In The Static Of Heartbeats

“Just come visit for a week.”

“I don’t know, Harv. It’s just tough getting time off work and—”

“Well, you did mention earlier this month that you have quite a bit of vacation time saved up.”

A pause.

“Right, yeah, I did. I guess I was just…saving that in case things changed.”

“What sort of things?”

“Maybe he’ll decide to come back, and we can – can, I don’t know, go on a vacation somewhere.”

“It’s been five months. I think now might be a good time to stop waiting around for him and start prioritizing yourself. Come visit for just a week. The weather is great this time of year and a day at the beach could do you some good. You are more than welcome to lodge in the apartment I have above the clinic. I’m, ah, almost finished moving my belongings out, so there might still be a bit of clutter.”

A sigh of defeat – heavy, fatigued, and yet relieved somewhere underneath it all.

“All right, all right, fine. I’ll call you back when I have all the details figured out.”

Lyra stepped off the bus and into Pelican Town midway through the second week of summer. The four-hour ride, not including the time she spent idly waiting at the connection terminals with her suitcase gripped tightly in her palms, lacked any sort of reliable air-conditioning. She shivered at the single bead of sweat that trickled down between her shoulder blades and grimaced at the dark, damp spots at the arm pits of her pink blouse.

“Yoba’s tits,” she whispered to nobody but herself, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring rays of the sun directly overhead. “It’s like the inside of an oven out here.”

A blessing and a curse, she’d always said, to have eyes that matched the cloudless skies. Great for compliments, but painfully sensitive during sunny days and against bright layers of snow. She shouldn’t have packed away her sunglasses.

“Lyra!”

Squinting, she turned toward the familiar call, her mouth splitting into a wide grin as she caught her cousin in a tight embrace.

“Hey, Harv,” she chirped once they broke apart.

Her gaze roved Harvey over and she noted that either he seemed to have grown another half foot since the last time they’d seen each other, or she shrank. Clad in a lightweight green button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of grey trousers, he didn’t seem to be struggling with the heat nearly as much as she was. And was that…?

“Who’s your friend?” she teased, reaching up to give a gentle pull to the edge of his mustache.

Lyra couldn’t tell if the tinge of pink across his cheeks was a blush or the beginning of a sunburn. He swatted her hand away with the backside of his own, a playful smirk on his face.

“Just something I’m trying out,” he admitted sheepishly.

“It suits you.”

And it did. Growing up, Lyra had only witnessed facial hair on Harvey once. He was eighteen, and she had been dragged along by her mother to his going-away party for college. Harvey didn’t have that many friends, so his mother’s friends and colleagues made up the bulk of the party goers. Lyra, being only thirteen-years-old and completely uninterested in anything except the latest release of her favorite comic book, had decided before she and her mother had even arrived that the party would be the least entertaining thing to happen to her all year.

Until she laid eyes on her cousin and his horribly patchy attempt at growing out a beard. She then spent the entirety of the party prodding him for details about his fight with his razor that morning.

“Thanks,” Harvey replied as he ran a palm over the back of his neck. “Estelle says it’s one of her favorite things about me.”

Lyra’s brows lifted and Harvey grabbed for the handle of her suitcase, leading the pair into a casual stride toward the town not too far off in the distance. “Do I finally get to meet her today?” She’d heard about Harvey’s girlfriend and her many adventures during their phone calls, but there never seemed to be a chance to actually talk to her, to introduce herself and make first-time, awkward conversation.

Doubts had begun to form in her mind at a point. Small ones, though persistent, that maybe Estelle didn’t exist at all.

“You do,” Harvey confirmed. “She’s very excited.”

Pelican Town always seemed much larger from the postcards Harvey would sometimes send in the mail. Lyra’s mother and aunt collected them like trading cards, fawning over the fact that Harvey’s elegant cursive slowly changed to look more like a doctor’s scrawly handwriting. Lyra hadn’t cared much about that, but she had found herself entranced in the pictures beyond the obnoxiously bold prints of “Greetings From Pelican Town!” or “Wish You Were Here…In Pelican Town!”

Those postcards held images of a bustling and boisterous town, rife with families spending their days at the beach, festival banners and strung garland dancing in springtime breezes, and clusters of solid rustic buildings at the base of snow-capped mountains that rose just high enough to kiss the glow of cresting sunsets. In person, it all seemed a little more…subdued. Sleepy, almost.

Lyra made a point to say so, earning a quick shrug from Harvey.

“It’s the middle of the week,” he explained as he set her suitcase down to fumble with a keyring that held only five keys. They’d come to a stop in front of a dusty cyan building on the edge of the town, and Lyra surmised by the bold cross painted just above the door that this was the clinic Harvey worked in and until recently, lived in. “Most everyone is working. The children are with Miss Penny at the Museum. The only reason the clinic is closed today is because Maru is off, and I wanted to be available to welcome you.”

A buzzing fly whizzed by Lyra’s ear just as the lock clicked. Harvey held the wooden door open for her and as she entered, a sharp accumulation of antiseptic soap and sterile cleaning agents invaded her nostrils. She’d expected it, but a part of her was still jarred by the force of it. It was definitely going to take some getting used to.

Harvey flicked on the lights and Lyra took a moment to glance over the three humble rows of worn, padded chairs that served as the waiting area to her right, and the tidy reception desk and the potted plants atop it to her left. A few informative posters hung from the walls: proper hand-washing techniques, reminders to schedule an annual flu vaccine, and a reference list of phone numbers for various pregnancy clinics and mental health wards in Zuzu City.

“The apartment is just through there and up the staircase,” Harvey instructed her, jutting his chin toward the metal door at the opposite end of the room.

They passed through, and Lyra glanced toward the hospital beds in an adjacent room, a soft shudder racking through her. It had been a while since her last stint in the hospital and if she could help it, she’d never find herself back in a bed like that.

“All right,” Harvey said once they reached the top of the staircase. “Home sweet home, at least for now.”

The breath had been stolen from Lyra’s lungs as they entered the apartment. Harvey had not been exaggerating about the bit of clutter that still lingered amidst his move; cardboard boxes labeled in his messy scribble stood stacked against the far corner of the room, and the coffee table was littered with various cleaning products and rags. Warped shapes against the paint on the walls stood as reminders of pictures and shelving units that had hung there for years, most likely since Harvey first moved in.

Despite the mess, she thought it was perfect.

Harvey placed her suitcase on the sole remaining maroon couch. “I was hoping to have more of my belongings out of here by the time you arrived,” he told her. “I’ve acquired the assistance of a few guys in town to move the larger things, but I’ll ask them to wait until you’ve left to stop by.”

Shaking her head, Lyra peered into the adjacent bathroom, taking note of where she’d stash her toiletry bag on the small counter. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “They can stop by whenever they need to. As long as they don’t take the bed while I’m here, then I’m cool with it.”

He offered a pleasant smile, a huff of relief coming from deep within his throat. “I have a couple tasks I need to wrap up downstairs, so I’ll let you get settled in before we meet Estelle for dinner.”

Lyra was already cracking open her suitcase on the couch, waving him off with one hand and rifling through her clothes with the other.

Alone now, she took a moment to fill the medicine cabinet in the bathroom with her deodorant, lotions, toothpaste, and toothbrush. Her fingers lingered on the plastic lavender instrument as her mind wandered back to her own home, where there had been another one in a green hue that stood straight in the holder next to hers. She knew she should have thrown it away; Griffin would have bought a new one at this point, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

In case he came back.

Her reflection met her stare when she closed the cabinet. Whether it was the quality of the lighting in this bathroom compared to her own back home or the exhaustion of traveling written clearly in her features that caught her by surprise, for the first time in a long while, she took the time to peer closer at herself. She gently touched the dark shadows that had settled underneath her eyes and noted the corners of her mouth that had recently formed a perpetual downward tug. Even her hair, a shade of brown just barely lighter than Harvey’s, seemed dull and lacking in its typical shine.

There was a hollowness she’d been feeling since Griffin left. Now, she was beginning to see it in her face, her eyes. She could not look at herself for long, and hurried to slap down on the light switch as she turned from the mirror.

Next to the bathroom, the kitchen, small and cozy, was warm from the afternoon sun filtering in through the single window. The microwave stole most of the counterspace, and Lyra was briefly transported back to the days of living in a dorm room just after high school, when the only meals she had the time and energy to make were the ones that could be zapped for three minutes and wolfed down in two.

The refrigerator door squeaked as she pulled it open.

“What a hypocrite,” she murmured.

There wasn’t much inside except for an abundance of jars of pickled vegetables, a sealed glass pitcher of milk that seemed disgustingly solid when she shook it, and a container of some sort of leftover pasta dish. The freezer wasn’t any more appealing; boxes of microwaveable frozen meals had been haphazardly shoved into it.

For all the grief Harvey gave his own family for eating fresh fruits and vegetables, he couldn’t be bothered to follow his own advice, it seemed.

Lyra, nose wrinkled at the sour waft that escaped as she shut the fridge door, hoped that he was at least eating better now that he was living with Estelle. She decided that a trip to the store for groceries would be her top priority for the next day.

She had been in the process of hanging up her clothes in the compact closet when the door to the apartment squeaked open. She glanced back over her shoulder, the smile that she had been in the process of flashing immediately falling flat upon seeing the four different pill bottles that rattled as Harvey placed them one by one on the coffee table.

“What’re those?” she inquired, turning back to wrestle a dress onto a hanger. “Your geriatric joint medications?”

“Actually, these are for you.”

With a sigh, she gave up on the dress, tossed it onto the bed, and faced her cousin. It was an odd piece of clothing anyway; a lilac single-strap hand-me-down from one of her mother’s friend’s daughters who wore the same size as Lyra. She wondered briefly if Pelican Town had some sort of clothing donation program.

She opened her mouth to tell him that those pills, whatever they were, weren’t needed, but he managed to get two steps ahead of her.

“This one,” he rushed to say, resting his pointer finger on the white cap of the closest bottle, “is vitamin C capsules. They’ll help with your…” He trailed off and gestured toward space underneath his eyes, as if unsure how to politely describe the discoloration of her own skin. “And these will help with—”

“Supplements, Harvey? Really? I’m fine.”

He shot her a leveled look, and she fought the urge to shrink away from his gaze. Sure, she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in nearly half a year, couldn’t bring herself to cook a balanced meal for just herself, and avoided the sunlight like she might burst into flames, but she was fine. She showed up to work every day without fail, never forgot to call her mother every Sunday, and allowed her clean laundry to sit on the empty space of the left side of her bed for only four or five days before putting them away, wrinkles and all.

Lyra was fine. She didn’t need supplements.

What she did need, she realized as Harvey continued to prattle on about the other bottles he’d carried up from downstairs, was a glass of wine. Or two.

Silently, she waited for him to finish talking before she asked, “So, will there be wine at dinner, or do we need to stop at the store on our way there?”

Lyra could smell the pungent manure, damp soil, and the slight floral sweetness of the farmstead before she saw it. The combination of it all permeated into the air that almost reached the bus stop, and she found it nearly overwhelming at first. However, the closer she and Harvey walked toward the cottage, the more acclimated she became to it, until it wasn’t a thought in her mind unless a strong gust of wind carried a rush of it to her.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when Harvey had described Estelle’s cottage over the phone a few weeks ago. Her mind’s eye shifted from the small plastic playhouses she played in as a child, to the grandiose three-story vacation homes she’d been in magazines, with entire walls made of glass windows and the exterior hugged by wrap-around porches that would take her half an hour to walk the entirety of.

Estelle’s cottage was a modest building made of cedar wood, its chipped white painted door standing proudly between two four-pane windows. There was a porch, but it was nowhere near a wrap-around and was strewn with potted plants of all different species.

On the other side of the red bricked pathway that separated the cottage and the farmlands, impressive canary yellow sunflowers rose taller than Harvey. They swayed in rhythm of the breeze and shielded the rest of the farm from sight, aside from what appeared to be the roof of a barn in the distance. Over the crunching of their footfalls, Lyra and Harvey could just barely make out the clucks of chickens.

“Wow,” Lyra breathed as they climbed the stairs of the porch. “This is – This is really cool, Harv.”

He looked back at her like he didn’t believe her, as if she managed to find a new resource of teasing. Once again, he fiddled through the motions of testing which key fit into the lock. He really needed to invest in colored key cap covers.

“I’m serious,” she said. “There’s no way that I’d ever be able to pull something like this off. Estelle must be wicked smart.”

“Yes, she’s incredible,” Harvey replied. “She did admit to me that her first year here was nothing but trial-and-error frustrations, but – Ah, here we go.”

The door swung open and a familiar sort of warmth paired with the mouthwatering scent of roasted garlic and simmering onions embraced the two as they crossed over the threshold. Lyra’s gut clenched as her eyes roamed over the picture frames that hung on the wall in the entrance hallway, moments of Harvey and Estelle captured during their year or so of being a couple.

A photo from inside an air balloon in which Lyra could almost tell Harvey was on the verge of tears from the height but grinning despite it. A picture taken of them standing on a light layer of snow in front of a voluptuous fir tree that glowed with ornaments and lights, Harvey’s arm curled securely around Estelle’s waist while she stood on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Another of the pair dancing together amongst vibrant green grass and flowers, Estelle’s white dress matching those of the other women around her, and Harvey’s striking navy-blue suit mirroring the men. Yet somehow, the two managed to radiate a different presence, sticking out from all the others.

At least now, Lyra had seen definite proof that Estelle was real and not a figment of Harvey’s imagination. And she was beautiful.

Lyra could have spent an hour looking at all the memories frozen in time, but Harvey seemed eager to venture further into the house. He bent down to unlace his shoes, his socked feet thumping softly against the hardwood as he made way for the adjacent kitchen. Lyra toed off her sandals and hurried after him.

Her mouth parted in awe; the kitchen was a stunning contrast to the one back at the clinic apartment. Stainless steel appliances, a farm sink, an island, and all that counterspace. She nearly groaned at the sheer envy washing over her. She’d never lived in a place where a cutting board didn’t need to be placed on the stove to use because there was no other room for it.

And, much to her relief, there wasn’t a microwave in sight. Seems like Harvey would have to give up his frozen meals in lieu of foods he suggested everyone else eat. Lyra felt a little smug thinking about that.

“This is definitely an upgrade,” she commented, leaning against a counter and watching Harvey lift the lid of a pot that had been simmering on the stove and mixing whatever was inside with a wooden spoon.

He let out a low chuckle. “Estelle was quite the cook before we met, so she invested a bit of gold into having Robin add more countertops and cabinets.”

Somewhere down another hallway, Lyra heard a door shut and her heart fluttered. A woman, possibly a year or two older than herself and dressed casually in a long black skirt and a white blouse, emerged into the kitchen, her auburn hair slightly damp and wild with curls. Her emerald eyes crinkled as she broke out into a grin.

“Hi!” she greeted.

Harvey turned from the stove as Lyra stood straight.

“Sweetheart, this is my cousin, Lyra,” Harvey told her as he strode to the woman’s side and placed a hand on the small of her back. “Lyra, this is Estelle.”

“Hello,” Lyra said, offering a smile of her own. “It’s nice to meet – Oh!”

Lacking preamble, she was pulled into a tight hug, which she returned without hesitation. Estelle smelled of strawberry shampoo and shea butter lotion, and Lyra was suddenly very aware of the sweat that had dried on her own skin throughout the day. She hoped she didn’t stink too much.

“Lyra,” Estelle murmured. She sounded as if they were friends reuniting after years apart. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled back, only slightly, her hands falling to grip tightly onto Lyra’s. Lyra could feel the rough calloses on Estelle’s palms.

“I’m glad to be here,” she replied. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you. It’s been a lot of work and gold, but Robin has done a great job.”

Lyra had no clue who Robin was, but she had an odd suspicion that they’d cross paths sooner or later.

The trio settled into the dining room, where a chair that didn’t match the same style or color as the other two had been placed at the table. Lyra claimed that seat, the odd duck out.

She heard the pop of a cork from a bottle and closed her eyes for just a moment, relief flooding through her.

“Do you drink?” Estelle asked, placing two stemmed glasses and a skinny bottle of some indigo liquid on the table. Lyra inclined her head, peering closer at the concoction; she’d never seen wine of that shade before, and she didn’t recognize the label at all, if it could be called that. It was just a piece of painter’s tape with the words “BATCH 54 – BLUBRY” handwritten in black marker.

“Uh, yeah,” she answered, “sometimes.” Understatement of the year.

While Harvey dished up their plates and delivered them to the table, Estelle lifted the bottle and filled the two glasses halfway. She slid one toward Lyra.

“Let me know what you think,” Estelle said, moving the other glass to the spot where Harvey was sitting. “And be honest, please. I don’t drink, so Harvey has been acting as my guinea pig for the last handful of batches, but he says they’ve all been perfect.”

“They have all been perfect,” Harvey stated defiantly. He looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

“You just say that because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.”

Lyra sniffed the wine before she brought the rim of the glass to her lips and sipped. Earthy notes with a sweet tang, and heady blueberry flavors. Her sip turned into a gulp, then another, and then her glass was empty.

“You made this?” Lyra questioned as Estelle poured into her glass again.

“I did,” the farmer replied bashfully. “I’m trying to get it just right so I can start selling it in town.”

“Well, to nobody’s surprise, Harvey’s right. It is perfect. Better than the store brand stuff.”

For the first few minutes, they ate in companionable silence. Lyra bit back her urge to moan past the food in her mouth; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the tomato and eggplant sauce touched her tongue. The granola bar she’d eaten that morning before stepping onto the bus was long gone by this point.

“This is amazing,” Lyra said after she’d finished most of her food. “Everything tastes so fresh.”

Estelle beamed, and Harvey reached over to give her arm a proud squeeze. “Thank you. All the ingredients were grown here on the farm.”

Lyra decided she wanted to be Estelle when she grew up. “That’s – That’s really so cool. Did you always want to farm?”

A sharp laugh flew from Estelle’s mouth. “Oh, sorry. No – No, definitely not. I honestly didn’t really have any aspirations before this. I was working at a dead-end office job at Joja that I’d been at since I graduated high school. It sucked. I was burnt out and depressed, but I was too scared to leave and look for something else.”

Lyra took another sip of her wine, purposefully avoiding Harvey’s knowing stare that he was drilling into the side of her face.

“And then, one day,” Estelle went on, pushing a few sauce drenched hunks of eggplant around on her plate with her fork, “my grandpa passed away, and left me all of this. I still don’t know why – he knew I’d never even been to a farm before.”

“And you fell in love with it the moment you saw it?” Lyra guessed.

“No way. I hated it. It couldn’t even be considered a farm back then. It was more of a junkyard than anything. Took me half of that first year just to clear out all of the weeds and dead trees. I almost put the place up for sell at least four times.”

“So, what changed your mind?”

Estelle and Harvey exchanged a look, and an identical blush spread on their cheeks.

“I was piddling around in the mines for an entire day and had eaten through all the food I’d brought with me, and I was so tired. Like, on the verge of passing out tired. Well, I mean, I did pass out, but luckily Linus found me and brought me to Doctor Harvey. We’d never really talked or been in the same general area before that, but he was the first face I saw when I came to, and he was so gentle and patient with me. After that, we just…stayed together as much as we could. Harvey would come over on his time off to help sort out this mess of a farm, and I’d bring him jars of the veggies we’d learned to pickle.”

Lyra thought of the jars taking up space in the fridge back at the apartment. They must’ve been pretty efficient at pickling at this point.

“Anyway,” Estelle continued, “sometimes I think Grandpa knew that if I stayed in that life I was living – if you could even call it a life – that I’d never be happy, so giving me the farm was also his way of giving me an out. As dramatic as it sounds, coming here saved my life.”

The couple seemed to have mastered the art of speaking solely with their eyes. They looked to each other once more, and Harvey leaned over to plant a soft kiss on her lips. Lyra didn’t know what to say, or even how to feel, so she polished off her wine again.

“That’s… That’s very – Oh, thanks.” Lyra gave Estelle a quick nod as she reached over with the wine bottle again. “I think that’s very sweet. You two make a great pair.” They truly did – they complimented each other physically, like Yoba had molded them from the same heap of clay. “It seems like everything happens for a reason.”

She didn’t know why she’d decided to tack on that last bit at the end; she hated it when people said that to her, and lately she’d been hearing it more often. But for Harvey and Estelle, it rang true.

“I’d like to think so,” Estelle agreed after swallowing a bite of her food. She lifted her napkin and dabbed at the edge of her lip. “So, what about you? Harvey’s told me a bit, but he’s pretty respectful of your privacy.”

Lyra flashed her cousin a grateful look and he dipped his chin in response. “Oh, there’s…not much to me. I do payroll for a small pet supply distribution warehouse, I help my mom when she calls with questions about her phone, um…yeah.”

I’m still trudging through a breakup that happened five months ago, she wanted to say. I drink almost every day so I don’t have to feel this giant cavern in my chest. I am always wondering what I could have done better. I am in a fucking hole and can’t find the energy to climb out of it. I hate my job. I hate my life. I hate myself.

She didn’t say any of that, because Estelle was still somewhat of a stranger to her, and she didn’t want her to think that her boyfriend’s cousin was as big of a fucking waste of space as Lyra felt she was.

Estelle did not seem satisfied with her answer. “But what do you do?”

“Uh.” Maybe she hadn’t heard that part. “I do payr—”

“No, no, yeah, I get that you do payroll to make money, but what do you do for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, y’know – like hobbies and stuff.”

Lyra hadn’t thought about her hobbies in a long time. “I, um, collect comics,” she said slowly, though most of her extra money these days went to booze and take-out. “I like to play board games.” The last time she played a board game was with Griffin three months prior to the breakup, in which she won, and he literally flipped the game board onto the floor and scattered the pieces.

“She paints,” Harvey interjected, speaking up for the first time since they sat down to eat.

“I – Well, I used to. It’s been a while.” Griffin had never really been a fan of her painting, so her unused canvases and brushes had collected a layer of dust back home.

This lit a gleaming fire in Estelle’s eyes. “Really? That’s awesome! I was never able to figure out how to make my hands create pictures. Even my stick people are pretty pathetic.” Lyra chuckled at this. “So, I totally admire people who can paint and draw. It’s magic, in my opinion.”

“I mean, I’m not very good at it or anything.”

“Could I commission you to paint a portrait for me?”

Lyra straightened in surprise. “Yeah,” she said automatically before giving herself a chance to overthink herself into self-doubt and decline the offer. “Portraits are my favorite.”

The next two hours flew by in an easy haze of laughter, stories of Lyra and Harvey’s childhood adventures, and the uncorking of another bottle of homemade wine that the cousins shared. Lyra liked Estelle and thought she was a great match for Harvey. She loved the way Estelle slid her hand into his and rested her head against his shoulder, how she scrunched her nose in delight when he said something to force a snort through her giggles, and was especially grateful for the fact that Harvey’s leg didn’t constantly bounce underneath the table like it usually did.

She was ecstatic for the couple, and yet, the clawing, hissing green monster still lurked in the deep crevices inside her.

