photos. An older man. A familiar beard. Feck.

Shuffling footsteps across the house. 

“If it isn’t Dr. Kavanagh!” Rickers called out from across the room. He was wearing a hair-covered sweatervest instead of the white coat and PPE Regan was accustomed to seeing him in. “I wasn’t expecting company. Nice of you to stop by. Ayuh, I was beginning to think you just didn’t want to come over. But you know what they say, the eighty-secondth time is the ol’ charm-a-roo. Look at that festive shirt you’ve got. Did you tie-dye it yourself? You know, my grandchildren should be home any minute and lil’ Addie, the youngest, she’d love to tie-dye—oh, who’d you bring?”