“You’re positive you’re okay to walk back?” Harvey asked her for the tenth time as they stood on the porch, his words drawn out and slurred. “You remember how to get there?”

“It’s literally a straight shot,” Lyra told him. She lifted her arm to gesture vaguely in the direction of the town and hoped she seemed more sober than she was. As much as she was enjoying his company, she needed to be alone in the fresh air.

“Okay.” The porch light cast a glare onto his glasses, casting his eyes into an unnatural shine. She knew he was inspecting her in that observant way all doctors did with their patients. “Don’t forget to take those supplements with breakfast tomorrow.”

Lyra pressed herself to him, embracing him tightly. “Sure thing, Harv. Thanks for tonight. It was fun. And you were right: Estelle’s incredible and definitely real.”

He snickered, returning the hug, and murmured against her hair, “Told you.”

Harvey waited until Lyra was swallowed by the darkness of the dirt path that led from the farm to head back into the cottage. Once she found herself on the edge of town, Lyra gulped down a heavy breath of air and leaned against a wooden fence post, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart was hammering away in her chest.

Lyra was jealous – incredibly jealous and drunk and sad. What Harvey and Estelle had, she once had with Griffin. Someone to come home to after a long day, to eat dinner with, to sleep next to every night.

Now she was going back to a nearly empty apartment above her cousin’s clinic, alone, in a town where she knew only two people, and nobody knew her.

Her mouth went dry, her stomach heaved, and a spray of chunky vomit landed on a poor cluster of sweet peas. A horrid racking cough followed, then more vomit.

She wiped at her tears and her mouth with the backside of her hand as a shudder tore through her.

“Hey, uh, are you good?”

The voice, a soft, low rumble entwining with a hint of curious concern, nearly jolted her right out of her skin. She hadn’t heard the stranger’s footsteps over her own retching.

If he hadn’t been standing underneath a flickering streetlamp, he would’ve blended in completely with the nighttime shadows. Everything about him was dark: his jeans, his pull-over hoodie, his unkempt hair. And until Lyra shut one of her eyes, there were two of him standing there.

The tip of the cigarette that hung from his mouth glowed ember as he dragged in a lungful of smoke and forced it back out through his nose, his eyes locked on her. The desire to ask if he could do that again but blow it into her face this time danced on her tongue. She’d always griped about the smell of it, but now that Griffin was gone, she craved it but couldn’t gather the courage to pick up the habit for herself.

“Yep,” she finally answered, lifting her hand in a pitiful thumbs-up. “All good.”

The stranger did not move. “Your lips are blue.”

“Just wine,” she reassured him. “Just some weird, homemade blueberry wine.”

“That…sounds disgusting.”

“Doesn’t it?” She barked a laugh, probably a bit too loud, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“You’re sure you’re okay? I can call Doctor Harvey to help or something?”

Lyra waved him off. “Trust me, he’s in no position to help anyone right now.”

He paused for a few more seconds before moving his feet, sauntering off toward a stone staircase that had been built into a hill leading up to the mountain path. Lyra stumbled on, daring a look at him just in time to catch him glancing back at her before she turned the corner and slammed face-first into the clinic door.

The morning began with a groan of protest against the invading sunlight and an attempt to stave off consciousness by slinging an arm over her eyes. Lyra's head pounded, her mouth tasted rancid, and there was a stinging crick in her neck that limited her ability to look over her right shoulder as she sat up. A moment's confusion struck her; she wasn't in the bed, and she was still dressed in the clothes from the day before.

It was an effort to recall anything after expelling the contents of her stomach last night. She didn't remember fishing out the key to Harvey's clinic from her pocket, or climbing the stairs to the apartment, or flinging herself onto the couch, unable to stumble the ten more steps to the bed. The only thing she did remember, it seemed, was the man whose path she'd crossed, his very being shrouded in shadows.

With an inward cringe, Lyra prayed he hadn't witnessed her vomiting.

Swallowing around the dryness in her throat, she stood on trembling legs. Water. She needed water, desperately.

Luckily Harvey had not packed away all of his glassware just yet and she was able to find a yellow plastic cup with the dilapidated image of a plane on the side, faded from years of rounds in the dishwasher. She filled it with water from the sink and gulped it down. The tap water in Pelican Town had a hint of something metallic to it, but in this moment, Lyra couldn't have cared less. She filled the cup once more and sipped gingerly on it as she meandered toward the bathroom.

She looked like a bus had run over her, reversed, then ran over her again. Her hair was a rat's nest, her makeup had been smeared into dark smudges around her eyes, and her lips still had a tinge of blue from Estelle's wine. A shudder racked through her at the thought of it; she didn't want to drink again, ever.

Right, she thought as she squeezed a glob of minty toothpaste onto her toothbrush. As if I haven't told myself that same thing a million times before.

Lyra brushed her teeth twice, which made her mouth feel less disgusting but did little to rid her lips of the unnatural stain. She slid into the shower and scrubbed furiously at them, ignoring the bitter taste of body soap on her tongue.

The steam of the scalding hot water relieved her headache a bit and she stepped out of the shower feeling not quite like a brand new person, but someone, at least, who wasn't a walking billboard advertising evidence that she'd drank too much the night before. Lyra dressed in a simple pair of faded jeans and a white blouse, and donned her sunglasses to the top of her head before heading out of the apartment and down the stairs to the clinic.

She'd expected the waiting room to be packed with patients, but aside from a young nurse and an elderly couple, the room was empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, nearly drowned out by the calming acoustic chords of music playing through circular speakers installed into the ceiling, their notes interrupted only by the clacking of a keyboard at the front desk. Lyra eyed the wheelchair-bound old man, his chin dipped to his chest as he dozed next to his gray-haired wife, her wrinkled fingers sifting through a magazine.

Lyra approached the woman sitting behind the desk, noting the way the light danced on her hair underneath the nurse cap, giving it a gleaming shine against the deep maroon of her strands.

"Hi," she said, flinching back as the nurse gasped and jolted in surprise.

"Oh!" she squeaked as she placed a hand over her chest and turned in her chair. "Oh — sorry, hi. You're so quiet. I didn't hear you come down." She managed a feeble laugh, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses.

"Oh, erm—"

"You're Doctor Harvey's cousin, right?" She stood, reaching over the desk to extend her hand. "I'm Maru."

Lyra placed her hand in Maru's. Her olive skin was warm and soft to the touch. "I'm Lyra," she replied. "It's nice to meet you."

"I've never met a Lyra before," Maru told her, settling back down into her chair. "It's a pretty name."

"Thanks. My mom…gave it to me." There was an odd insecurity behind her words and her attempt at a joke fell flat. Maru's brows knit together, her mouth pressing into a thin line. "Uh, could you tell me where the best place to buy food for the kitchen upstairs would be?"

Maru beamed. "Absolutely! I—"

"The general store next door," came a gruff, quaking voice behind Lyra. She began to turn her head, winced at the sharp pain in her neck, then fully faced the couple. The old man seemed to have roused himself from his nap and was now glaring intently in Lyra's direction. "Don't waste your money at that shithole—"

"George!"

"—JojaMart. Pierre deserves business more than that greedy corporation does."

Apparently, there was no escaping Joja, even in sleepy little Pelican Town. Back home, the convenience stores, JojaEnergy, were on every other block, slowly pushing the mom-and-pop locations that had been there for generations out of the market. They were cheaper, offered more of a selection, and — as the name implied — were more convenient with their self-checkout stands and 24-hours of operation. Lyra typically avoided shopping at them, but sometimes it couldn't be helped if she needed a chocolate bar and a bottle of something heavy at midnight.

She flashed George a smile, which he didn't return, and tapped a palm on the top of the counter twice. "General store it is," she said before turning back to Maru. "It was nice meeting you. See you around?"

"Most definitely."

Lyra made her way for the clinic doors, pausing briefly to wave toward Harvey when she heard him call, "All right, Mr. and Mrs. Mullner, I'm ready for you. Morning, Lyra! Or, afternoon, I should say."

The chilly air of the clinic was a balm against the warm humidity of the rest of the town. Lyra immediately began to feel slightly sticky with sweat, and she grunted as she pushed her sunglasses down to shield her eyes. Today seemed much brighter than the day before.

She hadn't noticed the general store before, probably because she hadn't been looking for it at the time, but a part of her was surprised to see that it was literally right next door. Less than ten steps away, and she was back in another gloriously air-conditioned building.

Pierre's General Store, the name advertised both on a sign outside the storefront and above the register, reminded her vaguely of her childhood, more specifically of her father. It smelled faintly of tobacco, dusty cardboard, and the fragrant earthiness of produce, but looked cleaner and better maintained than any JojaEnergy she'd ever been to. The chime of a tiny gold bell hanging overhead announced her arrival.

"Welcome in!"

Lyra lifted her sunglasses back to the top of her head, blinking at the light adjustment, and squinted her eyes toward the source of the amiable greeting. A man stood behind the counter along the far wall, his mouth split into a grin and his hand lifted in a wave. There was nobody else shopping, so it must've been meant for her.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

She scanned the bins of colorful fruits and vegetables to her left, looked toward the tall shelves of assorted dried goods and boxed food to her right, then pictured the modest kitchen with its single microwave and lack of an oven.

"Just browsing," Lyra replied, her fingers curling around the handle of one of the five metal shopping baskets stacked atop a wooden barrel. "Do you carry any wine?"

"Try looking on the top shelf in the corner aisle there. Just past the seeds."

"Got it, thanks."

As she sauntered toward the wine selection, her gaze darted about the different types of potato chip bags, candy bars (she tossed three into her basket), canned vegetables, and dried meats. The nearby glass refrigerators hummed, stocked full of milk containers and sodas. Lyra found herself mildly impressed by all the different options, and tried to remember if the JojaEnergy store she'd frequented had this much stuff.

The wine was exactly where the cashier said it would be. Lyra lifted herself onto her toes to grab a rather dusty bottle and inspected the label with a confused tilt to her head. It seemed to have been double-layered. She took a moment to glance around for any cameras, but found only a half-domed mirror hung on the ceiling. If the cashier was paying attention, which she doubted from this distance, it would appear as though she was simply inspecting and weighing her options.

Lyra pried a fingernail along the corner of the top layer of the label, a printed picture of the man behind the counter with the words "PIERRE'S PORT" elegantly surrounding the crown of his head, and delicately scratched it back until she could read what was underneath.

Painter's tape, with the identifier of "BATCH 22 — STRWBRY" written in faded black marker.

Estelle's wine.

Pierre, you sneaky fucking snake, Lyra thought, a lash of ire whipping in her chest.

She pressed the fake label back over Estelle's scrawl and placed the bottle into her basket. The bell chimed again, and just as Lyra was preparing herself to ask Pierre questions about his fermentation process, his voice stopped her short.

"Good afternoon, Sebastian," Pierre said. "Robin sending you on a run?"

"Yeah, she forgot to grab squash when she was here the other day, and I need a couple things for myself."

Deep and soothing in its richness, the voice struck Lyra as familiar, though she couldn't place where she'd heard it before. She was certain she didn't know anyone named Sebastian, but she was also certain as she waded through the drunken murkiness of her memories that this wasn't the first time it graced her ears.

"Over there in the bins," Pierre told Sebastian. "Just received a shipment on Tuesday, so they're fresh."

Lyra wondered if Pierre slapped his name on Estelle's crops as well.

The feeling that she knew Sebastian's voice nagged at her. She inched her way toward the edge of the aisle, leaning over to peek her head around the corner of the shelving unit—

"Oh!"

"Shit, sorry!"

Lyra's forehead collided with a body — a chest to be exact, padded by the soft fabric of a black hoodie. The distant remnants of cigarette smoke masked by a woodsy scent of cologne made her mouth water. Her sunglasses toppled from her head and cracked against floor, the left arm snapping at the hinge.

She reeled back, her cheeks and the tips of her ears turning red. "I'm so sorry," she blurted. She studied the rips at the knees of the man's black jeans and the ebony strands of his hair as he knelt down to collect the pieces of her sunglasses. "I-I wasn't paying attention and I didn't see you, and I'm so…" He stood, his gaze lifting from the fragments in his palm to her eyes. "…sorry."

It was the first heaving lungful of air after being underwater for far too long.

The stranger from last night, who most likely saw her puke her dinner up and then nearly trip over her own feet as she stumbled away, was in front of her, an apologetic glint in his stare. She'd never seen eyes quite like his, his irises rimmed by a clear emerald that darkened to a warm umber at his pupils.

"No, that was my bad," he — Sebastian — told her. "I, um, I can fix these. Or buy you a new pair. I'm sorry."

Lyra couldn't find her words at first. She couldn't look away from his eyes.

"Uh, it's fine," she murmured. "They were already a little broken anyway." And they were; they'd been dropped before, and sat on, and shoved between the random odds and ends in her purse so many times that it was a miracle it took this long for them to split.

She collected the remains from his outstretched palm, a slight tremble in her fingers.

"Let me buy you a new pair," Sebastian offered again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Pierre has some at the register."

Lyra shook her head. "Really, don't worry about it. They're just a cheap pair I bought at a gas station like, five years ago."

She could only imagine how she must look to him: her broken sunglasses in her hand, obviously on the tail end of a hangover, and nothing but a bottle of wine and three candy bars in her shopping basket. Sweet baby Yoba, what if she'd missed a spot while in the shower and her lips were still blue? She wanted to run away and hide and simply disappear.

Sebastian parted his lips — was that a piercing hole in the bottom right corner? — to say something more to her, but Lyra turned away from him, hiding her wince of neck pain, and feigned interest in something in another aisle.

She made a point to browse the shelves extremely slowly, as if she were examining the nutrition facts and comparing prices. She added a few more items to her basket that would get her through a night or two in Harvey's apartment. The bell chimed, the door to the store latched closed, and the coast was clear. As she approached the counter, her attention fell to something already placed atop it.

"Uh, I think he forgot—"

"They're for you. Already paid for," Pierre informed her as she set her basket next to the new pair of sunglasses. "Sebastian sometimes has a hard time with taking 'no' for an answer. He's stubborn that way. Gets it from his mother, I think."

Yoba, she thought, if you are real, please strike me down now.

Unfortunately, Lyra was not stricken down, so she forced a thin smile onto her face instead of outwardly groaning. "How nice of him," she muttered, sliding them over her eyes.

Silver wire-rimmed and cat-eye in shape, they were a shade darker than her old pair. As Pierre rang up her items, she looked at her reflection in the small mirror attached to the sunglasses display. Something fluttered in her chest.

"They suit you," Pierre commented.

Lyra wore them out of the store after handing over more money than she'd anticipated. It wasn't until she was back in Harvey's apartment and had snapped out of her reverie over Sebastian's eyes that she realized she'd forgotten to badger Pierre about his fermentation techniques.

"Do you know that guy sells your wine with his crappy Photoshopped labels on the bottles?"

Lyra found herself once more at Estelle's — and now Harvey's — cottage on the farm. She'd gone through the fridge at the apartment, removed each half-finished jar of old pickled veggies, emptied them, and scrubbed them until her arms ached to make room for the food she'd bought.

She placed the jars on the counter, even though Estelle told her she didn't need to return them.

"And he overcharges for them," Lyra went on. "I paid four hundred gold for one bottle. Four hundred. I mean, don't get me wrong, your wine is fantastic. I'd have no complaints paying you that much, but seriously, 'Pierre's Port'? Get out of here. What a dumb name."

Estelle sat at the dining table, her legs crossed at the ankles, her elbow resting on the table's surface, her chin propped up by her fist. She watched Lyra with a tired smile. A smudge of dirt kissed her cheek, and a new bandage had been wrapped around her thumb. Though she had told Lyra she had finished her farm chores for the day when Lyra arrived, she was still dressed in her worn and torn overalls. A feather poked out from her wild mane of hair.

"What batch and flavor was it?" Estelle asked.

Lyra didn't understand why Estelle wasn't as up-in-arms about this as she was. Not only was Pierre putting his name to something he had no hand in making, but he was also gutting the prices.

Pressing her palms on the counter, Lyra paused and lifted her gaze toward the ceiling as she recalled what she'd seen. "Um, twenty-one, I think," she said with an exasperated sigh. "No! It was twenty-two. Strawberry."

Estelle stifled a laugh. "I can't believe that was still on the shelf."

"Am I…missing something here?"

The farmer smoothed a hand through her hair, working out the tangles and plucking the feather out. "That bottle's a little over two years old," she said bluntly. "I'm on batch sixty-nine with strawberries now."

Nice, Lyra thought stupidly.

"He's still making a profit off your product, though," she stated.

Estelle shrugged. "Not anymore. Not with what I grow and make now anyway." She let out a soft huff, paired with a slight roll of her eyes. "When I first started the farm, I sold my stuff to Pierre for what I thought was a good price. It was Harvey, actually, who caught on that Pierre was reselling what I gave him at an overpriced rate. So, now I have a third-party company set up through Mayor Lewis that comes and collects. They pay me much better than Pierre ever did."

"Oh," Lyra replied lamely. She felt a little silly now at getting so worked up over the whole thing, and then began to feel even sillier about going through with the purchase. She'd been distracted, though, and not just with how snugly her new sunglasses had fit on her face. "Hey, um, question for you."

"Answer for you."

Lyra fiddled with the frayed edge of a dish towel that had been unceremoniously tossed onto the counter at some point. "Do you know a guy named Sebastian?"

A beat of silence, and Lyra looked from the rag to Estelle, who had arched a brow. "Sebastian?"

The way she said his name caused a wave of doubt to wash over Lyra. "I-I mean, I think that was his name." He hadn't actually introduced himself to her. Maybe she'd misheard Pierre?

"Tall, dark hair, sort of broody-looking?"

Lyra nodded.

"Okay, yeah, that's Seb," Estelle confirmed. The nickname jarred Lyra a bit. "I know him. Why do you ask?"

Why did she ask? To make sure he wasn't a figment of her imagination? To see if Estelle had also noticed how beautiful his eyes were?

Lyra lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. "Just curious," she muttered. "He was at Pierre's when I was there."

A sly smirk grew on Estelle's face. "Was he? And…what? Did you two talk?"

"Um, not exactly." Lyra then went on to explain how the encounter with Sebastian went, sparing only the small detail that it had felt like every racing thought in her mind had been muted the moment he looked at her.

Estelle listened intently, rarely blinking as Lyra rambled on. When she'd finally finished, a thick silence fell over the two of them.

"And so, um, yeah," Lyra said awkwardly. "That's it."

Estelle simply said, "You should get to know him a bit."

"I — What?"

"Seb's a nice guy underneath that nonchalant I-couldn't-care-less-about-anything front he puts on. I hope you don't my assuming, but from what little I know about you, it sounds like you could use a nice guy in your life."

Are we still talking about the same person? Lyra had not gotten the notion that Sebastian couldn't have cared less — in fact, it was the exact opposite. He'd cared about taking the blame for breaking her sunglasses, and he definitely cared enough to buy her a new pair even though she'd declined the offer.

Lyra gave a scoff in response, and immediately wished she could pull it back. It came out ruder than she'd intended. "Uh, sorry, but no way." She hadn't allowed herself to think about any guy aside from Griffin, and thinking about him opened a yawning hole in her chest that stole the breath from her. "I've sworn off men for…well, forever."

"Unless your ex decides to take you back."

Though true, the words felt like a punch to the gut. Lyra inhaled sharply, and Estelle squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Shit, Lyra, I-I'm sorry. That just slipped out. I didn't — I didn't mean it like—"

"Harvey told you about that? So much for him being respectful of my privacy."

Estelle extended a hand, her palm facing downward. "He didn't tell me everything," she quickly defended. "Just that you were struggling with a recent break-up and needed to come visit for a bit. He told me that there was a chance that you wouldn't come if…well, if you managed to work things out. Please don't blame him."

"I don't," was all Lyra would bring herself to say.

It wasn't as if whatever was happening between her and Griffin, or not happening, was some big secret. Lyra's family knew, the few friends she had left knew, and when she really thought on it, she decided that she didn't mind if Estelle knew.

She just didn't want to talk about it, to wade through that thick shame and the anger at the sheer unfairness of it all. She had an unspoken expectation that when she'd accepted Harvey's invitation to visit him in Pelican Town, she would leave that whole mess behind her for a week and not have to think about it.

And maybe Estelle picked up on that, because she shifted the conversation away from anything pertaining to men. "Hey, when's the last time you went to the beach?"

Lyra rolled her head along her shoulders, grateful that the crick in her neck was finally beginning to let up some. "Years," she replied, unsure of exactly how many. "It was with both my parents, so definitely when I was a kid."

The farmer stood in a stretch, her shoulders giving a gentle pop as she lifted her arms high over her head. "Perfect, we'll stop by around ten tomorrow to pick you up."

"We? Doesn't Harv work tomorrow?"

"He leaves at noon on Fridays. I'll just convince him to leave a little earlier." Estelle said it as if it were as easy as asking him to pick up a loaf of bread on his way home. She winked playfully. "I can be pretty persuasive when I need to be."

Lyra didn't really want to know in what ways Estelle could manage to persuade Harvey to ditch work early, but she had full confidence in her abilities. She bid her new friend goodbye with a tight hug and returned to the quiet apartment, uncorking the two-year-old bottle of strawberry-infused wine and settling onto the couch.

Sipping from the coffee cup she'd poured the wine into — she couldn't find a single stemmed glass in the cabinets and assumed Harvey had already taken them all to the cottage — she pulled her legs up underneath herself and sat in the silence. The wine wasn't great, not like the batch made with blueberries from the night before, but it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever put into her mouth. It didn't take long for her to finish off the cup, and then a second.

When she reached for the bottle to refill it for a third time, a glint of the overhead light bounced off something and caught her eye. She glanced toward her new sunglasses that she'd placed on the kitchen counter earlier, her chest once again fluttering with that odd, foreign feeling.

Lyra shoved the cork back into the bottle, leaving it half-full, and for the first time in a very long time, she slipped into bed merely buzzed instead of entirely plastered, her mind free of the unrelenting thoughts of all the reasons why she hadn't been good enough.

"So, how is it? Are you loving it so far?"

Lyra had been pacing the apartment in circles, her phone pressed to the side of her face as she listened to her mother ramble on about a new reality show she'd been binging. She paused at the window that overlooked the town square and watched the elderly couple from the clinic yesterday enjoying the fresh air from underneath the shade of a lush tree. The wife seemed blissfully unaware of the persistent frown etched onto George's face as she inspected a nearby flowerbed, overflowing with vibrant petals.

"Yeah, it's not bad," Lyra replied. She began to pace again, moving toward the kitchen this time, the fingertips of her free hand trailing over the surface of the counters. "Smaller than I expected. Sort of feels like everyone knows everyone here."

"Well, that sounds charming. It's nice to have a sense of community."

Her mother had a point, but with a sense of community came a lack of privacy.

"It's not bad," Lyra repeated, heading for the couch. Her gaze stalled on the untouched supplement bottles.

"How's Harvey? Did you meet his girlfriend?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Lyra's mouth. "He's doing great," she answered. "Estelle's very welcoming and they seem really happy together. He wasn't exaggerating in his letters about her farm. It's gigantic, Mom. I don't know how she does it. Oh, and she makes her own wine. How cool is that?"

There was a strained sort of tension in the brief pause.

"You haven't been drinking, have you?"

"No." It came out too quickly, too curt.

"Lyra."

"Mom." Lyra ran a hand over her face. "Okay, I had like, two glasses. Estelle asked me to try her latest batch and I didn't want to be rude and turn her down."

She hated lying, but her mother, it seemed, was the one person she found it the least painful to lie to. Whatever eased the blow of reality. And the reality of it was that Lyra had been fiending for booze the moment she hopped off that bus. She would've kept drinking through the night if Harvey hadn't somehow managed to put on his adult cap and call an end to the night.

"I just worry," her mother said.

"I'm getting better," Lyra lied.

"I know you are, sweetheart, and I'm proud of you."

"We're going to the beach today." She was scrambling now, grasping for something — anything — to get away from this topic.

"Oh, how fun! Bring back a seashell for me, won't you?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

"And a hot lifeguard with washboard abs for yourself."

"Mom!"

But they laughed, and Lyra told her mother that she loved her. That, at the very least, was true.

The beach on the southern point of Pelican Town was unsurprisingly busy as Lyra and Estelle stepped from the cobblestone bridge to the white sand, the grains immediately lodging themselves in the space between their sandals and their bare feet.

"This is the closest public beach in about a two hundred mile radius," Estelle explained, her neon pink beach towel snapping in the air as she flicked it outward to guide it smoothly down onto the sand. She adjusted the canopy of the umbrella they'd lodged into the ground to shift the shade closer to them. "Everyone from Zuzu City comes here, especially on the weekends."

Behind her sunglasses, Lyra's wandering stare hopped from one group of people to the next as she stretched her own towel next to Estelle's and lowered herself onto it. There were families with young children running about, shrieking and squealing with giggles as they splashed each other in the water; clusters of people seemingly around her own age lounging in the sun, soaking up the rays for their tans; a trio of grey-haired women strolling along the shore, pumping tiny dumbbells up and down in rhythm of their steps.

"I can see why," Lyra remarked and propped herself up on her elbows. "Zuzu's, what? An hour away? I'd be here every weekend if I lived that close."

"Oh, don't forget this." Estelle rummaged through the tote she'd hauled with them and handed over a tube of sunscreen. "Harvey will have a meltdown if he shows up and we aren't covered in this stuff. Trust me, you don't want to hear the hour-long lecture of the dangers of UV exposure."

Lyra wondered how many times Estelle had listened to that lecture as she popped open the cap and began to lather the cold lotion onto her arm.

Estelle had not been successful in her goal to persuade Harvey to leave work even earlier and join them at the beach. He was insistent on staying until his normal time, stating that there were blood lab results he needed to go over with a patient.

"From the look on his face," Estelle had said, "it seemed pretty serious, so I didn't push him too hard. He really cares about his patients."

Lyra admired that about her cousin. She wished she cared about anything half as much.

Together, she and Estelle lounged underneath the umbrella, people-watching in a relaxed silence.

A flock of seagulls were pecking at pieces of bread being tossed about by a bald man with a searing sunburn on the top of his head, their wings frantically flapping as they tried to hop and dive around one another. Closer to the shoreline, where the waves kissed the sand before retreating back into their whole, an auburn-haired young boy shoveled moist sand into a plastic mold, packed it tight, and flipped it over to add another turret to the castle he'd been constructing. As he lifted the mold, a section of the small structure collapsed into a smooth edge and he let out a disappointed groan.

"The sand wasn't wet enough," explained a tall, slender man who had been observing from a few feet away in the ocean water. His flaxen hair dripped water from the ends, his teal swim shorts clinging to his thighs as he stepped closer. "Try scooping from here." He pointed downward at the darker grains beneath his bare feet.

The boy obeyed without hesitation, and when he lifted the mold to reveal an intact turret, he grinned up at the man, his cheeks indented with twin dimples.

"Thanks, Sam!"

A warmth spread from Lyra's chest and her mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile. Estelle jutted her chin toward the two.

"Sam and his little brother, Vincent," she told Lyra, and Lyra took note of the names, hoping to remember them. She'd already met more people in the last three days than she'd met in the last three years, and she was already beginning to doubt her recollection of the nurse's name at Harvey's clinic.

"Hold still, you're already flexing enough!"

"But I can make them bigger!"

"Do you want these pictures to come out clear or not? No agency is going to accept them if they're blurry!"

Both Estelle and Lyra turned their heads toward the two new voices, glancing back at the wooden bridge that led to the tide pools. Tanned skin glistening with some sort of oil, a burly man stood facing a petite blonde woman holding a camera up to her face. His arms curled at the sides of his head, veiny biceps twitching with strain. Lyra's gaze fell to his bare chest, then to the ridges of his abs, and she thought back to her conversation with her mother.

"Alex and Haley," Estelle said automatically.

"Is he a lifeguard?"

Estelle's head whipped toward Lyra, a curious furrow knitting her brows. "No, he plays gridball."

Lyra nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. Close enough, she thought.

"You two look like you're having fun," Harvey commented as he approached from behind, sporting a simple white shirt, forest green swim shorts, and a wide brimmed sun hat. He must've seen who they had been watching, because he added teasingly, "I have muscles too, y'know. They aren't as big as Alex's, but they're there."

With a scoff, Estelle planted a kiss to his cheek as he sat between her and Lyra. "I'd take your muscles over his any day," she reassured him. "But, Lyra, on the other hand…"

The suggestive tone to her words roused a quick laugh from Lyra. "I've never really been into brown hair," she replied. "Not my type."

"Well, what is your type then?"

It was as if Lyra's brain momentarily shut down. She hadn't really allowed herself to look at men with any sort of interest since Griffin. The guilt would have eaten her alive. What was her type? Did she even have one anymore?

"Um, I don't really know," she answered honestly. She watched Harvey fish out the sunscreen in somewhat of a rush, as if the sun itself would come down and light him ablaze. "As far as looks, I guess I like pretty eyes. Someone tall — taller than me. Is that shallow?"

Estelle waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, we all have our preferences. So, no short brunettes. Is there a type of hair you do like?"

Lyra pictured Sebastian's raven hair and wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it. Griffin never let her touch his hair, and he was nearly as blond as Haley, who was still snapping pictures of Alex in staged poses at different angles.

"Black hair is nice."

As if taking mental notes, Estelle hummed and nodded. "Got it. Only the darker brunettes." Her eyes fell back to Vincent and Sam. They had just finished carving out a moat around their castle. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Probably."

Estelle's gaze flicked to Lyra's. "Probably?"

Harvey let out a nervous chuckle and handed the sunscreen to Estelle. "You should apply another layer, honey. Just in case."

She took it and squeezed some onto her palm, her focus expectantly locked on Lyra. Lyra ran a finger through the sand, drawing swirls.

"My dad sucked," she said bluntly. "Cheated on my mom their entire relationship. Or, cheated on other women with her. They never married, and he couldn't stay faithful if you held a gun to his head. When I came along, they stayed together for a few years, but—" She shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "— he was always coming and going. And one day, he just stayed gone. Mom didn't seem to mind, but she always felt guilty that I didn't have a dad who wanted to stick around. So, yeah, I'm sure I have at least one sibling out there somewhere."

At first, nobody said anything. Harvey, none of this being new information to him, busied himself with opening three glass jars of iced green tea that he had brought in his tote. Estelle's mouth opened, closed, and Lyra suddenly felt worried, for the first time, that Estelle was judging her, that she'd said too much.

"That's horrible," Estelle finally said. "Really. What an asshole."

Pushing out a relieved breath, Lyra shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess so. Some people just aren't wired for family life, I guess." There was a tight ball forming in her gut; she didn't want to walk about herself anymore. "What about you? Any brothers or sisters?"

Estelle reached over to wipe a speck of sunscreen from Harvey's mustache before taking the tea he handed her. "Nope," she said, popping the P. "Just me. My parents were very much in the mindset of one-and-done."

Lyra flashed Harvey a smile as he gave her her own tea, which she immediately lifted to her lips. The heat was making her thirsty, and she'd forgotten to bring water with her before she left the apartment. She had looked for a flask or anything else that she could pour the rest of the strawberry wine into, but came up empty handed.

"Have you been taking those supplements I gave you?" Harvey asked, and Lyra had never been so thankful for a pair of sunglasses to hide the shadows underneath her eyes as she was now.

"Mmhm," she murmured around the rim of the jar. The tea was fantastic — earthy, refreshing with a minty undertone once it settled on the back of her tongue. The only thing that would have made it better would've been a splash of vodka.

"You can take them with you when you go back home," he told her. She felt a twinge of remorse for lying; he seemed genuinely pleased at the thought of her listening to his doctor's orders. "I can make you a list of suggestions for brands to buy once those run out, if you'd like."

"Yeah, that'd be gre—"

"Hey, cute sunglasses!" chirped a voice, and the three of them glanced upward at Haley and Alex. Haley held her camera steady in her hands while Alex bent his knees slightly to peer underneath the umbrella at them. "Where'd you get them?"

It took Lyra a second to register that Haley was talking to her, as neither Harvey nor Estelle were wearing sunglasses. "Oh, um, at the general store," she said a tad awkwardly.

Haley's eyes squinted and a line creased between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "The general store? Here in town? Pierre's?" Every sentence ended in a high tilt, and Lyra simply nodded along to each one. "Wow, that's — Hm. I should probably check that place out."

In a smooth motion, Alex dropped into a crouch and extended his broad hand to Lyra. "Hey there, I'm Alex," he said, his mouth pulling into a grin.

She slid her hand into his, surprised to find that his grip was gentle. "Lyra."

"Oh! Oh!" Haley squeaked. "Doctor Harvey, this is Lyra? Your cousin?" She didn't wait for an answer before pressing a hand to her chest — Lyra noted her neatly manicured fingernails — and added, "I'm Haley."

"Nice to meet—"

"Do you guys want a picture together?" she offered excitedly. "I still have a few more shots left on this roll."

Lyra inhaled to politely decline, but Estelle leaned in closer to Harvey and said, "That'd be awesome, Haley. Thank you."

So, as Harvey slung one arm around Lyra's shoulders and the other around Estelle, she forced a defeated smile onto her face. Over the chatter all around them and the laughter of kids playing, she didn't hear the sound of the shutter, but Haley seemed pleased when she lowered the camera from her face.

"That's going to turn out great," she said to Estelle. "I'll drop off the photo once I develop it, okay?"

Without so much as a word of goodbye, she started off back toward town. Alex's gaze roved over Lyra quickly before he trailed after her, his feet kicking up sand in their wake.

"Those are the sunglasses Sebastian bought you, right?" Estelle asked, bringing Lyra's attention back to their small group.

"Uh, yeah—"

"Auntie farmer!"

Estelle's head swiveled toward the voice. Sam was calling her over, his arm waving above his head.

"Come look at Vince's sandcastle!"

Giving Harvey a quick peck on the cheek, Estelle made her way over toward the brothers, her enthusiasm apparent in her voice as she complimented the structure, putting emphasis on the turrets. Lyra wondered if she and Harvey had discussed children of their own in the future; Harvey had always been good with kids, and it seemed Estelle was too.

"Sebastian, huh?" Harvey inquired, his tone laced with a hint of perplexity. "You…met Sebastian?"

As Lyra again recalled the previous day's events to her cousin, she sifted sand between her fingers, pushing the grains into small piles then smashing her palm on them to flatten them. Similar to when she had told Estelle about her encounter with Sebastian, Harvey was silent for a moment when she finished.

Then, he said, "Just be careful."

She looked from the sand to him, noting the way his mustache pulled downward with his slight frown. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He seemed to consider his next words carefully. "Sebastian's… Well, he's a good guy, don't get me wrong. He kind of sticks to himself, or his friends. I don't see him much except—"

"Harv, what are you trying to tell me right now?"

"Just — With what you've been going through with Griffin, be careful if you're going to be involved with someone else. I'm not saying he and Sebastian are similar. Actually, they are very different, but Sebastian — Well, he's —"

Lyra wanted to dig a person-sized hole in the sand and bury herself in it. "Harv, I'm not — That's not why I'm here. I'm here to spend time with you and Estelle," she replied with possibly a bit too much annoyance. "I'm not here to meet anyone. That's the last thing I need."

"I-I know that, Lyra."

She reached over, squeezing his hand. "You're a good cousin, looking out for me like that," she said, softer now. "I know you're worried, but I'm okay. Really."

Whether or not this calmed Harvey's uneasiness, Lyra wasn't sure, because from the corner of her eye, she spied Estelle walking back to them, Sam and Vincent following closely behind her. A fit of dread roiled in Lyra's gut; their eyes were locked solely on her.

"How does a few hours at the saloon tonight sound?" Estelle asked as if the decision had already been made. "Sam just bet me fifty gold that he won't lose at pool this time."

A saloon meant booze, and that meant Lyra couldn't say no.

"Yeah, sounds fun."

"Vince," Sam said, giving his brother a gentle tug on his hair, "introduce yourself."

As Lyra exchanged pleasantries once more, she tried to ignore the look of concern Harvey had thrown Estelle's way and focused more on committing all these new faces to memory.

There was absolutely no way she was going to remember all these names.

Lyra had not noticed the Stardrop Saloon earlier in the day when she and Estelle passed it by on their way to the beach, but now the brown-bricked building, its sign advertising food and spirits, had her full attention. Harvey held open the wooden door for the two women, and she gave him a gentle pat on the arm as she crossed the threshold and blinked through her eyes' adjustment from the blaring brightness outside to the dimmed indoor lights.

The day was just barely cresting five in the afternoon and the saloon was already swarming with people, a heady scent of fried foods and beer lingering in the air. Harvey and Estelle made way for a round table intimately tucked away in the corner, and Lyra had the suspicion that they had an unspoken claim on it. Four red padded stools surrounded it, and they absentmindedly perched themselves onto two that gave them full view of the room. Lyra lowered herself down on the one next to Harvey.

"This place is cute," she opined, twisting her hair around her finger and flicking it back over her shoulder. She couldn't tell if the dampness was from her shower or from the unrelenting humidity. "Very cozy."

"It's nice to have somewhere to go to wind down after a busy week," Harvey replied.

A blue-haired woman approached their table, beaming brilliantly. "Hi, guys," she chirped before her attention fell to Lyra. Somehow, her smile grew even wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Emily, this is my cousin, Lyra," Harvey said. "Lyra, Emily."

It was like meeting Estelle for the first time all over again. Emily's arm, surprisingly toned, snaked around Lyra's shoulders and pulled her in at an awkward angle. Lyra managed to wrap an arm around Emily, her palm settling at the middle of her back, her cheek pressing against the side of Emily's chest. The hug was quick, but it left Lyra a blushing mess as Emily released her.

"So good to meet you, Lyra," she said warmly. "From the day I met Doctor Harvey, I knew you and I would intersect when one of our lights became a shadow."

"O-Oh."

Lyra had absolutely no idea what to say to that. She looked to Harvey and Estelle in desperation, and they both seemed to have been trying to tell her wordlessly, "Just go with it."

Fortunately, Emily moved on from the strange greeting and asked, "So, what'll it be? Gus just got a fresh shipment of squid, so fried calamari is the special tonight."

Estelle looked to Harvey, who looked to Emily. "We'll just split a pizza tonight," he told her. "Two beers and a water as well. Thank you, Emily."

"Sure thing!"

Emily didn't walk away; she danced, light on her toes, flitting around patrons with an ease and grace that left Lyra slightly slack-jawed. There was something about her that didn't feel quite real, but before Lyra could comment on it, a blinking light in the adjacent room caught her eye.

"No way," she gasped. "Is that what I think it is?"

Harvey let out a low chuckle. "I know you'd be excited about that."

"Do you mind if I…?"

"Not at all. Have fun."

Lyra hopped off the stool, attempting to move at a normal pace toward the arcade machines lined up against the wall near the pool table. Her feet picked up the pace to match her exhilaration and a few heads turned to watch her brisk walk increase to a light jog, her hand fishing around in the pocket of her jeans for two gold coins.

She hadn't played Journey of the Prairie King in years, not since she had to sell her gaming console to pay rent. It had once been her favorite game, a place of comfort to escape the daunting pressures of life, and admittedly, she probably spent too much time with the controller in her hands and her eyes glued to the TV screen.

Her hand smashed down on the START button, and the game's title flashed in front of her. She caught a brief glimpse of her face in the screen's reflection and her heart stumbled a beat; she hadn't seen her own smile in a long time.

The game was much more difficult than Lyra remembered. She barely lasted thirty seconds before all three of her lives had been spent and she was feeding the machine two more coins.

After beating her previous record by a few more seconds, the words GAME OVER lowered onto the monitor. She began to wonder if all that time she had spent sitting in her scarcely furnished living room in her apartment, her thumbs deftly flying over the controller and her eyes wide and unblinking while Griffin slept on the air mattress in the bedroom was for naught. She had vivid memories of beating this game multiple times. Maybe the arcade version had been bumped up to a higher difficulty to make sure losers like herself would keep putting in money?

If that was the case, it was working. Lyra slid in another two coins.

Her palms felt sweaty against the buttons and the joystick. An exasperated huff flew from her nose when her character died yet again.

Okay, focus, she thought. You're not even drunk yet. You have no excuse to suck this badly.

Lyra could feel him to her right, the solid dark presence sauntering up next to her, before she saw his hand push two coins of his own into the slot and press the START button the second player side of the machine. She dared a sideways glance at him, at the bare skin of his arms and the faded grey T-shirt he wore, the remnants of a band's logo still barely visible on the front.

"It's easier with two people," Sebastian said by way of greeting, his character popping onto the screen. "Is this cool with you?"

"Yeah," Lyra said, her voice unnaturally high and strained. Her heart settled into a staccato rhythm inside her chest. "Super cool."

Sebastian was good. Embarrassingly so. While Lyra died over and over again, he kept the game going as she slid more gold into the coin slot. She hoped he didn't regret his decision to play with her, that her inability to stay alive for more than a minute didn't frustrate him the way it was her.

"I'm Lyra, by the way," she said in an attempt to test the waters and gauge his irritation level, clawing another pair of coins from her jeans.

"Sebastian."

Oh, I know.

The way his own name rolled off his tongue, his tone warm and amiable, lifted the diffident weight on her chest.

"I, uh, I'm usually not this bad." A heavy sigh flew past Lyra's lips, her hand curling around the joystick in a death grip. "It's been a while since I've played this."

"It's a tough game," he replied, his gaze flicking sidelong at her before returning to the game monitor. "I'm not very good at it either."

Lyra's curiosity flared. She wondered what it looked like when he played a game he considered himself actually good at.

They fell into a concentrated silence, the tapping of the buttons and the steady beat of music from the jukebox doing little to mask the sound of Lyra's shallow breathing in her own ears. Miraculously, they passed the level, and she hurried to wipe her palms on her jeans while Sebastian flexed his fingers and rotated his wrists in circles.

Lyra took advantage of the brief respite to dare a peek at him as he returned his hands to their place on the machine, her eyes trailing from his slender fingers to the pale skin of his forearms, wiry and slightly vascular. The next level started, but she didn't notice; her stare had landed on his face, noting the small black ring that had been inserted into his lip where the hole had been, and the hints of shadows that lived underneath his eyes, nearly identical to her own.

The tip of his tongue flicked around the ring, teasing it from side to side, and an odd melting sensation filled Lyra's stomach.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, and she snapped her gaze back toward the game, watching the way he watched her back in the reflection of the screen — curious, amused.

"N-No, I, um…"

Not a single acceptable excuse came to her, so she simply shut her mouth and focused on the inhale and exhale of her breaths, hoping to calm her racing heart.

She needed to get away from Sebastian. Harvey had been right to warn her and advise her to be careful.

The perfect opportunity to do so presented itself in the unsurprising blow that her character took, causing her final life to drop to the familiar zero.

"Those were my last coins," she lied. "I'm out."

Lyra took a small step away from the machine, prepared to thank him for playing with her and retreat back to Harvey and Estelle, but Sebastian's right hand had already shot to the joystick, maneuvering his character away from danger as his left hand dipped into his pocket and produced two coins. Without barely a downward look, he popped them into the slot and pressed the START button for her.

"You're back in."

There was no escaping this, the taut ache in her chest that hammered into her that she was doing something wrong and the consequences would surely follow soon. She considered declining, as she had with his offer to buy her sunglasses, but that hadn't turned out the way she wanted. She doubted this would either.

Besides, it would've been rude to waste his money like that.

So, she went along with it, her hand jerking the joystick this way and that, her fingers mashing the buttons frantically, managing to somehow stay alive when Sebastian failed to dodge a hit and left her character alone for what felt like forever before he respawned.

Lyra wasn't sure how long their game lasted. On one hand, it seemed to have stretched on for hours, and on the other, just a few heartbeats. When the last of both their lives reached zero, she let out a lengthy breath, blinking through the dryness of her eyes and allowing her shoulders to drop.

Two columns of information popped onto the screen. Initials and game scores. Somehow, they had made it onto the scoreboard.

"Does your back hurt from carrying this team?" Lyra asked.

Sebastian's short chuckle was nothing short of melodic. "You carried too."

While the list of initials consisted mostly of ABY, there were a few scores belonging to SEB, SAM, and GUS toward the bottom.

"How should we do ours?" Sebastian asked, his chin dipping slightly as he peered at her.

Lyra refused to tear her eyes from the screen. "You did most of the work," she said. "SEB is fine with me."

Arching a brow, he crossed his arms solidly over his chest. Lyra swallowed, then slowly brought her gaze to meet his, taking in the displeasure written on his face. There was a glossy glaze to his eyes, his sclera slightly bloodshot. It made the colors of his pupils pop in stark contrast to his hair and clothes. Lyra had thought they were beautiful before. Now they took her breath away.

"Okay, fine," she relented. "How about SAL? Sebastian and Lyra?"

Sebastian considered this for a moment before turning back to the game. Lyra watched as he entered LAS, and the letters took their place at the very bottom of the list of scores.

"Looks better that way," he said as if he needed to explain himself to her.

Lyra found that she didn't quite know what to do with her hands anymore now that they weren't playing. She listlessly dropped them to her sides, then immediately shoved them into her pockets, her fingertips resting against the coins she still had.

"That was fun," she told him in earnest, "but I should get back to my—"

An arm curled around the back of Sebastian's neck, resting securely on his shoulders. "No way, dude! You actually beat us here for once?"

A jolt of surprise buzzed through Lyra and she flinched back slightly from the two as Sam's beaming face came into view. His other hand delivered a playful pat to Sebastian's stomach before he looked toward Lyra.

"Oh, hey," he said. "It was Lara, right? Uncle doctor's cousin?"

Sebastian cast her an intrigued glance before shrugging Sam's arm off him. There was no annoyance in his movements, just an urgency to return to the calm, collected, and untouchable manner he'd been presenting himself as.

Lyra flashed him a pleased smile, debating on asking him why he had such peculiar nicknames for Harvey and Estelle, but she needed to get back to them and away from Sebastian. "Lyra," she corrected, turning on her heel. "Good to see you again, Sam, but I've got to—" She sucked in a sharp breath as a pair of sapphire eyes, framed by rich purple hair, bored into hers. The single step she'd taken stopped short.

"Hi there," the woman standing before her, blocking her path, said.

Lyra took a step to the side, wondering when exactly the saloon seemed to have tripled in capacity, and muttered a soft, "Excuse me."

"Back up a bit, Abby," came Sebastian's voice. "You're practically standing on top of her."

A look of realization flashed across Abby's face — she was standing unusually close to someone she didn't know — and she wasted no time pressing herself up against the pool table and out of Lyra's way. "Sorry about that."

In the saloon proper, Lyra could see Emily approach the table where her cousin and Estelle sat, a beer in each hand while a stout man with a rather impressive mustache carried a steaming pizza behind her. Estelle said something to Emily as she placed a beer on the table, causing the bartender to turn and lock eyes with Lyra.

What an angel, Lyra thought as Emily headed her way. Meeting me halfway with my beer? Big tip tonight.

As the distance between the two started to shrink, Emily's mouth moved, but her voice was muted by the commotion all around them. Lyra tried to read her lips, making out something along the lines of, "Stay there, I'll come to you. It's my job." She didn't heed the words; the sooner she had that beer in her hand and down her throat, the lighter she'd feel.

A man rounded the corner to her right from the bathroom, wiping his slightly damp palms on his shirt, and Lyra's hand flew up to cover her mouth as he collided with Emily. The glass of amber liquid became messily lodged between them, and Lyra's heart plummeted as she witnessed her precious beer splatter onto the floor.

"Shit," she hissed, grabbing a fistful of paper napkins from a metal dispenser on one of the tables and hustling toward the two. "Emily, I am so sorry."

Emily's perpetual smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure. "You're sorry? You didn't do anything." She wrapped her fingers around the man's arm, steadying him. "All right there, Victor?"

"I'm fine. Sorry about that, Emily. I should've been paying better attention."

While the two squabbled over each other, Lyra busied herself with wiping the napkins onto the floor to soak up the beer before anyone had the chance to slip on it and break their neck. The napkins, much to her dismay, were thin and cheap, hardly doing much except pushing the beer about.

Lyra wanted to kick herself. If she hadn't left the table to go play that stupid game, Emily wouldn't have had to personally deliver her beer, and this never would have happened.

I'm an idiot. A stupid, selfish idiot. Why can't I just—

"Hey."

She tilted her head up to glance at Sebastian, who held out a stained white rag toward her. Though it looked dirty and used, it was dry when she took it and returned to wiping up the beer. He knelt next to her, a second rag pressed onto the floor to glide in tandem circles.

"Thanks," she mumbled, the vice grip of humiliation squeezing at her insides. "I hope I didn't get Emily in trouble."

Sebastian's rag stalled before resuming its motion. "You didn't," he assured her. "Shit happens. Shane gets wasted and spills his beer here almost every day. Except tonight, I guess. Haven't really seen him around."

Lyra didn't know who Shane was, and in this moment, she couldn't have cared less. All she wanted to do was clean up the mess she made, use the excuse that she wasn't feeling well to make her escape, and hide away up in the apartment until it came time for her to leave Pelican Town.

"Oh, thanks, you guys. You didn't have to do that," Emily said once the spilled beer was gone. She took the rags, now slightly heavier and smelling of musty floor grime. "I'll grab you another beer."

"That's okay," Lyra hurried to tell her. "I'm good, actually."

Emily's striking eyes narrowed, her full mouth thinning into a hard line. "Are you sure? It'll take just a minute. I promise it'll stay in the glass this time."

Lyra felt like she might swallow her own tongue, so she just nodded.

"Okay. Well, if you change your mind, let me know." And with that, like nothing had happened, Emily began softly singing to herself as she skipped back toward the bar, tossing the rags onto the counter as she went.

Wrapping her arms around her herself, Lyra looked toward Harvey and Estelle. They sat deep in conversation, nearly nose-to-nose, the pizza untouched in front of them, and completely oblivious to the trainwreck that had just taken place. She decided against interrupting them with her goodbye; she'd probably see them the next day, or in a few days before she hopped on the bus ride home.

"Let's get some fresh air," Sebastian suggested. Lyra nearly jumped out of her skin; she'd forgotten he was there, standing only inches away. "It's hot in here. Too many bodies."

Before she could tell him that she was on her way out regardless, he was already making way to the door, pushing it open and looking back at her expectantly. Pulling in a deep breath through her nose, she followed after him, stealing a glance back toward her cousin. Estelle had peered her way, throwing her a wink before looking back to Harvey and chiming in with a giggle at something he'd said.

The summer night air, thick and damp against Lyra's skin, was a relief to drag into her lungs as her ears filled with the rhythmic clicking of invisible cicadas. They found themselves on the side of the saloon nearest the town square, a cozy lounge area complete with a pair of wooden tables and benches. Gloaming string lights had been hung overhead from the corners of the building and connected at a metal pole erected between the tables, illuminating the space just enough to make out features of faces without the jarring brightness.

Leaning against a table, Sebastian fished a small pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter from his pocket. He smacked the pack against his palm twice before opening it, shoving one between his lips, and flicking a flame to its tip. All the while, his eyes never wavered from her.

"Well, I'm calling it a night," she said. "Thanks for helping me clean up."

And for playing one of my favorite games with me, and for telling Abby to back off.

She realized, with a hint of sour dread, that she may actually be in Sebastian's debt after tonight. She reigned in her urge to let out a mortified groan.

Sebastian didn't give her the chance to walk away. "You do realize that wasn't your fault, right?"

Lyra chewed on the inside of her cheek, a shrill bout of laughter bouncing out from the saloon window that had been cracked open an inch or two. "Yeah, of course," she replied, if just to appease him.

He said nothing, the silence chipping away at her one second at a time until…

"It was my fault, though," she went on. "I should've stayed with Harv and Estelle in the first place. Then Emily wouldn't have had to walk all the way over to the arcade. I made her go out of her way to — Oh, I-I don't…"

Her words failed her. Sebastian had extended his arm, his cigarette held out as an offering.

"I've never smoked before."

The cigarette returned to his lips, the ash glowing with an inhale. Twin clouds of smoke pushed through his nostrils. "You were rambling," he pointed out. "I usually don't mind. Sam does it all the time, but nothing you were saying was making any sense. You're Doctor Harvey's cousin?"

"The one and only."

Sebastian flicked at the butt of the cigarette with his thumb, sending particles of ash drifting out into the air. "Hm."

"What?"

"You're just…not what I expected."

Lyra wasn't sure if she should've been offended or thrilled by that. She cocked her head to the side. "What did you expect?"

The edge of Sebastian's mouth quirked up into a half smirk as he took another long draw. "I guess," he said slowly, "I pictured Harvey, just with longer hair and no mustache."

The vision of it was enough to make Lyra breathe a laugh. "Yeah, a little different than that, I suppose. Sorry to disappoint."

There was a heavy moment of stillness between them, where even the the raucous crowd inside the saloon settled into a brief placid lull.

"Not disappointed in the least."

Lyra's stomach clenched. Surely she'd misheard him. Her mouth parted. "What—"

The saloon's door flew open and a shadowed head of spiked hair popped out from the entrance. "There you guys are!" Sam shouted in mock exasperation. "Are you gonna come play pool or not, dude? I've got fifty gold riding on our next game."

Sebastian pushed himself from the table, dropping the cigarette to the ground and smothering it with the heel of his shoe before bending down to shove the remains back into the pack. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there," he told Sam, who disappeared back into the saloon. He took a few steps before turning back to look at Lyra. "You coming?"

His question pulled her from the maze of her thoughts; she was still trying to decipher his lack of disappointment. She lifted her hand, pointing over her shoulder to the nearby clinic with her thumb. "No, I'm uh, going to just head back."

"Why? Do you have something more interesting going on than watching me absolutely destroy Sam at pool?"

She had no rebuttal to that because in all honestly, the only thing waiting for her back at the apartment was half a bottle of lackluster wine and an hour of scrolling though the pictures she still had of Griffin on her phone. Even so, the consistent foreboding feeling clawing its way up her throat locked her in place.

Apparently, Sebastian could sense her hesitation. He nodded toward the door, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and said as he began to turn from her, "C'mon, it'll be fun. I might even let him win tonight."

The words tumbled from her mind to her mouth and out into the open air before she could stop them. "But what if everyone's pissed at me?" she asked. "For the beer."

"Lyra."

She couldn't remember the last time her name had fallen from someone's lips with this same sort of tenderness.

"Let's make a bet of our own." Sebastian turned to fully face her. "Five gold says we walk in there and nobody says a word about it." He pulled his hand from his pocket, holding it out toward her.

"But what if they do?"

She'd have to leave Pelican Town that night, and would spend the rest of her life apologizing to Emily for being the reason why her shirt smelled like beer, and to Harvey for being the embarrassing cousin that did nothing but show up in this community where he'd built a reputation for himself and act like an absolute fool. The worst part about it was that she couldn't even blame it on being drunk; she'd been stone cold sober all day.

"I promise you they won't," Sebastian said. His brows lifted slightly as he extended his hand just a bit further. "Five gold. We'll shake on it."

Lyra allowed herself one more contemplative breath.

Fuck it, she thought, and took the few steps toward him, sliding her hand against his. Their fingers curled around each other's palms, lifting and falling, then Sebastian tightened his grip gently to pull her toward the door before releasing it.

"After you."

The first thing Lyra noticed was that Harvey and Estelle were no longer at their table. Her stomach flipped — when had they left? Why had they left? It had to have been because of her. She'd caused such a scene earlier that they couldn't stand to be seen with her again. They'd simply slipped away, back to the farm, to pretend they had no idea who she was.

"Lyra! Seb!"

Estelle waved them over from the rec room, where it seemed the couple had migrated to. Relief flooded through Lyra as she and Sebastian weaved their way around the other saloon patrons. They hadn't left her after all.

She joined Harvey and Estelle at the new table they'd occupied. A plate crowded with two gigantic slices of pizza waited for her. Sebastian veered off from her to take the pool cue Sam held out for him. The balls had already been racked into a triangle on the pool table, and they played a hasty game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would break it.

Sam won and wasted no time bending over send the cue ball hurling toward the others, dispersing them in every direction with a sharp crack.

"So, how was your time outside?" Estelle asked suggestively as Lyra bit into a slice of pizza.

Either from the heavenly combination of the melted cheeses and sauce in her mouth or the tone of Estelle's words, Lyra's eyes involuntarily rolled to the back of her head before she gave a small shrug. "It was fine. Just…talked a bit. He offered me some of his cigarette."

While Estelle looked slightly taken aback, Harvey leaned closer to Lyra. "You didn't, right?" he asked sternly.

Lyra gave him a reassuring grin. "I would never let you down like that, Harv. In other ways, sure, but smoking? No way."

Sam's booming groan yanked their attention toward the game. "Aw, c'mon, dude!" he griped, pointing sharply to the pool table. "I set that up for you!"

The laugh that came from Sebastian's mouth short-circuited Lyra's brain. She froze mid-chew, an ardent rush washing over her. She couldn't look away as Sebastian circled the table, his eyes darting about the green velvet surface, calculating his next shot. He stopped at the side opposite of her and, with a predatory slowness, bent over the table to line up his cue. His eyes flashed up to meet hers, so quickly that she almost missed it, and—

Clack!

"Hey there."

The voice ripped Lyra from her intent focus and her head whipped to the side, mouth still partially full of pizza. The man who Emily had collided with earlier stood before her, a glass of beer in his hand and his face set in a genial demeanor.

Sam's boisterous whoop gave away that Sebastian must have missed his shot.

Lyra hurried to finish chewing and swallowing her bite. "Hi," she said. "Oh, I — Um, I'm sor—"

"This is for you." He held the beer to her. "I definitely owe you one after earlier. I was lost in thought and not really paying attention to where I was going. Sorry about that."

Her first instinct was to decline the beer, but she was thirsty and craving a good buzz after everything. With a slight nod, she took the cold glass from him. "Thank you," she said. "You didn't need to, but…that's very nice of you."

"Don't mention it. It's the least I can do. I'm Victor, by the way."

Wondering when the seemingly endless introductions to new people would end, Lyra shook his hand and took a quick sip from the beer. An army of goosebumps rose on her arms.

"I'm Lyra. Nice to meet you, Victor."

To Lyra's delight, Victor didn't seem much for conversation. He gave Estelle a swift hug, clasped Harvey's hand in a firm grip, and joined Abby on the pair of worn couches tucked away in the corner of the room, leaving Lyra free to return back to the game in front of her.

There was an obvious skill gap between Sam and Sebastian. Sam had a habit of leaning over to line up his cue, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip and a concentration crease formed between his brows, only to remain in place like that for a minute or two before loosing an unsatisfied sigh and straightening himself to scout out another angle. Sebastian's play style radiated much more confidence. He rarely adjusted the angle at which he lined up his cue, taking mere seconds to pocket a ball and consequentially rouse a whine or a defeated moan from his friend.

All the while, Lyra monitored every move Sebastian made, tossing back four more glasses of beer like she was watching her favorite TV show. The evening bled into night, and Harvey tapped against her arm as he and Estelle stood from their stools, the farmer stifling a sudden yawn with the back of her hand.

"We're heading out," he announced. "Do you want us to walk you back to the clinic?"

Lyra caught Sebastian glancing their way as she turned to her cousin. "I should probably go too," she muttered, her tongue feeling just as fuzzy as her brain did. The pizza had barely soaked up the alcohol in her stomach and exhaustion was beginning to wind its way into her core. "I'll walk with you guys."

Estelle aimed a bandaged finger toward Sam. "I'm coming to collect my money tomorrow," she warned him, her voice playfully grave.

"Game's still going," Sam bit back with a laugh. "You never know, I could make a comeback!"

Planting her feet on the floor, Lyra stood and gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. The world tilted before righting itself again and she forced herself to walk in a straight line behind Harvey as they advanced toward the door.

"Hey, wait!"

It was an effort to turn without falling onto her ass. Sebastian sauntered over to her, his hand curled into a fist that he held toward her.

"Here. I almost forgot."

Lyra held out her upturned palm, casting him a look of confusion as five gold coins landed on it. "What's this for?"

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he said, "I lost the bet. Victor mentioned it."

She started intently at his mouth as he spoke.

I've never kissed anyone with a lip ring before, she thought, noting the twisting in her gut just below her navel.

"Oh, um… Okay, thanks."

Lyra clumsily stuffed the coins into her pocket, wishing her intoxicated mind could come up with something witty and flirty to say. She hadn't flirted with anyone in so long and didn't trust herself, even sober, to manage to come across as anything except awkward in her own skin.

"Goodnight, Lyra," Sebastian said as he turned back to an impatiently awaiting Sam. "Get home safe."

In her haze, Lyra barely registered the short walk to the clinic. One blink, she was stumbling close behind the couple, and the next, she was shouldering open the door to the apartment, lazily wiggling out of her jeans and shirt before tossing them onto coffee table, smothering the untouched — and at this point, nearly forgotten — supplement bottles. She reached backward to unhook her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor, and collapsed onto the bed.

The room spun, the walls surging like waves as she laid her head on the pillow and shimmied underneath the blankets. With a pathetic whimper, she shot out a leg to place the sole of her foot flat against the cold floor. The lurching of her stomach eased and her eyes fluttered closed.

An image of Sebastian surfaced in the darkness behind her eyelids, bent over the pool table, his capable hands curled around the cue in a firm grip. Her fingertips danced across her breasts, down the planes of her stomach and between her legs as she replaced the cue with her hips in her mind's eye.

Lyra knew she should've felt guilty for picturing someone who wasn't Griffin as her fingers dipped inside herself, slick with her own essence.

She couldn't find it in herself to give a shit. Not this time. Not when her mind had been set on the all-consuming thought of how good the metal of Sebastian's lip ring would feel with his head pressed between her thighs.

The muted morning light leaking into the apartment brought forth the unrelenting weight of shame, so heavy that for an hour after her eyes fluttered open, all Lyra could do was stare at the wall, her body a statue in the sheets. She listened to rain pelting the roof and splattering sideways against the windows. Sharp cracks of lightening lit up the apartment in bright flashes before the shadows crept back in, the subsequent rolling thunder a stalking, groaning beast.

She needed to leave Pelican Town today, she decided. She needed to call Harvey and tell him that she was going to end the trip early, hop on the first bus back home, and find Griffin to apologize. Although it was no excuse, she'd explain to him that she had been drunk and Sebastian was the first and only man she'd looked at twice since the breakup. She'd tell him that she was still waiting for their "short break" to be over, and she'd apologize again for making him want to leave in the first place.

She wished she still had Griffin's phone number, wished that her friends back home hadn't physically taken her phone to delete any contact information for him, including texts, call logs, and voicemails. She wished he'd reach out, but he hadn't. Not once in nearly six months.

For now, she needed to break the news to Harvey and thank him for the fun couple of days she'd had with him and Estelle.

After a few moments of searching the crumpled sheets of the bed, Lyra palmed her phone. A solidly stubborn black screen met her, her reflection in it the thing of nightmares: smeared makeup around her eyes, a line of dried drool trailing from the corner of her mouth to her chin, fatigue evident in her gaze.

Her phone battery had died at some point during the night, not that she'd been using it much since she arrived in Pelican Town. With a grunt of effort, she leaned over, snagging the charging cord in her hand and pulling it closer to plug her phone in. There wasn't much she could do for now except wait, so she peeled herself from the bed and padded into the bathroom, unable to look at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth and splashed cold water and soap onto her face.

Lyra had been in the middle of packing up her things in her toiletry bag when she heard the chime of her phone turning on, followed by a series of vibrations and notification dings. At first, she paid them no mind, but the noises kept coming. She peeked around the corner of the bathroom door threshold, watching the screen light up before going dark once more.

"What the hell?" she whispered, abandoning the bag on the bathroom counter to grab her phone.

One text from her mother asking how the day at the beach went, and three texts and two missed calls from Harvey.

Lyra didn't bother checking the texts before she was calling Harvey back, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip as the phone pressed against the side of her face. Harvey never called her more than once.

The phone rang twice. "Lyra?" Harvey's voice trembled as he spoke her name.

She sat on the bed, her mouth suddenly dry. "Hey, everything okay?"

"Yes. Um, well, no. I am very sorry to ask this of you while you're here on a vacation, but can you stop by the farm? One of the coops must have had some rotted wood and the rain washed out part the fence and the rabbits escaped. Robin's on her way to fix the coop, but Estelle and I are having some trouble locating some of the rabbits and—"

Lyra was already up and jogging over to her suitcase to find something decent to wear in this weather. "Absolutely, Harv," she said. "I'm on my way."

She hadn't anticipated having to venture out into a downpour when she had packed for this trip, so the best she could come up with was a well-worn pull-over hoodie, a pair of black track pants, and her favorite pair of dirty canvas shoes. It wasn't ideal for trudging through the rain, or through a farm in general, but it would work. She tied her hair back in a messy, half-assed braid before tucking it into the hood and yanking it over her head as she hurried from the apartment, down the stairs to the clinic, and out into the rainstorm enveloping the town.

Unsurprisingly, there wasn't a soul to be seen in the town square. Dense, lumpy grey clouds shrouded the valley in a thick gloom, cut through only by the illuminated windows of the general store and the occupied houses. Lyra hustled toward the farm, the soles of her shoes slapping against gathering puddles in the cracks of the cobblestone and squelching in mud once the maintained road gave way to dirt and gravel. She wished she'd scoured the apartment for an umbrella before she left; her clothes were already soaked through and leaden as the fabric clung to her skin.

The scent of drenched soil and hay filled the air as Lyra approached the farm. She scanned the distant roofs over the top of the sunflower field, wondering which coop had housed the rabbits when the front door to the cottage swung open and Harvey waved her in wildly.

"Smells like a barn in here," Lyra commented lowly as she wiped her muddied shows on the mat before stepping inside.

It was a zoo, more like. Rabbits of all sorts of sizes and colors hopped about, their noses twitching curiously as they discovered new rooms and nibbled at the runner rug in the entrance hallway.

Harvey bent down, gently shooing them away. "No, no, stop that!" he hissed. "That's a family heirloom."

It must've belonged to Estelle's family because Lyra had never seen it before.

She swiftly closed the door behind her to prevent any more rogue rabbits and pushed the hood from her head. "How many are there altogether?"

Her cousin looked to her, his eyes wide with panic behind his raindrop-stained glasses. "I don't know," he replied, narrowly stepping over one of the furry creatures as they ventured further into the cottage. "So far, we've found seventeen."

"Seventeen?"

"Give or take a few."

"Who has time for seventeen plus rabbits?"

"They're her favorite," Harvey defended, sitting down at the dining table. His body seemed to melt into the chair. "I don't know how say no to her when she tells me she's going to buy another one from Marnie."

Lyra leaned against the counter, her arms crossing over her chest. "You should probably learn then."

The sound of the door creaking open and a series of footfalls clomping toward them steered their conversation away from Estelle's rabbit addiction and Harvey's inability to put his foot down, and they turned their attention toward the hallway. Estelle stood there, flushed and breathless, two squirming rabbits in her arms.

"Found some more," she gasped as she slowly lowered them onto the floor. "Hi, Lyra. Thanks for coming."

"It's no probl—"

Three heavy knocks boomed from the front door.

"That should be Robin," Estelle said, as if talking to herself, and hurried to answer it. Lyra and Harvey followed behind, and Lyra's stomach bottomed out at the sight of two people standing out in the rain as the door opened. "Thanks for coming on such short notice, Robin. Hey, Seb."

"It's no problem at all. I apologize, Estelle — I had no idea the wood I used to build that coop was no good," the woman — Robin — replied as she and Sebastian shuffled inside, wary of the rabbits at their feet.

She smoothed back her wet fiery hair from her face as Sebastian pulled back the hood of his jacket, his own hair completely dry save for a few strands. His gaze landed on Lyra, and she immediately noticed that the striking color of Robin's eyes matched his almost perfectly. She stole a quick glance at his lip ring before she looked away, trying to focus on anything else.

"It's fine," Estelle replied, though the anxiety in her tone and the heaving of her chest suggested otherwise. "We just — I need to find my last rabbit." She turned to Harvey, tears beginning to cloud her eyes. "It's Cheeba, Harv. She's out there somewhere, lost and wet and probably scared out of her little mind."

Harvey's face fell, his eyes softening as he looped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Oh, dear. Not Cheeba."

The question of who Cheeba was must've been etched onto Lyra's face, because Estelle explained without her having to ask, "Cheeba was the first rabbit I ever bought. She was just a baby back then." She held out her palm, curling her fingers slightly. "She could fit in my hand. I love all my rabbits, but she's my favorite."

Lyra's heart broke for her friend, at the way the tears threatened to fall at any moment and at the quiver in her lips as she spoke.

"We'll find Cheeba," she told Estelle with an assured nod. "It'll be okay. You've already searched the whole farm?"

Estelle swallowed thickly. "Yeah." She sounded so small. "I think she may have made it into the forest."

Slipping on her hood again, Lyra stuffed her braid back into the fold of it. "Okay, I'll start there."

Sebastian took a step toward the door. "I'll come with you." Lyra cast him a perplexed look, and he added with a shrug, "We can cover more ground with the two of us."

There wasn't an opportunity to argue. Harvey announced he'd search the farm again while Robin pulled Estelle into a tight hug. "I'm going to go fix up that coop, then I'll start looking too." She looked toward Sebastian, and even though he towered over her, Lyra sensed the obvious authority she carried over him. "Seb, you find that rabbit, okay?"

His only response was a sharp nod as he held open the door for her.

Robin paused briefly and turned to Lyra. "Good to finally meet you, sweetie," she said with a stressed smile, though they hadn't been introduced at all. "Once all this is over, I'd love to chat. Harvey's told me so much about you."

That can't be good, Lyra thought as she returned the grin.

"Sounds great."

Before Lyra could make it out of the cottage, Harvey grabbed her arm to hold her in place. "Lyra," he muttered sternly, "be careful." He peered back to watch Estelle lower herself onto a dining chair with a deep sigh, her head buried in her hands. "Cindersap Forest can be dangerous if you aren't paying attention. If you can't find Cheeba in an hour, come back. We'll look again tomorrow."

She gave his mustache a tender tug. "You worry too much, cousin."

And with that, she scurried outside to Sebastian, who waited for her at the bottom of the porch stairs, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his hood concealing his eyes.

There was a small part of her that wanted to tell Sebastian that she'd be fine on her own, that they didn't need to look for Cheeba together, but the logical, fearful side of her brain warred against it. She'd never been to Cindersap Forest before, or any forest for that matter. Walking between the giant corn stalks and trellises snaked with tomato vines of Estelle's farm was the closest she'd been to actually being out in the wilderness. She watched Sebastian's stride in front of her, confidence emanating from each step as he guided her toward the looming shadowed mass of trees, and wondered what sort of dangers Harvey had meant, and if Sebastian was aware of them as well.

A thick, suffocating blanket of mist wound its way around the massive trees and lush shrubs, making it an effort to stick to the well-trodden dirt path. The crunching of twigs, pine needles, and gravel underneath their feet barely reached their ears over the splattering of raindrops against leaves and rocks. Thunder grumbled far off in the distance, and Lyra prayed it meant the storm was moving on.

"How will we know when we find Cheeba?" Lyra asked, raising her voice to compete with the rain. "We didn't ask what she looks like."

Sebastian turned his head and she watched his lips move as he spoke. "She's white with a solid black streak down her back, like an inverted skunk."

Lyra had only seen skunks on the nature shows her father used to put on TV when he was high out of his mind on whatever the drug of the week was. That had been nearly two decades ago, but she could still somewhat picture what they looked like. "Inverted skunk," she repeated. "Got it. Hopefully she's not as stinky."

The corner of Sebastian's lip twitched upward. "Did you not smell Estelle's cottage when you walked in? Rabbits are their own kind of stinky."

Lyra smirked at that, her eyes darting about the foliage. There was no sign of Cheeba, or any four-legged creatures.

She brought her hands to her mouth, her fingers curling around her lips. "Cheeba!" she shouted, fully aware of Sebastian watching her as she did so. "C'mere, Cheeba! Cheeba!"

"I don't think rabbits are smart like that," he said as he adjusted the hood over his head to better shield himself. "Cheeba might not know her own name."

"Don't underestimate her," Lyra chided. "It never hurts to try. Cheeba!"

He observed her a moment longer before cupping his own hands around his mouth. "Cheeba!" he called, the name bouncing off the trees. "Cheeba!"

Lyra couldn't help but look to him in awe. For the short amount of time she'd known Sebastian, his voice had been soft, soothingly rich. Now, there was a resonant power behind it, as if the name was pulled from deep within his chest and cast out with a force barely contained.

They wandered through the forest, calling Cheeba's name over and over until Lyra covered her mouth with a fist to stifle a cough, her throat beginning to feel jagged. Maybe Sebastian had been right: rabbits' brains didn't work the same as other animals who came running when they heard their name.

"Is something wrong, by the way?" he asked.

They'd come to a stop near a lake, the water rippling outward as raindrops peppered into it. Lyra blinked up at him as he leaned against a felled tree. Its massive trunk had been torn from the ground, yanking stringy roots along with it. Spiderwebs sprinkled with water droplets hung loosely from them, indicating the collapse had happened long ago, probably before either of them had been born.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"You just seem different today. Like you're out of it, or something."

Lyra rubbed at the back of her neck and felt that agonizing surge of shame as she thought, Probably because I spent a good chunk of the night getting myself off to the thought of you.

She couldn't speak that aloud, of course, so she shrugged and replied, "Just tired, I guess. I probably had one too many drinks last night."

"You do that a lot, huh?"

"I…" Stupidly, she just stood there, mouth open with words she didn't know how to say. Was her dependency that obvious? If Sebastian had noticed, who else had picked up on the signs that she may have had a problem? "I'm fine."

"That doesn't answer my question. Actually, never mind. It's none of my business."

The dismissal stung, but what did she expect? She'd known the guy all of three days. She couldn't expect him to be invested in her vice. Besides, she didn't want to talk about it with him or anyone else, not when Estelle's favorite rabbit was out there somewhere. It didn't look like the rain was going to let up anytime soon; the overhead clouds had darkened, and a slight breeze had begun to pick up.

"You're right. It's not."

Lyra resumed the search, squinting into the low visibility of the forest as she avoided tripping over rocks and patches of slick grass haphazardly growing from the ground. After a moment's hesitation, she heard Sebastian's footsteps behind her, which was a relief. She had no sense of direction out here, where every tree looked like a twin to the one next to it and where there was no way to tell where the sun was in the sky. They'd made so many turns that she couldn't even pinpoint where the farm was anymore.

A sinking feeling was settling inside her that maybe Cheeba wasn't out here anymore. Something bigger than her may have found her, or she'd hopped so far away that having any hope of stumbling across her was a fool's choice.

"I can't believe the coop wall failed," Sebastian suddenly mumbled to himself, as if voicing aloud the tail end of a thought he was having.

Lyra pressed her palm to the rough bark of a tree, using it as leverage to push herself up onto a lush embankment with a huff of effort. "That doesn't happen very often, huh?"

"Never." The word came out short, defensive.

"Robin should probably invest in better quality wood, then."

A low, sardonic chuckle rumbled from behind her. "That's ironic. That wood came from Estelle's farm. Maybe it had just been sitting out for too long before it was used."

"Yeah, maybe." Lyra paused, her curiosity tugging at her. "It's pretty nice of you to come with Robin to help with all this."

"I didn't really have a choice," he replied bitterly. "Demetrius can't be bothered to step away from the lab for something that doesn't benefit him or his research. Said rabbits belong in the wild anyway. I was supposed to go to band practice, but I wasn't going to let Mom deal with this by herself in the pouring rain."

The realization smacked into Lyra like a hand to the side of her head. "I'd thought you guys might be related somehow," she said. "You have her eyes. Who's Demetrius?"

"Her husband. My step-dad, or whatever. He doesn't act like it."

There was such an audible amount of ire dripping from his words that Lyra's steps stalled and she turned to look back at him. His eyes had narrowed fiercely at the ground in front of him, and he didn't register that Lyra had stopped until they stood mere inches apart. She tilted her head up to look at him, a raindrop landing on the middle of her forehead.

"You're a good son."

"I'm not. You don't really know me."

But I want to.

The thought, invasive and unwelcome, caught Lyra by surprise. She drew in a sharp breath, only for a tuft of white streaking through the mist and into tangled underbrush in the distance to snag her attention.

"Oh!" she squeaked at the startled jolt surging through her. "Cheeba! Seb, look — Cheeba!"

She wasted no time darting around Sebastian, her brain dumping any thoughts that weren't tied to the rabbit she needed to catch.

"No, Lyra! Wait — Stop!"

Paying him no mind, Lyra sprinted over a crumbling log, fumbling and nearly crumpling to the ground in doing so. She righted herself, her ragged panting so loud in her ears that it drowned out Sebastian's calls for her to wait for him.

Cindersap Forest became a twisting maze of low-hanging branches, uneven rocks and boulders, and thorny bushes that ripped at her clothes and slashed at her skin. Lyra's gaze locked onto that flash of fleeting white that seemed just out of her reach, no matter how fast she ran. She purposefully ignored the stinging of her wounds, gritting her teeth together so hard that her jaw ached.

Lyra knew rabbits were swift, but Cheeba's speed was on a whole other level. She moved in a blur of motion, so quickly that Lyra feared if she blinked one too many times, Cheeba would disappear into thin air.

She scampered over a large, flat rock, cursing as another hole was torn through her pants, and gasped in delight as she saw Cheeba just beginning to hop over the opposite ledge. Lyra lunged for her, her hand curling around what she expected to be soft fur. Instead, a puff of white smoke ascended in wispy tendrils between her fingers. There was no time to process what exactly she'd grabbed onto; her body's momentum had toppled her over the edge, and she was falling, falling…

And landing so hard onto the ground that it knocked the air from her lungs.

The forest floor beneath her sat at a tilted angle, and as Lyra scrambled to grab onto anything that would give her purchase to slow her wet, muddy sliding, horror struck her. She couldn't see the bottom of the coulee through the mist.

She opened her mouth in a shriek, the world around her spinning about in a hectic chaos that she couldn't make sense of.

Finally, Lyra collided with the coulee floor with a great thud.

"Fuck," she groaned, her lips unmoving.

For minutes or hours — she couldn't tell — she lay motionless among the bugs and soggy leaves, raindrops splashing down on her and mixing with the blood from her lacerations, creating jagged rivulets on her skin. The dull aches in her muscles pulsed in sync with her heartbeat and the metallic tang of a split lip settled on her tongue.

Slowly, Lyra managed to pull herself up to rest cross-legged against a tree. She assessed the damage, thanking Yoba and whatever else may have been out there that she hadn't snapped her neck in the midst of her tumble. Though there were many, her cuts were superficial and would probably heal in a few days if she didn't pick at them. The worst of it was her lip, she realized with a wince as she touched it.

It's been a long time since I've had a split lip, she thought, her gut roiling with a suppressed anger. Not since—

No, she couldn't think about Griffin right now. Not when she was alone in the middle of a forest. She needed to find Sebastian, then Cheeba, and then get back to the farm. Harvey was surely pacing tracks into the floors by now.

Counting down from three, Lyra gripped onto the tree to pull herself to her feet, grimacing all the while, and set off into a gradual, limping trudge. The pain in her muscles lessened as she went, but never fully dissipated.

"Sebastian!" she called out. "Sebastian!"

Nothing but the rush of wind fluttering through the leaves overhead and the pattering of the rain answered her.

"Seba—"

A moaning echo of a wail sliced through the air, sending a shiver of frigid terror down Lyra's spine. She froze in place, eyes wide and chest tight with restrained breathing. She heard it again, longer and definitely closer this time, and her legs set off in a panicked dash.

"No, no, no," she whispered in a chant. "SEBASTIAN!" Her voice was broken glass as she screamed for him.

"…ra!"

"Sebastian?!"

"Lyra!"

Never in a million years did Lyra think the sound of her own name would bring forth such an overwhelming swell of joy and relief. She choked back a sob, switching direction to launch herself toward Sebastian's voice. Their names bounced back and forth as the distance closed and as his shadowed figure came into view, Lyra dug her heels into the ground, forcing herself to keep space between them.

"Are you real?" she demanded to know.

Sebastian stared at her like she'd just sprouted a second head. "What?"

"Are you real?"

"I — What kind of question is that? Of course I'm real."

She had to make sure.

Cautiously, she took the few remaining steps toward him, her trembling hands curling around the fabric of his jacket and rubbing it between her fingertips. "No smoke," she confirmed.

"Wha — Oh, you…found a wandering spirit."

"I-I thought it was Cheeba."

Lyra didn't want to let go of him for fear that he'd slip away back into the depths of the forest. Gingerly, as if any sudden movements would startle her, Sebastian grabbed her wrists, his eyes flicking about the cuts on her skin.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I fell."

"What, down a mineshaft?" He let out a measured sigh, his shoulders slouching just a bit as his hands fell away from her. "Let's go. We need to get back to the farm." Without another word, he turned and jutted his chin in what Lyra assumed to be the farm's direction.

She stood in place defiantly. "But, Cheeba—"

Sebastian glared at her in exasperation, and she could've sworn the skin underneath his eyes had darkened further during their brief time apart. "Lyra," he said with a struggling calm, "look at yourself. It looks like someone beat the shit out of you."

"I'm fine. It looks worse than it actually is. Estelle's worried sick. Can we please just look a little longer?"

He bit at the fleshy wall of the inside of his cheek and at the ring in his lip, his eyes roving over her. "We need to go back," he decided after a moment of silence between them. "Doctor Harvey needs to take a look at you. We've been gone for awhile, Lyra, and I don't have my phone on me. Him and my mom are probably losing their minds over us right now. I'll come back tomorrow to look for Cheeba again."

Any fight Lyra had left in her deflated. She hadn't brought her phone either; it was still sitting on the bed back at the apartment. Guilt crashed into her. She couldn't stand the thought of Harvey and Robin, and probably Estelle, fretting over them.

"Do you promise?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And you'll bring me with you?"

Lyra could tell by the sheer exhaustion written on his face that Sebastian's patience was wearing thin. "Yes," he answered flatly. "I'll bring you along. Now can we please start heading back?"

A simple nod was the only reply she could muster. As she fell into step behind him, her eyes glued to the ground in front of her, she could feel the terror-fueled adrenaline finally beginning to ebb. For the first time since she woke up that day, the noticed the hunger gnawing at her insides and the throbbing headache behind her right eye. Her feet ached inside her ratty shoes, and she wished she'd packed something more suitable for rabbit tracking. She'd have to finally throw away the hoodie she'd had for years, and the pants that were more holes than intact fabric at this point.

She hadn't realized Sebastian's halt until she plowed face-first into his back.

"Shh — look."

Recovering from her stagger, she peeked around his frame, catching sight of a small white creature struggle to squeeze its way between the wooden planks of an abandoned, dilapidated shed. The surrounding stone fence had crumbled, pieces of it strewn in every direction. A sign hung over the entrance gate, but the paint had chipped and fallen away, making any identifiers unintelligible.

"It's Cheeba," Sebastian said, taking a step.

Lyra seized his arm before he could get too far. "Are you sure?" she pressed. "What if it's another one of those wandering spirits?"

He looked down to her hand wrapped firmly around his bicep, then to her face. A newfound softness graced his features. "I'm sure. Besides, I've dealt with spirits before." He walked out of her grasp, and Lyra swallowed around the dryness in her throat before following after him.

The shed door was cracked and warped with time, but did not budge as Sebastian twisted the knob and pushed. He shoved his shoulder into it once, twice, before creating a small bit of distance between it and himself.

"Back up some," he instructed Lyra, "just in case stray wood flies off."

Lyra arched a brow, but didn't question him as she positioned herself behind a disintegrating stone fence post. Clutching the cap stone, she watched, mouth agape, as Sebastian lifted his shoulders with a steady inhale to ground himself, then slammed his foot into the door. With a groan and a subsequent pop, the pair of hinges snapped, the wood caving in in a cloud of dust and debris. An involuntary yelp yanked its way from Lyra as she flinched into a crouch.

As if what he had just done was a perfectly simple, normal thing that everyone knew how to do, like riding a bike or tying shoes, Sebastian turned to look at Lyra, who finally forced out the stuck breath from her lungs, before heading through the shattered doorframe.

"Hey, wait for me!" she hissed, kicking up mud as she jogged after him.

She found Sebastian kneeling toward a dimly lit corner, his right hand outstretched, palm facing upward. The hood to his jacket had been pulled down and his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows.

"Hey, Cheeba," he crooned. "It's okay. You're pretty spooked, huh?"

Lyra halted mid-step, barely five feet into the ruined shed, as Sebastian's left hand shot out to wordlessly tell her to stop. She covered her mouth with her palm in an attempt to quiet her ragged breathing.

"It's okay," he said again, voice so heartbreakingly gentle that goosebumps rose on Lyra's arms. "Everything is going to be okay, I promise. We're going to get you back home. It's a little scary out here in the big world, isn't it?"

As he spoke, he shuffled closer, inch by inch to Cheeba, who sat drenched and quivering in the corner. Her inky eyes, unblinking, did not stray from him as he advanced on her, his words a serene balm rising above the storm outside.

"You're safe now. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise. I'm going to keep you safe."

Lyra couldn't take her eyes off Sebastian's face as his hands deftly removed his jacket, revealing a solid black tee that hugged his arms and chest snugly. He laid it on the ground, close enough now that he could touch Cheeba, but didn't.

"Everyone back at the farm misses you," he continued to say, his words falling to a barely-there murmur. "I'm going to take you back, okay? It's going to be all right now."

His fingertips brushed against Cheeba's head, moving in short strides along her forehead and her cheeks. Her nose twitched wildly as he touched her, but she didn't rear back.

"That's a good girl."

Lyra's brain tingled. She took a second to close her eyes, letting herself get lost in his words.

"Everything is okay. You're safe with me. I won't let anything hurt you. You're okay. Yeah, that's a good girl. It's okay — you're okay — Shit! Lyra! Lyra!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she blinked out of the haze of confusion just in time to see Cheeba's legs propel her toward the giant opening that had once been the door. She gasped, flinging herself onto the ground to wrap her arms around the screeching animal. Cheeba thrashed against her, but Lyra held on tightly.

"It's okay, Cheeba!" she grunted as she hoisted herself up into an awkward squat.

Sebastian was instantly by her side, jacket in hand.

Panic was beginning to surge through Lyra; she had no clue what to do. She'd never held a rabbit before, never mind calmed one down. But she did have experience calming herself down, so she pursed her lips, the soft hum of a song from her depressing playlists on her phone vibrating from behind them.

It took longer than Lyra would have liked, but as she paced about in circles, gently bouncing Cheeba and praying she didn't sound too tone-deaf, the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof replaced the screams, and Cheeba's will to struggle subsided, whether it was from exhaustion or Lyra's technique actually working.

She nodded to Sebastian, and he eased his jacket around Cheeba, securing her in such a way that she would really have to put in the effort to escape. He flipped the hood over her head.

"So her ears won't get wet," he explained when Lyra shot him a curious look.

She couldn't fight the smirk tugging at her mouth. "I knew you were a softie deep down."

Sebastian scoffed, a smirk of his own mirroring hers as he rolled his eyes. "C'mon, the farm isn't far from here."

"But what about your jacket? You're going to get soaked."

"I've dealt with worse."

The faint whisper of his hand on the small of her back, urging her out, sent a heady rush through her. Instead of leaning into his touch like she wanted to, she did as he bid, holding Cheeba closer to her chest as they stepped out into the incessant rainfall.

Sebastian had been right; the farm, thankfully, wasn't far from where they'd found Cheeba. The sound of their names being called as they approached cut through the crunching of their shoes and their heavy, labored breaths. Robin, who had taken to marching the perimeter of the fields, caught sight of them first. She let out an elated yelp and began a mad dash toward them, catching Sebastian in a desperate squeeze.

"Oh, thank Yoba you two are all right!" she exclaimed, letting him go just as quickly as she had grabbed him. "We've been worried sick!"

She led them toward the cottage as Harvey shimmied out from between two bushes of vibrant wild grapes near the porch.

"Lyra!" he barked as he hastened his pace to their side. "You found Cheeba? Oh my goodness, what in the world happened to you?"

"I'll explain later. Is Estelle—"

"Cheeba!"

Estelle rounded the corner of the cottage once they'd all gathered onto the porch, mud splattered across her face and arms, and fresh tears spilling onto her cheeks.

"You found her!" she cried out, taking the bundle of rabbit and jacket from Lyra's arms and burying her face in Cheeba's damp fur. Her shoulders trembled with muffled sobs, and Lyra swallowed back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

"Okay, everyone inside," Harvey announced, "before we all get sick."

There were no objections as the group reconvened in the entrance hallway. The cottage was tranquil and quiet, the colony of rabbits having been taken safety back to the repaired coop.

"Thank you so much," Estelle said between sniffles as she handed Sebastian's jacket back to him and set Cheeba delicately onto the floor. "I-I owe you a trip to that sushi place in Zuzu. All the sashimi you can eat. My treat."

Fitting the jacket onto himself, Sebastian shifted his weight from one leg to the other and ran a hand through his dripping hair. "Lyra's the one who caught Cheeba, actually."

Lyra had been watching Cheeba hop toward the living room fireplace and lie next to it when the sound of her name on Sebastian's tongue wretched her attention back to the group. "Uh, well — No, you're the one who saw her go into that shed."

"Okay, well, if you hadn't awakened your inner gridball player and tackled her, she would've gotten away from me."

"But you—"

"It sounds to me," Robin interjected wearily, "like you two make quite the team together. Seb, we should get going and give Doctor Harvey a chance to patch Lyra up, don't you think?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Sebastian muttered, adjusting the hood over his head. "I can probably still make it to practice if I hurry."

"Oh!" Estelle squeaked as if an invisible hand had just tapped her forehead. "Are you guys still playing in Zuzu on Monday?"

"Yeah, we are," he replied, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else in the world but here. "It's just a small gig, and it's a Monday so not a lot of people are going to show up."

"We'll be there." Estelle's head swiveled from Harvey to Lyra, both of whom nodded in agreement.

Lyra hadn't seen live music since her dad dragged her along to some grunge band she'd had no business listening to at that age. All she remembered were people stumbling around drunk and the strong, pungent scent of something skunky in the air that she swore she could taste. She wasn't sure what he played, or even what sort of music it was, but the image of Sebastian on stage doing anything sent a thrill through her.

"Definitely," she added, and his eyes flashed to hers briefly.

"Great, okay," he deadpanned as he turned from them and swiftly left the cottage.

Robin said her goodbyes with a drained smile and a promise to Estelle that the coop would hold up for at least ten years before following Sebastian out. Harvey snapped into action then, donning his doctor's cap and guiding Lyra toward the dining table to inspect her wounds.

As she'd thought, none of them were emergencies, just skin-deep cuts and rashes, and a few already-forming bruises where she'd landed hard on her hip. Estelle brought Lyra a fresh, dry set of clothes, insisting that she stay the rest of the day with them instead of venturing back out into the rain to return to the apartment.

"It'll be fun!" the farmer chirped. "You can use my shower, I'll make dinner, and we can watch some movies while we wait for the storm to pass."

It sounded nice, actually, and Lyra was starving. She took up the offer for the shower, spending more time than she usually would simply rotating in the hot water to shake off the chill of the rain, and joined them for ham and cheese sandwiches paired with steaming bowls of parsnip soup, which Lyra went back for seconds of.

As they ate, she told them about everything that had happened, from encountering the wandering spirit ("I'm willing to bet that's the fault of Rasmodius' new apprentice," Harvey suggested) to Sebastian's surprisingly strong kick on the shed door ("Show-off," Estelle scoffed, a playful giggle dancing through her words. "It's a good thing he joined the Adventurer's Guild to work off some of that pent up rage."), and everything in between. All the while, Harvey and Estelle exchanged occasional glances when Lyra's hands flapped about excitedly or her voice rose an octave when she described the feeling of finally catching Cheeba.

Belly full, antibacterial ointment and bandages applied to her cuts, and her mind swarming with a light buzz from the bottle of the "BATCH 5 — CRNBRY" wine they'd popped open, Lyra lounged on the chaise section of the couch while Harvey and Estelle cuddled up together on the opposite end, their eyes glued to the TV. They'd put on an older movie, The Zuzu City Express, after Harvey had vehemently suggested it, stating it was a timeless classic.

Lyra had thought it was boring, but she didn't have the heart to say so when her cousin had asked her opinion about halfway through.

"It's really good. I can see why you like it," she lied, trying to ignore the amused lift to Estelle's brows. They must've shared the same sentiment, that they had absolutely no idea why Harvey liked it.

Even so, as Lyra nestled further into the couch, her aching body relaxing with each passing second, she couldn't believe that just that morning, she'd been dead-set on calling it quits on the trip and missing out on all of this. She closed her eyes for just a moment, picturing Sebastian and his admittedly badass kick, the way his shirt had clung to his skin in the rain, and the sound of his voice as he crouched near Cheeba. She'd pay money to hear him say those words again.

Lyra twitched as a heavy blanket was smoothed over her. For a brief moment, she'd forgotten where she was, but peaceful clarity settled into her as she glanced up at Harvey through the bleariness of sleep.

"Thanks, Harv," she murmured, huddling into the blanket.

"Good night, cousin."

She let out a lengthy breath, and as sleep once again enveloped her, for the first time in years, she felt safe and loved and alive.

Waking up in the countryside was very different than waking up in town.

The piercing, shrill crow of a rooster cut through the serene quiet of the cottage, and Lyra shot up with a startled gasp, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her heart hammered wildly as she peered about the early morning darkness spilling into the room, the aches and pains from the day before settling into her. She groaned, resting her face against the backrest of the couch she'd slept like a rock on.

A light flicked on from the hallway, casting a solid bright streak into the room, and Harvey's silhouette emerged from it. "Good morning, Lyra," he said eagerly, already dressed in tan slacks and a jade colored polo shirt.

Wondering how he could already sound so full of life this early, Lyra turned her head to squint at him. "What time is it?" she mumbled.

"A few minutes after six."

"Do you wake up this early every day?"

"Well, the rooster makes that decision for us, so yes."

Lyra hummed a pathetic moan and nestled back onto the couch, hoisting the blanket over her head. She heard Harvey's low chuckle, his bare footfalls padding against the hardwood floor, then controlled commotion from the kitchen. Falling back to sleep seemed impossible now; her cuts stung underneath the bandages, her bruised hip prevented her from finding a comfortable position, and the pervading scent of coffee was making her mouth water.

She sat up again, wincing, and ran a hand over her face. Harvey joined her on the couch, offering a steaming ceramic mug to her, which she gladly accepted with a grateful smile.

"Are you heading back to the apartment this morning?" he asked, his eyes curiously scanning her face as he sipped from his own mug.

"Trying to get rid of me already?" Lyra teased before blowing a cooling breath onto her coffee. "Yeah, I'm going to head back in a little bit. I need to change so I can give Estelle's clothes back to her, and Mom had texted me yesterday to ask how the beach was. I haven't had the chance to call her, so I should probably do that too."

"How is Auntie doing? I've been so busy with the clinic and moving to the farm that I haven't had much free time to call her."

"She's good." Lyra strummed her fingertips on the mug. "Just losing herself to those reality shows, you know? She'd been nagging me lately to move out of the apartment back home and find another place to live, but…" She shrugged.

Harvey asked plainly, "Well, why don't you? I thought you didn't like living there very much."

Because if I move, Griffin won't know where to find me. Unless he reaches out to me, which he hasn't…and probably won't.

"I don't mind it," she lied.

In actuality, she loathed that apartment, with its leaking kitchen faucet that screamed like a pig being slaughtered when she turned the hot water on, and her neighbors above her who moved furniture and walked around with cement shoes on at all hours of the night. The walls were paper thin; she could hear every whispered conversation in the exterior hallways and every bitter argument in each unit in the building. She'd once left the communal laundry room for five minutes too long and every bra and pair of underwear had been stolen from her load.

Lyra hated living there, but it had once been a home that she shared with Griffin. She wasn't sure if she was ready to leave that behind.

"Besides," she went on, the brief silence pressuring her to justify her lie, "it's close to my job, which is convenient because I walk to work. And—"

"Why are you walking to work? What happened to your car?"

Her gut tightened. "Um, well…" Her mind raced, trying to find some way to frame the explanation in a way that didn't make it seem as bad at it had been at the time. "Griffin had gotten into a tough spot with his bank and needed some money to get himself back in the positive. We didn't really have any money at the time, and they were charging him fees every day, so he asked if we could sell it. So, um, yeah. That's what happened."

Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses lifting slightly. "So, help me understand—"

"Harv, please. It's not that bad. The car was on its last leg anyway, and I've been getting plenty of exercise with all the walking. You can appreciate that as a doctor, right?"

"That's not the point, Lyra," he replied sternly, and Lyra found that she couldn't meet his pitying gaze. She detested that look from him, from her friends, from anybody. "You — He—" Unable to find his words, Harvey sighed heavily and pressed himself further into the couch cushions. His mouth opened again to say something more, but the sound of a door closing and approaching footsteps cut him off.

Estelle made her way in from the same hallway he'd come from, clad in her farmer's attire of a light long-sleeve shirt underneath a pair of faded overalls and a wide-brimmed sunhat. Her wild hair had been pulled back into two braids that hung over her shoulders. The scent of sunscreen wafted from her, and Lyra was sure Harvey was pleased about it. She watched his gaze melt at the sight and wondered if anyone had ever looked at her that way.

Griffin never had. She knew that with a painful certainty.

"Good morning, you two. I'm heading out for the day," she announced with a grin. It was wonderful to see her in such high spirits after the day they'd had yesterday.

Harvey, placing his mug on the end table, stood to plant a kiss on her lips as her arms snaked around his neck. "We are, too," he told her. "After breakfast, that is."

Brows raising, Lyra repeated from the couch, "We?"

Her cousin turned to flash her a smile. "I'm coming with you to the clinic. I have a few patient files I need to go over for the upcoming appointments this week."

Lyra could've sworn she caught Estelle giving him a narrowed glance, but in the low light of the room and with sleep still clouding her vision, she could've been mistaken. She tossed back the remaining dregs of her coffee as the couple muttered their disgustingly sweet goodbyes and exchanged a series of quick pecks on their mouths before hauling herself from the blankets, her muscles shrieking in protest.

Estelle must have noticed the wince and heard Lyra's sharp, hissing inhale. The farmer turned toward her, an apologetic grimace on her face. "I'm sorry Cheeba made it hard to catch her," she said softly. "I'm very grateful to you and Seb, though."

She closed the distance between them, pulling Lyra into a gentle hug.

Lyra felt Estelle's breath on her ear as she pushed out a rushed whisper of, "Please remember that Harvey's just worried." And with that, Estelle tore herself from Lyra before Lyra could make sense of what had just happened, delivered another kiss to Harvey's cheek, and practically jogged out of the cottage to tend to her farm.

Harvey shuffled past Lyra, a dumbfounded look etched onto her face, and let out a clipped laugh. "The last time she was this elated was when I told her I'd move in with her." He peered back at her from over his shoulder and she followed after him toward the kitchen. "Really, thank you for yesterday. I'm sure today would have a much different tone if you and Sebastian hadn't found Cheeba."

The appreciation sat heavy on Lyra's shoulders. She leaned against the counter and watched Harvey rummage around in various cabinets. He seemed slightly out of his element, checking certain places two or three times before finding the specific pans he wanted, and making the back-and-forth trip between the dry pantry and the fridge to add more food items to his collection before he seemed satisfied with the haul.

All the while, Lyra's mouth quirked upward into an amused smirk as she offered to help him look for things, only for Harvey to decline with a casual wave of his hand.

"As you're aware, the kitchen back at the apartment is much smaller," he said, inspecting the carton of eggs to ensure none had been prematurely broken. "I knew where everything was there because there were only two cabinets. But here, there's so many, and there's no rhyme or reason to Estelle's food storage methods. She even has a wooden chest in the mudroom filled with root vegetables. Every day, I wonder how they haven't spoiled by now."

Pouring herself another cup of coffee, Lyra suggested, mostly a joke, "Maybe she's one of Yoba's favorites."

As she went to fetch Harvey's mug to refill it, he asked, "Do you believe? Also, how do you take your eggs?"

"Scrambled. Very, very scrambled." She paused, mug in one hand and the half-full pot of coffee in the other. "I don't know if I believe. Some days, I'd like to, just to know that there's something bigger than us that might actually give a shit. Other days, I look too long at the bad things that happen in the world, like the wars and those kids who come down with terminal illnesses before they even have a chance to really live, and I start to think that if Yoba does exist, then they don't really give a shit at all. At that point, I'd rather just not believe."

For a long moment, Harvey said nothing, his hands deftly cracking the eggs against the edge of the counter, emptying the contents into a bowl, and tossing the shells into the nearby trashcan. Thick slices of bacon sizzled in a pan, the grease popping every so often. Lyra slid the mug of fresh coffee on the counter toward him, nervous that she'd offended him. She knew Harvey believed in Yoba, though she wasn't sure to what extent. She had vague childhood memories of attending Sunday services with her mother, Harvey, and his parents, but he never mentioned if he still kept that practice now that he was out on his own.

Finally, after dashing the eggs with a myriad of spices and mixing it all together, he dropped two pieces of wheat bread into the toaster and said, "That's fair."

"Yeah?"

He handed her a wooden spatula and palmed a pair of tongs to flip the bacon. Lyra immediately got to work on pouring the eggs into another readied pan, its surface slick with melted butter.

"Absolutely," Harvey replied. "You're correct in thinking that these bad things that happen, especially to those who don't deserve it, can deter someone's faith. I can completely understand that. Heck, even I sometimes have my doubts. But, when I look at the bigger picture, I can't help but feel that there might be someone, or something, up there pulling the strings. If I'd never been dealt the hand of subpar eyesight and acrophobia, I might have become a pilot. Then I would have never studied to become a doctor, moved here, and met Estelle. By extension, you wouldn't be here." With a soft clatter, he set the tongs onto the edge of the pan. "And for the past couple days, Lyra, I've had an inkling that you really needed to come here. Not so much to the farm, but to Pelican Town, away from your life for a little while, so that you can look at the bigger picture."

Lyra knew where he was going with this, and she did not want to talk about it.

"Well, thank Yoba for your bad eyes and your body's built-in survival mechanism." She grabbed two plates from the cupboard, her body giving a slight flinch at the sound of the toaster popping, and began to scoop the very scrambled eggs onto them.

"You know, we do have services here in town." Harvey wedged the bacon slices next to the eggs. "They're held at the devotion room in Pierre's home. I haven't attended in quite some time, but I'd love to go with you today, if you're interested."

"Oh, um…" A great chasm opened up inside her, guilt oozing in from all sides. Spending more time with Harvey sounded wonderful, but the idea of stepping foot into a place of worship was the last thing she wanted to do. There was a small part of her that thoroughly believed there was a chance she would burst into flames if she did attend. "I was actually thinking of going to the general store today to scope out some paint supplies."

She scraped a thin square of butter onto her toast and looked quizzically to Harvey when he shoveled another heap of eggs onto her plate. He paid her no mind, just merely made his way toward the dining table, his own plate carrying only half of what hers did.

"That's a great idea," he quipped as Lyra joined him. "However, Pierre's store isn't well-equipped for creatives. I'd suggest JojaMart on the other side of the river."

Cocking her head, she swallowed back the bacon she'd been chewing on. "JojaMart? The place where dreams go to die?"

"Well, yes, and while the general store is most certainly the lesser of two evils, I have to admit that there are some things that Pierre just doesn't have in stock that JojaMart does. He tends to cater more toward folks in Estelle's wheelhouse."

Right — the farmers. Those who he could convince to sell their crops to him so he could throw them onto his own shelves and upcharge for them. It would explain the wall of seed packets and the bags of fertilizers in abundance she'd seen when she visited.

"JojaMart it is, then," Lyra decided with a nod. "Just don't tell anyone. I don't want to be the town pariah."

Harvey laughed and promised that her secret was safe with him, and they continued their breakfast with idle conversation revolving around Lyra's remaining days in town before she went back home. There was a surprising pang of sadness in her chest as she thought of leaving, but she hurriedly washed it down with more coffee and a sly change of subject.

"So," she said, pushing her plate a few inches from her and resting a hand on her full stomach, "what kind of music does Sebastian's band play?"

Dabbing at the corner of his mustache with a napkin, Harvey cleared his throat and allowed his eyes to wander to the ceiling as he considered her question. "It's not so much his band as it is Sam's, if memory serves me right. They've been doing it for so long that it's hard to remember a time when Abigail's drums weren't at the center of Pelican Town's heartbeat."

"Wow, Harv, that's awfully poetic."

"What do you know? I'm a poet and didn't even know it."

"Har-har."

His eyes crinkled at the corners with a bashful grin as he pushed her plate back toward her. "You should finish that."

"I'm full. Besides, what about Estelle? Won't she be hungry?"

"She doesn't like to eat until all her animals are fed, and I've saved some for her."

Lyra halfheartedly picked at her cold eggs as she urged him, "Back to my question, what kind of music does Sam's band play?"

Harvey leaned back in his chair, his fingers curling around the handle of his mug. "It's…difficult to put into words. They've gone through a few transitions, but I think they've finally found their sound. What was the name of that band you listened to all the time when you were fifteen?"

A giggle escaped her lips. "The one whose debut album I made you listen to over and over again during that family weekend at the lake?"

"Yes, exactly that one."

"Taking Back Tuesday."

He nodded, snapping his fingers once as the band name hit a chord inside him. "Yes! They sound like a perfect mix of that band and Call Out Boy."

Lyra drew in a delighted gasp. "A lovechild of Call Out Boy and Taking Back Tuesday? That sounds like something I'd force you to listen to for hours on end."

"To be honest with you, I wouldn't mind. They're very talented. I think you'll really like watching them play tomorrow."

Lyra knew there was no doubt about that. Even if their band was nothing more than unintelligible squeals into microphones and off-beat noises forced from untuned instruments, she'd like watching them play — watching Sebastian play.

What the fuck is wrong with you? her mind screeched as she lifted her fork to her mouth.

"Looking forward to it," she muttered before closing her lips around the last bite of eggs.

"Hi, Mom. Sorry I haven't responded to your texts or calls. It's been a busy few days."

Lyra sat cross-legged on the bed in the apartment, her finger absentmindedly wrapping around her hair as she spoke into her phone, leaving a voicemail. Clearly fretting over her lack of communication, her mother had left countless texts and voicemails of her own, pleading with Lyra to call her back to just let her know she was safe. Apparently, she had watched a new documentary about a young woman around Lyra's age who had moved to a new town only to be abducted days later, and still hadn't been found after ten years. Lyra was amazed that her mother hadn't reached out to Harvey yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time until she did.

Of course, she didn't answer when Lyra called, which made Lyra feel a little less guilty.

"I'm safe," she said. "Everything is good and I'm still having a great time. I think I might try to paint today, if I can get my hands on some supplies. Estelle wants to commission me for a portrait, so I need to practice a bit before I attempt that. Um, yeah, what else? Oh! We're going to watch the local band play tomorrow in Zuzu. Harvey says they're pretty good, so I'm excited to see Seb — them. Uh, okay, that's it, I think. I love you."

With a heaving breath, she ended the call and allowed her hands to drop into her lap. She idly flipped her phone back and forth between her palms, a war waging inside her to either use the next half hour to scroll through her photos of Griffin, or begin the trek to JojaMart. If she left now, she'd only have to wait a few minutes for the doors to open.

Her heart won over her head, and she delved into the photo album in her phone labeled Griff.

As always, it was like a punch to the gut as his face appeared on her screen. Her thumb moved slowly from side to side, her gaze scanning the flaxen hue of his unkept hair, the apathetic dullness of his steely eyes, the way his lips had been never quite reached an actual smile, even though so many of the events these photos had been taken at called for one.

There was one of them with a group of Lyra's coworkers, taken at a company holiday party. Everyone had dressed their best in sparkling dresses and fitted suits, while Griffin had unenthusiastically thrown on a wrinkled tee and a pair of jeans that smelled of cigarette smoke and something sour. In the photo, grins were abundant. Griffin, his mouth drawn in a thin line, had looked off to the side, and Lyra remembered with a small shake of her head that a waitress had snagged his attention. They'd gotten into an argument that night when they returned home over a rude comment Griffin had made to one of her coworkers, and Lyra had ultimately apologized for talking so much to everyone else at the party, and for making Griffin feel like he wasn't wanted there.

Another photo of just the two of them at the theater to watch a movie Lyra had begged him to go see with her. They stood in front of the poster, Lyra's excitement written clear as day on her face, and Griffin appearing as though he'd never been as inconvenienced as he was in that moment. She'd known it wasn't something he would be interested in: a paranormal horror flick with not-so-great reviews, but she still wanted to watch it nonetheless. She had gone with him, without complaint, to several movies she hadn't been very keen on in the past. Hell, she'd even paid for them to go, just because she wanted to spend time with him. They bickered on the drive home, Lyra behind the steering wheel, her eyes glazed over with unshed tears while Griffin complained relentlessly from the passenger's seat about the terrible CGI quality and the shoddy acting of the movie, and Lyra ended up apologizing for wasting two and a half hours of his day.

The final photo was one that a friend of Lyra's had taken at a spur-of-the-moment Friday night gathering. Lyra had been drunk and caught mid-laugh at something another of her friends had said, and Griffin could be seen lounging alone on the couch in the corner, a narrow glare cast her way. Though she barely remembered it, Lyra knew she had apologized profusely to him later that night for dragging him along to hang out with people he didn't like and who, she learned after their split, felt the same way about him.

They weren't the greatest collection of pictures, Lyra admitted to herself, but they were all she had of him now.

She spent fifteen more minutes sifting through her album, her breakfast sitting like a pile of stones inside her stomach. At five minutes after nine, she slid off the bed and gathered Estelle's neatly folded clothes in her arms, her enthusiasm for the day waning with each step she took toward the apartment door.

The clinic was dark and quiet as she descended the stairs, save for the dim light that reflected off the tiled floor in the hallway that led to Harvey's office. Lyra rapped her knuckles on the open door twice and Harvey turned in his chair to glance her way. A stack of green and beige manila folders had been stacked neatly on his desk, one of them open and empty in front of him.

"Here's Estelle's clothes," Lyra said, setting them on a nearby stool. "Give her my thanks for me?"

"Sure thing." His gaze darted about from her face to the floor, then back to her face. "Do you have a moment to chat before you head out?"

He sounded hesitant, almost nervous.

"Yeah."

"Okay." He took a second to run his palms down the length of his thighs. "Firstly, I wanted to ask if you've been taking those supplements I gave you?"

"Of course I am," Lyra lied, her cheeks immediately warming.

She knew Harvey didn't believe her by the way he dipped his chin in an exaggerated nod. "Right, okay. As a doctor, I've noticed some…concerning patterns. As your cousin, I'm extremely worried about you."

A bark of an edged laugh burst from her lips. "What — why? I'm fine, Harv."

"When was the last time you had a check-up, or a blood test?"

"I-I don't know. I'm healthy, okay? I don't need—"

"Would you let me perform a blood test on you tomorrow morning? You'll need to fast for the remainder of the day, but—"

"Is that why you piled all that food on my plate at breakfast?" Her voice rose an octave, her mouth going dry. "What is this? An intervention or something?"

"No, Lyra, it's not." All humor and softness had disappeared from Harvey's voice, and Lyra's heart stumbled at the sound of it. "I'm scared for you. I-I knew you were a drinker, but I didn't realize how much you drank."

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You're a drinker too," she snapped. "You've been drinking with me this entire time."

A great breath rushed from Harvey's nostrils. "I drink in moderation. You…You drink in excess. The amount of damage you're doing to your body—"

"I'm fine. I still wake up every morning and function just like everybody else. I don't drink that much."

Lyra was trembling now, embarrassed and angry and feeling like a cornered rabbit.

"Each bottle of wine we've shared during the last few days," Harvey explained, his tone softer now, as if it would ease the blow, "I have had one glass of, while you've finished them off. Aside from that first dinner we spent together, that is. The other night at the saloon—"

"I only had two beers."

"You had five, Lyra. Five glasses of beer. Not to mention the times before this visit when you would call me at least three times a week, blackout drunk."

She wanted to scream, or apologize and run back upstairs, but her body was frozen under the weight of Harvey's accurate observations.

"I recently had to test a blood sample for one of my patients," he went on, taking off his glasses to run a hand over his face. "An alcoholic in every sense of the word. The results came back…not good. His Gamma-glutamyl transferase enzymes were highly elevated, and he had an increased mean corpuscular volume—"

"In fucking English, Harv!"

"He has extensive liver damage." The words tumbled from him wearily, his stare locked onto the floor. "He isn't much older than you, but the two of you have the same alcohol consumption habits." Harvey dragged his gaze upward to meet hers. "I fear that if you continue the way you have been, you'll end up just like him. So, please let me run a blood test on you. You'll hardly feel it and it'll be over in two minutes."

"No."

A tear escaped, and she hurried to wipe it away.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine." Her words came out thick. "I'd rather just not know if there is something wrong with me."

The tips of Harvey's ears had turned red, matching the splotches on his neck. "There is more to life than this…this hole you seem to want to keep yourself in. How many times do you need to hit rock bottom before you finally decide to start taking care of yourself?"

A shuddering breath tore through her, another invisible fist pounding into her gut. She couldn't look at him anymore as he stripped her bare for who she was, couldn't stay in this tiny, depressing office as all the air was being sucked out.

Turning from him, she managed to say, "I'm going to get paints."

"Lyra—"

Lyra refused to hear another word and allowed the click of the closing door define her final answer.

The instant the door to the clinic closed behind Lyra, guilt slammed into her, stealing her breath and forcing her body to a sudden halt, her hand still wrapped around the doorknob. She felt prickly all over, like she was trying to crawl out of the confines of her own skin.

She could go back inside, she realized, and simply apologize for her outburst. She and Harvey had had arguments before, though they'd been years ago when they were much younger and over much more trivial things, like who would get the last slice of pizza or whose turn it was to sit in the front seat of the car when one of their mothers drove somewhere. Never about her self-destruction or his proclivity to stick his nose into places where it didn't belong.

"Stupid," Lyra muttered, tearing her hand from the doorknob and walking toward the distant river, the morning sunlight beaming almost painfully into her eyes. She wished she had thought to grab her sunglasses before leaving, and she wished that the weight of embarrassment hadn't been so suffocating that it steered her away from going back.

I'm fine, she thought as she passed by the backside of the Stardrop Saloon, instantly beginning to salivate at the thought of a mimosa. I don't need a blood test. I'm perfectly healthy. I can stop drinking any time I want.

Though the voice inside her seemed confident, there was a diffident side of her that wanted to call her out on her own bullshit.

JojaMart, a monolithic and windowless eyesore, stood in stark contrast to the rest of Pelican Town's humble buildings. Lyra paused before moving too closely to the automatic doors, noting the way that Joja Co. seemed to lack any variety in the way they designed their stores; it looked nearly identical to all the JojaEnergy convenience stores she'd ever been to. Her gaze slid to the metal sign standing proudly near the entrance that read, "Join Us. Thrive." and wondered briefly if she was walking into a cult before putting one foot in front of the other.

The doors slid open with a pitiful screech and a blast of frigid air slammed into Lyra. An army of goosebumps rose on her arms and on the back of her neck, and she shoved down her instinct to shiver as an absolute zombie of a person turned her way from behind the nearest checkout stand.

"G'morning," the cashier drawled, her eyelids dropping and raising in the slowest blink Lyra had ever seen. Her auburn hair stuck out wildly from the bun it had been pulled back into, giving her face the appearance of a thinly maned lion. "Welcome to JojaMart."

"Good morning," Lyra replied, though she wasn't sure if her voice carried over the persistent buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights. "I'm looking for painting supplies."

The cashier — Claire, Lyra noted as her attention dipped to her nametag — took a moment before answering. "For a fence?"

"No, like canvases, brushes, palettes. Actual paints, if you have them."

Either Claire wasn't fully awake yet, or she had no idea where the craft aisle was. Her eyes, a somber grey that roused an ache in Lyra's chest, traveled from Lyra's face to her shoes, then back up again. "You want paints to… paint pictures?" she clarified.

"Yes," Lyra said, suddenly unsure.

"Aisle K, toward the back corner."

Lyra could not get away from the interaction quickly enough. She dashed past the shelves, scanning the hanging signs that indicated the aisles. JojaMart was certainly better-stocked than Pierre's store in some aspects; the produce section seemed to be overflowing with fruits and vegetables, there were more than two brands of pasta lining the dried goods aisle, and there was even a sign labeled for auto parts in aisle N. However, there was a lifeless and sterile ambiance about the place, almost as if she were intruding on some sort of secret society where she didn't belong.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless trek, she reached aisle K, simply labeled Arts & Crafts, and understood instantly why Claire needed clarification. No matter the storefront, Pelican Town itself did not cater to creatives.

A measly collection of haphazardly placed plastic paint pots stood on the bottom shelf, a thin layer of dust coating their lids. Lyra inspected a set of loud primary colors, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Not very impressive, huh?"

Lyra glanced toward the voice, her breath hitching. "Not really," she muttered, looking upon a young woman who looked practically identical to Robin, and wondered if Sebastian had a sister she didn't know about.

The woman sighed wistfully, her maple eyes falling onto the nearby rack of artist brushes. Similar to the paint pots, the assortment was lacking, and they'd all been packaged in uniform plastic bags proudly stamped with JojaCo.'s logo.

"I come here almost every week," she went on to say as she pulled a pack of brushes from the rack, "hoping that they'll have something more than children's paint. They never do. There's a fantastic hobby store in Zuzu City where you can spend hours browsing all the paints they have. It can be a bit of a pain to get there, though, since Pam doesn't always show up for her bus driving shifts. Oh, I'm rambling. Sorry!" Flashing a dazzling smile, she held her hand out toward Lyra. "I'm Leah."

Lyra instantly liked Leah. "Lyra," she replied.

"I saw you the other night at the saloon with Doctor Harvey and Estelle. Are you new to town?"

"Just visiting." Lyra decided to buy the dusty paint pot set and grabbed a pack of brushes for herself, her explanation of why she had been with the couple, that she was Harvey's cousin, dying on her tongue.

I doubt Harvey even wants people to know we're related, she thought. Who'd want to admit that the piece of shit alcoholic came from the same bloodline as them?

She was doing him a favor, she supposed, by skirting around that fact.

If Leah had an inkling that Lyra was withholding information, she didn't let on. Her smile didn't waver as she asked, "Where are you from?"

"Meadow Wood City. It's a ways from here, but—"

A glint sparkled in Leah's eyes. "I moved here from Meadow Wood City!"

Lyra wished her immediate reaction wasn't to suspect that Leah was pulling her leg. "Did you really?"

"About four years ago! I lived in those tacky apartments off Sierra Street with my…"

Leah's words failed her, the sheer excitement of their shared roots dimming with the pensive memory that had popped into her mind. Apparently, the two had that in common as well.

"Small world," Lyra commented blithely, hoping to pull Leah from whatever sliver of the past she'd peered into. "We were almost neighbors. I live in the even-tackier apartments off Ryland Street."

Leah pressed her lips into a tight line, though the corners perked up. "I know the exact ones you're talking about," she said. "They're, uh… interesting."

"They're one step above a wet cardboard box."

The effervescent laugh that burst from Leah was infectious, and Lyra found herself giggling along with her, even if she was dead serious about the conditions of her apartment. There was a slight trace of pink kissing Leah's cheeks as their bout of laughter faded with a shared breathy sigh.

"You know, I haven't met another painter since I moved here," she said. "I mean, if you don't count the finger painting sessions that Penny puts on for the kids sometimes. If you're interested, I'm holding an art show in the town square Thursday afternoon. I'd love to get another artist's opinion on my work."

Lyra's heart sank. "Oh, um, that sounds really great," she muttered, her gaze flicking away from Leah's slowly falling smile. "I would, but I'm heading back home Thursday morning."

"That's okay! I'm sure it won't be the last time I do something like this," Leah replied avidly. "Maybe you can attend the next time you decide to visit?"

Unable to tell Leah that there was a high chance that this was the first and only time she'll ever visit Pelican Town, Lyra swallowed hard and forced a quick, "Yeah, definitely."

Leah seemed to buy Lyra's lie; her grin appeared again and her warm eyes sparkled with that intense enthusiasm. "Great! It was wonderful to meet you, Lyra. I'll see you next time!"

Remorse tightly roiled in Lyra's gut as she watched her walk away, her package of brushes in hand and a bubbly bounce to her step. Shaking her head, Lyra turned back to the meager supplies and grabbed a second paint pot set, a package of three small canvases, and a plastic palette. She missed her own supplies stashed away in her closet back home, especially her cherished wooden palette that her mother had gifted her for her eighteenth birthday. Her initials had been engraved on the very edge of it in elegant scrawl, and Lyra found herself wishing she'd displayed it instead of hiding it away.

Arms full of cheaply made supplies, Lyra decided to peruse a few more aisles before checking out, just to see what JojaMart offered that the general store didn't, which as it turned out, was quite a bit. Though she wouldn't dare tell anyone, a plan was already forming in her head to come back to buy a few bottles of Vullo Rosato wine before she left Pelican Town. She'd never tried it before, but she'd seen it on menus at some of the higher-end restaurants back in the city, listed at astronomical prices. Either JojaMart mislabeled their price for it here, or those restaurants were owned by someone like Pierre.

A single comic book end cap rack caught her eye as she emerged from aisle M. Like the painting supplies, it was sparsely stocked, but there was a persistent thrill inside Lyra at the sight. She made a beeline for it, stopping herself short as another person rounded the corner of aisle N and narrowly missed knocking into her.

Lyra's heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him, frazzled and just as surprised to see her. Sebastian, his lip lacking a ring today and a black smudge smeared across his cheek, took a step from her and let out a soft chuckle.

"I'm having déjà vu right now," he teased, his fingers curled around the handle of a bright orange jug of motor oil.

Trying to ignore the rush of excitement vibrating from her feet to her head, Lyra beamed up at him. "Me too. Good thing I'm not wearing sunglasses this time."

Sebastian lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, his mouth pulling into a smirk. "I'd just buy you a new pair again. No big deal."

She looked to the dark streak on his face. "You've got a little, uh…something," she informed him, awkwardly maneuvering her hand around her items to gesture to her own cheek.

His free hand shot up to wipe at the cheek that was clean.

"Other side," she said.

He then proceeded to run his fingers just underneath the mark. Biting down on her lower lip, Lyra noted the heat spreading from her chest. She extended a hand. "May I?"

"Please."

Sebastian tilted his head downward to her, turning his head slightly. She rubbed the pad of her thumb tentatively against his skin, watching the way he seemed to lean into her touch from the corner of her eye. At this distance, she could see the dusting of dirt peppered in his hair, a few clumping strands stuck to the edge of his face with dried sweat.

Yoba, he's so warm.

"Ah, shit," she hissed. "I'm just making it worse." Pulling back her hand, she inspected the spot of black now staining her own skin.

Lyra moved to wipe it on her pants, but Sebastian's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to guide her thumb to his shirt. "Here, don't ruin your pants. It's oil," he said lowly. "I've been working on my bike all morning and the stuff sort of gets everywhere."

Even after his hand fell away, the touch of him lingered on her skin.

"Bike?" Lyra echoed, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "With a bell and a basket on the handlebars?"

"And sparkly clip-on beads in the spokes," Sebastian deadpanned with a playful roll of his eyes and an amused huff. He lifted the jug of oil he held, displaying the picture of the motorcycle on the label. "I've been procrastinating on changing the oil in my cruiser, so I'm trying to get it done before the band heads out to Zuzu tomorrow, but I ran out of oil and… I don't know why I'm telling you all this boring stuff."

She could've listened to him talk about motorcycles or oil or anything else in the world for the rest of the day and not have become bored of it. "Not at all," she replied. "I think it's pretty cool that you have a - a, what? A cruiser? I've never even been on a bike before. At least, not one that I didn't have to pedal myself."

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath, like he was preparing to say something, before his gaze trailed behind her. "Were you heading to the comics before I almost plowed into you?"

Lyra glanced back to the sparse rack. "Yeah, but it doesn't look like they have much here, so I doubt they'll have what I'm looking for."

"Which is…?"

She felt her cheeks flush. "Just, uh… Well, it's a series I've been obsessed with since I was a kid. You probably haven't heard of it; it's pretty obscure."

"Try me."

Lyra wasn't sure why she was hesitating. Sebastian wasn't her mother, who never understood why she'd spent hours of her childhood with her nose pressed between pages of panels. He wasn't her high school English teacher, who had drilled into her that comics were nothing but picture books with a few word bubbles thrown in. And he sure as hell wasn't Griffin, who berated her each and every time she'd spent money on a new issue.

Though their interactions had been few, Sebastian had never given her a reason not to feel passionate. Sebastian was Sebastian, and nobody else. Thank Yoba for that.

"Cave Saga X," she finally blurted and wished she didn't have her arms full of painting supplies so she could cover her face and pretend to disappear.

Sebastian's brows lifted. "Well, you weren't wrong."

Lyra fought back to the urge to groan, disappointment washing through her. "Yeah, I figured. Most people I mention it to haven't heard of it."

"Oh, I've heard of it, but you're right that they won't have it here." Sebastian turned, tilting his head to motion for her to follow him as he strolled toward the checkout stands. "There's a shop in Zuzu that manages to get a pretty big shipment in on release days."

Thinking back to her conversation with Leah, Lyra loosed a sigh. "Seems like Zuzu has everything." Still, her venture toward the rack wasn't all for naught; she'd finally found someone else who was familiar with her favorite comic series.

"It does."

Sebastian gestured for Lyra to make her purchase first. She approached Claire, who asked indifferently as she began to ring up Lyra's items at a snail's pace, "Find everything you need?"

She could feel Sebastian's stare boring into her. "Yeah, I did."

After what felt like ten minutes, Lyra's total appeared on the display and she tried not to sweat as she handed over what felt like way too much gold for the quality of items she bought. Claire handed over her receipt and her bag, then went through the same motions with Sebastian as Lyra skittered off to the side. She didn't feel right leaving without saying a proper goodbye, but Claire seemed much more gregarious with him than she had been with Lyra. Sebastian, however, was strictly business, giving short but polite answers and thanking her quickly when she handed over the oil.

"So, are you just looking for the latest issue?" Sebastian inquired as the automatic doors slid open and the heat of the town embraced them.

Unable to find the words to tell him that her usual stash of money she'd set aside for new issues had been spent on much more destructive habits lately, she instead told him, "The last four issues. I'm a bit behind."

"I have them. You can borrow them, if you want."

Her stride came to a sudden halt. They'd just barely crested the bridge between JojaMart and the rest of Pelican Town, the river flowing swiftly beneath them, the surface of the water glistening with the sun's rays. Sebastian stopped a few steps ahead of her, turning to look back at her quizzically.

"I can't," she said with too much haste. "I'm leaving in a few days."

He shrugged, his eyes darting about as if he were looking for a reason why that mattered. "And?"

"And I'm not a fast reader. I won't have them finished before I go back home."

"Just return them when you come back to visit."

Lyra's lips parted, the words "I'm not coming back" catching in her throat.

"You are coming back, right?" Sebastian urged, and she could've sworn there was a hint of trepidation in his voice.

The lie slipped out much too easily. "Yeah," she said feebly. "Of course."

She knew that he knew better than to believe her, not when her words lacked any sort of confidence and she couldn't meet his eyes. Still, his shoulders dropped an inch and he forced a tense nod.

"Okay, problem solved then. C'mon, I don't live too far from here."

He was leading her to his house? Where he lived?

The tug inside her, the one that rode on the tailcoats of every painful memory of spittle landing on her face as angry screams were thrown her way, froze her body in place. However, there was an opposing push propelling her toward Sebastian that recalled his voice from the day before as he attempted to coax Cheeba into his arms.

"You're safe now. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise. I'm going to keep you safe."

Lyra took a step toward him, then another, until she was keeping pace beside him as they trekked up the slight incline of the mountain path.

She barely even noticed the complaints of her muscles anymore; she was too enraptured in the way the sun gleamed through the inkiness of his hair and cast him in a glowing light.

"I have to be honest," Sebastian said, transferring the jug of oil to his other hand to swipe Lyra's bag of supplies from her, "I'm surprised you're into Cave Saga X."

"I can carry that," she grumbled as she reached for it, only for Sebastian to move it from her grasp. She let out a sharp, defeated sigh, though she couldn't ignore the way her stomach flipped. "Why are you surprised? I've been borderline obsessed since I was a kid."

"It's just — I don't know. I haven't met many people who like it, not that I meet many people in general. It's a weird series, so I just figured you'd be more into the mainstream comics."

"I've always had a preference for weird things."

It was an effort not to notice the way Sebastian's tongue flicked out to where his lip ring would have been, and the hint of an indent in his cheek as he fought back a smirk. "Same here."

The pair came to a fork in the road, the right forming a trail that led even higher into the forested mountain terrain, the left veering off toward a vibrant playground in the distance, shadowed by a large dilapidated building. Sprawling vines snaked up the walls, slithering into the interior through the various cracks in the filthy windows. The roof had partially collapsed, a flock of birds using it to their advantage to build a nest in the crevices. A clock hung above the door, which was barely holding on by a single hinge, its minute hand bent awkwardly in an L-shape.

"What happened there?" Lyra asked.

Sebastian took a moment to gaze at it before answering, his voice wistfully husky, "The Community Center. It used to be where the town would come together for holiday meals and birthdays and weddings — celebrations, things like that. But… yeah. It's been like that for a long time. Mayor Lewis says funding dried up for it, and the rumor is that he had a falling out with the volunteers that used to work there, so they left for the city."

She felt sad looking at it, and slightly appalled that it hadn't been torn down. "So, it just sits there? Forever?"

"Mom's told me that Estelle has actually come to her with some ideas lately to renovate it and bring it back to what it was. Apparently, Lewis keeps giving her the runaround before he agrees to give the approval to fix it. Whenever she manages to meet his stupid stipulations, he tacks on more things."

"What an asshole."

"Tell me about it," Sebastian scoffed, setting his pace again away from the Community Center. "Maybe one day things will change. It'd be nice."

When the path flattened at the mountain plateau, Lyra's calves and thighs absolutely screaming, a house that rivaled the beauty of Estelle's cottage came into view. The garage door had been cracked opened just enough to allow fresh air in while keeping anyone and anything out.

"You live here?" she asked as she followed Sebastian toward the front door, which had been carved with intricate designs.

The door opened noiselessly, and the pair were greeted with the low, nearly muted hum of a fan. Blissful cold air enveloped them as they stepped into the living room, which did not seem like a living room at all. Lyra, taking in the cashier counter near the opposite wall and the woodworking station coated with sawdust to her left, didn't feel as though she were walking into someone's home, but rather another storefront, sans displays and shelves.

"Unfortunately," Sebastian muttered, sauntering toward the hallway.

Lyra didn't know where to look as she trailed after him. There was just so much stuff. Small and unfinished wooden carvings piled in a corner, framed paintings of gorgeous landscapes hanging on the walls, and a metal door that felt oddly out of place. Before Sebastian turned toward a descending staircase, Lyra lifted herself onto her toes to peer into the tiny round window in the top center of the door, looking into what she could only guess was some sort of sterile science lab.

The basement, she realized as Sebastian nudged open the door with his shoulder, was the most normal room in the house so far.

"Yoba's tits," she whispered, mouth agape as she wandered into the space. "This is your room?"

Sebastian placed the jug of oil and her bag onto a nearby table, cluttered with a game board, miniatures, and guidebooks. Lyra didn't recognize the game, but it seemed as if he and whoever else he'd been playing with had been in the middle of a session.

Similar to the rest of the house, she couldn't decide where to allow her attention to land. Posters for bands covered the walls, and Lyra felt a bit smug that she knew and listened to most of them. She sat on the couch against the wall near the door, taking in the elaborate triple monitor computer setup in the corner, a yellow rubber duck with a neon green frog hat sitting atop the one in the middle.

Sebastian knelt next to an oak storage chest next to the bursting bookshelf and opened it carefully. "What do you think?" he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"It's awesome," she answered honestly. "Especially this."

She jutted her thumb toward the end table next to the couch. A blue bong sat proudly atop it, a single chocolate cosmos sticking from the mouthpiece. Fake, Lyra noticed when she looked closer at the petals, and made of a shiny velvet.

A deep chuckle rumbled from Sebastian as he rifled through the collection of comics inside the chest.

"Whoa," she breathed, hopping to her feet. "Holy shit. Is that real?"

She approached a worn sword displayed on the wall, its blade a hue so black that it swallowed the light into its void. The sharp tips of the chappe curved toward the point of the blade, and the hilt was dipped with grooves from years of handling. Without a second thought, Lyra reached up, simply to see if it were just a prop.

Sebastian's hand shot out to grab her wrist and she let out a startled yelp. "Don't touch," he commanded.

"Sorry," Lyra uttered, her lips hardly moving as she looked to him. "I-I'm really sorry. It just looks so cool and I… I'm sorry."

His brows furrowed, but a reassuring smile graced his face. "It's okay," he replied softly and dropped her hand. "It's real. I sharpened it the other day, and I just don't want you to get hurt. Here." He held out a thin stack of comics toward her.

For a moment, she just looked at the floppies, each securely tucked away in their own protective sleeves, and wondered how she could accept them while ensuring they'd make their way back to Sebastian. She could leave them with Harvey, and call in a favor for him to return them. The thought of her cousin brought forth the shameful reminder of her morning in the clinic, and the idea of asking him for anything flew out the window.

"You okay?"

The question yanked Lyra from her spiraling thoughts.

"Yeah," she answered, finally taking the comics. "Um, actually, no. I don't know. It was a weird morning."

She didn't know why the words came tumbling out, or why it was so easy to allow them to do so. Tucking the comics carefully into the bag of painting supplies, she sat back on the couch, her palms squeezed together between her knees. Sebastian sat nearby on his neatly made bed, his attention drawn fully to her.

"Harv wants to run a blood test on me," she told him without looking at him. "He says there's someone else in town who drinks a lot. He has liver damage because of it, and Harv's worried that I'm going to end up like that too. And I sort of feel like an asshole because I was an asshole to him."

"How were you an asshole?"

"I don't know. I told him I don't want a blood test, and basically threw it back in his face that he drinks sometimes too."

"Why don't you want to do it? Because of the needle part of it?"

"No, I don't really care about that. I mean, yeah, needles suck, but I just… I don't want to know if something is wrong. I feel fine, and I understand he's worried, but I'm fine."

Sebastian studied her face, contemplating his next words. "I started smoking when I was twenty," he said. "It took away the stress of work and…" He lifted his hand in an upward wave, gesturing to the rest of the house upstairs. "Eventually, my job became easier, the deadlines weren't so tight. I learned that I could just ignore Demetrius like he ignores me, but at that point, smoking was just part of my daily routine. It's hard to break it. Is that why you drink? It's just habit?"

What exactly could she tell him without seeming as pathetic as she felt? That it made her not think of her ex, if only for a few hours?

Lyra pulled in a deep breath and explained, "I've been going through a rough patch. Drinking numbs this…this…" She rubbed her palm against her chest, the words escaping her.

"Weight?" Sebastian offered.

"Yeah. It feels like I have this giant invisible thing sitting on me all the time, but at the same time, it feels like there's a hole in me." She let out a strained breath. "And I feel so lost. I put everything I had into this… situation for so many years of my life, that now I don't know who I am anymore without it. That's why Harv wanted me to come visit, so I could get away from my life for a little bit."

"Has being here helped at all?"

She opened her mouth to immediately tell him that it hadn't, that she was still sad and lonely and waiting for Griffin to call her to tell her to come back, but it would've been a lie. Yes, the sadness was still there, coiled up in that hole inside her, readied to lash out to defend her ways of coping with it, but for the first time since he left, she'd felt a spark of motivation. She'd made the steps to paint again. She had something to look forward to the next day, and she was genuinely excited about it.

Aside from that first night in the apartment above Harvey's clinic, she hadn't felt lonely. She hadn't had a chance to. Her days in Pelican Town had been busy — overwhelmingly so. Whether it was meeting more people than she'd remember, rabbit tracking in the rain, or sitting on the couch in the basement bedroom of a man she'd met less than a week ago, she'd rarely been alone.

And she'd allowed her phone battery to die, and had even left it behind to experience life away from it. That had never happened before she made the trip. Her phone had always been either plugged into the charger, or on her person, her fingers itching to answer should Griffin decide to call her.

"I think so," Lyra said in earnest. "I've felt lighter than I have in the last six months."

Not six months, her brain corrected. Five years, since the day you met Griffin.

An understanding settled inside her at that, but she couldn't think on it too much. Words continued to spill from her.

"I actually feel like there might be a tiny spark at the end of the tunnel now," she went on and nodded toward the bag of paint supplies. "It's been years since I picked up a brush, and now I feel like I'm chomping at the bit to do it. I'm sure Harvey's still at the clinic, so I have to have a conversation with him and apologize before I can go back to the apartment and get started, but…" She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, giving it a nibble. "I know he's worried, and I appreciate that about him. I'm just not ready for blood tests and… a confirmation or anything."

"You don't have to go back."

Sebastian stood to his feet and Lyra tilted her head to look up at him. "What?"

"Paint here, if you want. I'll try not to make too much noise working on the bike, but…yeah. Come outside with me and paint." He held out a hand toward her, which she accepted without hesitation, and hauled her up. "You don't have to do anything until you're ready. That also includes facing Harvey again."

Lyra's throat tightened with the sudden urge to cry, and she turned from him to collect her bag, her hair shielding the tears welling in her eyes. "That sounds great," she said thickly. "Thank you."

She followed him outside into the warm valley air and perched herself on a nearby teak garden bench underneath the shade of a wide oak tree. Sebastian lifted the garage doors, revealing an impressive cobalt motorcycle propped up by the wheels on a pair of cinder blocks. A piece of oil-stained cardboard had been lodged underneath it, and an empty jug identical to the one he'd bought at JojaMart sat tipped over on its side nearby. He stole a cursory glance at her before lowering himself down onto his back and shimmying his way underneath the bike.

Lyra watched him for a long while, the way he kept one knee bent and the other ramrod straight. Every so often, his shirt would lift, teasingly revealing the pale skin of his navel and the faint trail of dark hair leading from it and disappearing into the front of his pants.

Sebastian had almost caught her staring and she decided at that point, as she began to dig into her bag just in time, that her painting wouldn't just appear. She placed a canvas in her lap, popped open a paint pot set, ripped open the package of brushes with her teeth, stared at the vast blankness of possibilities, then finally got to work.

Half an hour later, she'd discard the first two canvases. She'd tried to paint the surrounding scenery, but it had felt forced and awkward. Plus, she couldn't get the shading of the trees just the way she liked it. Her flow just wasn't there.

She used the third and final canvas to decidedly lower her expectations, and painted the rubber duck she'd seen sitting on Sebastian's monitor in his bedroom. Simple, imperfect, but as she extended the painting outward to view it from a slight distance, she didn't hate it, which was more than she could say for her other two attempts.

She wanted to show Sebastian, to get his opinion of it, but he hadn't crawled out from underneath the bike yet. Huffs and sighs of frustration came from his direction, and Lyra saw that both knees were bent now.

"Do you need any help?" she called.

"Nope, I got it," he replied gruffly, his hand shooting out to pat the ground in search for a metal tool before his fingers brushed against it.

Instead of bothering him with her finished creation, she pulled out one of the issues of Cave Saga X and delicately removed it from the sleeve before prying it open. She wasn't ready to return to the clinic yet, to look Harvey in the eyes and apologize for being a shit cousin, nor was she ready to leave Sebastian. Sitting here in the fresh mountain air, the echoing call of birdsongs and the soft clanking of metal on metal in her ears, brought a sort of peace she hadn't experienced in Pelican Town yet.

It had been a very long time since she'd felt this calm, and she wished she could bask in it forever.

"Finally done," Sebastian announced as he strolled toward her, a white cloth rubbing between his hands. His shirt was even filthier than it had been before, and a new streak of oil kissed his jawline. "Hey, is that my duck-frog?"

Lyra grinned up at him, resting the comic open-faced in her lap. "I tried to start off with something more complicated and it just wasn't working, so I came up with this."

He hurried to wipe the rest of the grime and oil from his fingers before gingerly picking up the canvas at the edge. "This is amazing. It looks exactly like him. I didn't even realize you noticed him," he said with an amused smile. Lyra's heart soared. "Can I keep this?"

"I — you — what? You want it?" she stammered, blinking in surprise.

"Unless you were planning on taking it with you?"

"No, I was just going to throw it away."

"I'm going to hang it next to my desk," he said, sitting on the bench next to her, his eyes glued to it. "Maybe having two duck-frogs to talk code through with will help me find errors faster. So, what do you think of that issue so far?"

For hours, they fell into steady conversation revolving around their differing and shared opinions of Cave Saga X, as well as other series they'd read. Lyra recommended a few others she thought he might like that fell into the cosmic horror genre, and Sebastian suggested a horror mystery series that he claimed was another one of his favorites, but he unfortunately didn't have any copies of.

"I'll try to get my hands on the first volume before you visit again," he told her. "Sometimes scalpers make it hard to find them online, but I have a connection who works at that comic store in Zuzu who might be able to help me out."

Again, that looming dread that she'd never see Sebastian again clawed at her, but she shoved it aside and said, "That's really nice of you. Thank you."

Even if she didn't come back, at least Sebastian could add another installment to his comic collection.

The sun began to creep behind the massive mountains, casting Lyra and Sebastian in a darkened shadow. They'd been so engrossed in the topic of their top ten favorite bands that Robin's encroaching presence yanked a startled gasp from Lyra once she was close enough.

"Hey, you two," Robin greeted, her gaze flashing between them curiously.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hi, Robin."

"Did you figure out that problem with your bike, Seb?" she asked. There was a tired look about her today, her clothes nearly as dirty as her son's.

"Yeah, the drain bolt was too tight, but it's all fixed and ready to ride tomorrow."

"Good, good. Just remember to wear your helmet." This earned her an annoyed eye roll. Luckily, she'd peered down at her shirt just in time to miss it. "I worked up quite a sweat chopping trees all day, so I'm going to head in to shower. Do you want to stay for dinner, Lyra? I'm making burgers."

Lyra couldn't bring herself to accept. She slid the comics and used art supplies back into her bag and stood, facing Robin. "I can't," she said. "I've got, uh…evening plans, but thank you for the invite."

Robin looked posed to try to persuade Lyra otherwise, but chose not to with an exhausted nod. "Have a good night then, sweetie. See you tomorrow at the show?"

"Yeah, see you then."

"You're going to love it. Sebby's quite the star." With that, Robin retreated into the house, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Lyra smirked toward Sebastian, whose cheeks had been tinged with pink. "You didn't tell me I've been hanging out with a celebrity all day," she teased, "Sebby."

With a scoff, he rose to his feet. "Hardly," he muttered. "She either downplays my life or exaggerates it. I wish she'd pick a lane. You really don't want to stay for dinner?"

It did sound lovely, but being on bad terms with Harvey had been eating away at her all day.

"I should probably bite the bullet and talk to Harv. Our family doesn't just sweep things under the rug."

"Right, okay," Sebastian said dejectedly. "I'll, uh… I guess I'll see you tomorrow in Zuzu?"

"I'll be the one cheering the loudest," she told him. "Thank you for everything today. I can't tell you how much it helped."

"Of course," he replied. "Anytime."

The urge to hug him overcame Lyra, but she decided against it. Though they'd spent practically the entire day together, there was still so much about him that remained a mystery. She had no clue if he liked hugs, or any physical contact with other people for that matter. She tampered down the impulse, raised her free hand in a swift wave, and started down the path toward the town, feeling Sebastian's eyes on her all the while.

The clinic was locked when Lyra arrived, and she couldn't tell if it was relief or disappointment flooding through her as she fished the key from her pocket and inserted it into the doorknob. She'd rehearsed her words in her head the entire walk from Sebastian's house and now felt somewhat ready to face her cousin.

The lobby was silent and dark as she locked the door again behind her and made way for the stairs to the apartment. As she passed the adjacent hallway, Lyra turned her attention toward Harvey's office, the door to it now closed, and groaned at the stab of shame in her chest before dragging her feet up the staircase.

She placed her bag onto the bed, the comics spilling out onto the duvet, and wandered to the kitchen to pop a frozen dinner of spaghetti into the microwave. Leaning against the counter, she listened to the monotonous hum and typed out a text to Harvey.

Lyra: Hey Harv, call me if you're not busy? Just wanna talk.

Before she had the chance to send it, a knock at the door jolted her. There was only one other person who would have access to the clinic to reach the apartment; Harvey's ears must have been burning.

"Hi," she greeted as she pulled the door open.

Harvey, dressed in a casual pair of jeans and a shirt printed with the logo for the Stardew Valley Aviator Group, stood awkwardly on the staircase landing, a stiff rictus partially hidden underneath his mustache. He held two folded pieces of clothes in his arms, and Lyra immediately recognized them as the shredded track pants and hoodie she'd worn yesterday in her search for Cheeba.

"Hi," Harvey echoed. "Can I come in?"

Lyra shuffled to the side, allowing him past, and shut the door behind him. "I was just about to text you." The microwave beeped and she hurried for it. "Are you hungry? I have meatloaf frozen dinners and spaghetti frozen dinners."

"Oh, no thank you. I haven't had much of an appetite today."

As if his stomach had been eavesdropping, a low growl gurgled from it, and Harvey sighed.

"The spaghetti dinner sounds great, actually."

Lyra gave Harvey her serving and set another one onto the microwave plate. He placed the clothes on the foot of the bed, eyeing the comics. "Sebastian's letting me borrow them," she explained bashfully. "I ran into him at JojaMart."

With a short chuckle, Harvey said, "Seems like Yoba keeps pushing you two toward the same aisle."

"More like sending us crashing into each other," she corrected with a laugh of her own, which died down shortly. They were dancing around the elephant in the room, and they both knew it. "Look, Harv, I—"

"Lyra, I just want — Oh, sorry, you first."

"No, you first."

"You can go ahead."

"You go."

"Please, I insist."

They both fell silent simultaneously, and Harvey gestured toward Lyra as he settled onto the couch and brought a forkful of saucy spaghetti noodles to his mouth. The beeping of the microwave cut through their muteness, and Lyra steadied her breathing as she retrieved the second meal and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

"Okay," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "I just want to say sorry for this morning. I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did. I know you're worried, and I appreciate it, and I promise I'll let you run a blood test on me… someday. Just not now. I'm just not ready, I guess."

Harvey swallowed his food and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his thumb before responding, his voice laced with remorse, "No, Lyra, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sprung that on you so suddenly. You had every right to be upset with me. I promise I won't push the matter anymore, but thank you for understanding my concern."

The uneasiness that had been pestering her all day lifted, and she loosed a sigh of relief. In hindsight, her worries seemed ridiculous. What had she expected, that Harvey would berate her and punish her? That he'd yell until he was red in the face, or punch a hole in the wall in anger?

Though she didn't want to admit it, a small part of her had expected all that. But this was Harvey, and when she considered it, she couldn't remember a time she'd shrunk away from him in fear for his wrath.

She was silly. Stupid, even.

"I'll forgive you if you forgive me," Lyra said, then took her first bite of spaghetti.

"Water under the bridge. So, I, uh…tried to stitch the tears in your clothes, but as it turns out, I'm only skilled at stitching skin." Harvey set his food aside on the coffee table and brought her clothes over to where they sat. Lyra couldn't help but grin as she assessed his attempt at repair; his stitch lines were horrid, and he'd definitely used the wrong color thread.

"Thanks, Harv. You did great."

They finished off their meals in good spirits as Lyra told Harvey about her painting. Pride swelled in her as she recounted that Sebastian had actually wanted to keep the one of the duck-frog. Aside from her mother, nobody had ever seemed as interested in her hobby has he had.

In turn, Harvey told her about his day. After he'd finished preparing his patient files that morning, he'd taken a walk to the fountain near the Community Center. As he sat on the concrete edge, swallowed in thought, a pitiful meow dragged him from his reverie. From the nearby bushes, a malnourished kitten had staggered out, curiously sniffing in his direction. Harvey had allowed his excitement to drive him and advanced toward the poor creature too quickly. The kitten hissed, arched its back, then dashed off back into the foliage.

"I came on too strong," he admitted. "I think tomorrow I'll set out a plate of food to try to gain its trust."

Lyra collected his empty food tray and tossed hers along with it into the trash. "The cat distribution system almost chose you," she said. "Just keep trying. It'll come around eventually."

As the night crept closer to nine o'clock, they said their goodbyes with a fierce hug. Lyra showered, settled into bed with an irrepressible yawn, and grabbed for one of Sebastian's comics. The pages smelled faintly of him — earthy with a hint of crisp tobacco — and she reveled in it. She placed the open comic over her face, inhaling deeply, before creating some distance to actually analyze what was on the pages.

However, it didn't take long before the comic fell to her chest, her eyelids drooping and a subdued snore rising and falling from her throat as she slipped into the first sober slumber she'd had in months.

Sebastian was already five cigarettes deep and it wasn't even noon yet.

After dinner the night before, he'd spent the rest of the evening trying figure out what to do with his hands, a persistent buzzing of nerves inside him. He'd fished out his stash of tobacco and rolling papers from underneath the loose floorboard in his bedroom — Robin would have never thought to move the comic chest that sat atop it — and perched himself at his desk, his leg bouncing as his fingers deftly packed the papers, his tongue sliding along the edge to seal them. His tobacco had run out just as he had filled the battered pack he'd kept them in, and he'd crept outside into the cool night air to smoke one.

Fuck, he was nervous — so much so that he'd barely gotten three hours of sleep. Uncontrollable thoughts of the next day had flooded his mind, tossing him back and forth between sheer eagerness and an almost crushing fear that something would go awry and he'd make an absolute idiot of himself on stage for everyone to see. For Lyra to see.

As Sebastian laid in bed, his eyes glued to the darkness of his ceiling and his right hand shoved idly in the waistband of his boxer briefs, he'd begun to run through a mental checklist of everything that could go wrong. Sam could play his guitar too loudly and blow out the speakers, one of Abigail's cymbals could crack, the smoking could finally catch up to Sebastian and he could lose his voice, the microcontroller in his keyboard could short circuit. The list grew ever more concerning the longer he spiraled, and it only worsened when his mind shifted to the fact that he was planning on taking his bike out for the first time in months.

He'd already been awake when his alarm blared, sleep having evaded him for two hours prior, and decided to try to fight off the jitters with his tried and true method: standing in the shower, one hand pumping his cock and the other curled into a fist in his wet hair, giving the strands rhythmic tugs. The anxiety of the day was proving to be too much; pleasure gave way to frustration, which did nothing but add fuel to the fire of the tightly coiled tension inside him.

In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he'd shut his eyes tightly, imagining that it wasn't his fingers pulling the stinging pain from the roots of his hair, but Lyra's.

Fucking finally — there it was. That sensation deep inside him, nearing the base of his cock. He'd pushed out a ragged breath, picturing her full lips parting for him, taking the length of him with a surprised gag as the head hit the back of her throat. His hand had begun to pump faster, and he'd been thankful that his sharp pants were muted by the hissing stream of the shower.

He'd thought of what she'd look like sprawled out naked on his bed, his arms holding her thighs in place as he devoured her. The peak of her nipples, the flush of her face as pleading whines and moans bounced off the walls of his bedroom.

That had done the job. Sebastian, releasing his hair to bite into the flesh of his palm, had begun to tremble as warm milky-white strands surged from his tip. He'd stayed half-bent against the shower wall to catch his breath, unsure if the hint of guilt he had felt about getting off to the idea of tongue fucking Doctor Harvey's cousin was warranted.

"Dude, you're smoking again? I just finished breaking down the drum set, so we need to load it up."

Sam's voice yanked Sebastian from his reverie, and he turned away from his friend to pretend to inspect the side of Robin's pickup truck to hide that fact that the front of his pants felt tighter. Lifting his foot, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth and dragged it across the bottom of his boot before shoving the butt back into the pack.

"Just making sure the tires are fine after that flat she had last week," he lied, sort of.

Robin had run over a nail the week before and, even though it had been thoroughly patched, had been slightly hesitant about letting Sam drive it to Zuzu because of it. She'd offered to drive instead of taking the bus with Maru, but Sam declined, promising to take extra care of her truck. There were two things he was neurotic about in life: his guitar and his skateboard. The only person he trusted enough for safe transport of either was himself.

"They look all right to me," Sam said, arching a brow. "You doing okay? You look even more tired than normal."

Was it that obvious? "Just nerves." Sebastian looked Sam up and down, noting the frantic gleam in his eyes and the way his blond hair seemed a bit more disheveled than it usually was. "Are you doing okay?"

Sam hauled in a hefty breath, gathering himself before admitting, "I think I'm just nervous too. This is the first paid gig I've managed to land, so I want to make sure everything goes smoothly."

That made two of them. "I didn't know we were getting paid."

Sam cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, dude, I told you and Abby the other day at the saloon. Five hundred gold each."

That's right, Sam had mentioned it during their game of pool. Sebastian had barely registered anything that had been said to him that night; aside from the usual forgetfulness that came with being violently high, his brain had been so fogged with Lyra that there had hardly been space for anything else.

With a laugh, Sam clasped Sebastian on the shoulder before turning back toward his house, where Abigail was waving them over to help with the drum set. "I get it, man," he said. "Pretty girl shows up and bats her eyelashes at you, and all of a sudden, you're a smitten kitten." He let out an airy sigh. "Can't say I blame you, though. If she wasn't already super into you, I'd try to make my move."

Sebastian scoffed. "She's not into me," he rebutted, hoisting the bass drum onto his shoulder. "She's just friendly. And I'm not a smitten kitten."

"Are you blind?" Abigail walked past him, a cymbal tucked under each arm. "I haven't had the chance to have a proper conversation with her and even I can see she's got the hots for you."

Delicately placing the drum onto the moving pad in the bed of the truck, Sebastian reiterated, "She's just friendly."

"Sucks that she doesn't live here," Sam commented. He slid the cymbals out from Abigail's hold, settling them side-by-side next to the drum. "You two would make a cute couple. Where does she live anyway? Maybe you guys could do the whole long distance type of thing."

The question stopped Sebastian short. "I… don't know," he answered, feeling a bit dense. He should know this — they'd talked for hours yesterday about comics and bands and different types of motorcycles. Lyra had thrown question after question at him, digging curiously into the different parts of him, and avoided providing any too-personal information about herself so efficiently that he hadn't even noticed at the time. Somehow, the conversation had always come back around to him.

"She's coming today, right?" Abigail inquired. "You should try to catch her after the show and spend some time with her to get to know her. We'll take care of the break down and loading back up, right, Sam?"

"Sure thing."

Though he'd allow himself to be raked over hot coals before ever admitting it, Sebastian adored his friends. They annoyed him to no end sometimes, sure, but they always looked out for him and had his best interest at heart. Even back in high school when Alex and his oafish gridball buddies would provoke him, Sam and Abigail stuck by his side, throwing back insults and punches and sitting in detention with him without complaint, the trio sporting matching black eyes and split lips.

Thank Yoba they'd all grown up and grown past that now. Even Alex flashed him a wry smile instead of a middle finger when they passed each other in town or at community events. Still, it was nice to know he'd always have Sam and Abigail in his corner.

Which was why he felt a tinge of remorse that he hadn't — and didn't want to — disclose to them that he'd already spent time with Lyra, enough to notice the freckles dotting her cheeks and the way her mouth pushed into a slight pout when she concentrated on something. She'd been in his bedroom, had been invited to dinner by his mom, and was starting to seep into every intimate thought he had. The selfish side of him relished in the fact that there was a bubble of time and space around them that only the two of them had access to.

Sebastian, Sam, and Abigail finished loading up their instruments and equipment into the truck bed, securing it all with more tie-down straps than Sebastian thought was necessary, but Sam insisted upon. They shared brief parting words, Sam eager to get on the road for the hour-long drive to the city, and Sebastian tore himself from them, his hands preparing another cigarette for his walk back home.

He felt a swell of pride in his chest as he lifted the garage door and gazed at his motorcycle. Sebastian had put more time and effort in it than he had anything else in life. It was his escape during the evenings that sat too heavily on his shoulders, his preferred way to run from this suffocating town when all he wanted to do was feel the wind lashing his hair and shout into the roar of the engine.

As he zipped open his riding backpack and filled it with his spare helmet, he resisted the urge to light up another cigarette. If he kept going at this rate, he'd run out by the time he got to Zuzu.

Fuck, he was nervous.

Lyra couldn't decide.

She'd curled her hair, allowing it to cascade down her back and over her shoulders before grabbing a hair tie to pull it up into a ponytail, leaving out just enough to frame her face. After inspecting her reflection in the mirror, turning to check her profile and holding her phone up to awkwardly look at how the backside appeared, she yanked the piece of elastic out with a wince of pain, shaking her head side to side.

The apartment looked as though a tornado had torn through it; her suitcase and the tiny closet had been emptied, her clothes scattered from the bed to the couch and everywhere in between. She had no clue what to wear. A summer dress seemed like a good idea until she put it on and inspected it. The ghost of a red wine stain blotted the front and she remembered with a groan that in one of her drunken stupors back home, she'd used the dress as a rag to wipe up one of her many spills and didn't wash it in time.

"Why did I even pack this stupid thing?" Lyra whispered to herself as she pulled it off over her head and tossed it toward the trash can, where it landed a foot away.

Fuck, she was nervous. Her palms were incredibly clammy, to the point where twisting open her mascara was a struggle. She couldn't decide on that either — how much makeup was too much? Should she stick to a more natural look, or take a chance on something bold?

Aside from the the routine eyebrow sculpting and manicures, she couldn't remember the last time she'd put this much thought into her appearance. She hardly wore any makeup these days, just couldn't bring herself to care enough to.

Today, however, she wanted to look good, to turn heads. Well, one head specifically, topped with raven hair.

The thought of Sebastian sent a flutter through her chest. She lowered the tube of lip tint she'd been applying onto the bathroom counter, breathing in deeply through her nose.

"Chill out," she told her reflection before reaching for her deodorant again. "Why the hell am I so sweaty?"

She blamed it on the weather, and definitely not on the anticipation of seeing Sebastian again.

Wiping her palms on the jeans she'd settled for, she attempted to open the mascara again, having to only try twice before the cap came loose. She leaned closer to the mirror, her mouth opening automatically as she ran the brush up the length of her eyelashes.

A knock sounded at the door, and she flinched.

"Shit!" Lyra hissed, her left eye watering at the painful poke of the bristles.

With a wadded up piece of toilet paper held underneath her eye, she padded over toward the door. As expected, Harvey and Estelle stood waiting on the other side, donned in matching shirts with the GOBLIN DESTROYER logo displayed in a chaotic, cracked font. Their welcoming, bright grins simultaneously fell.

"Are you okay?"

"Why are you crying?"

Lyra shuffled to the side, allowing them past. "I'm not crying. Just jabbed myself in the eye with my mascara."

With a hint of a smile, Estelle teased, "It's supposed to go on your lashes, silly. Not in your eye."

"Oh, that's what I was doing wrong," Lyra shot back, her own lips pulling into a curl. "And here I was thinking I should try eating it next."

Estelle laughed and began to wander about the apartment, her gaze stalling on places that seemed to spur memories: the far corner below the window where Harvey's shortwave radio setup once sat that was now cluttered with moving boxes, the couch that served as Lyra's clothing pile holder, the unmade bed, which Lyra forced herself not to think about. Her smile didn't fade, but there was a soft melancholy glimmer behind her eyes.

"It's been a while since I was here last," she murmured and clasped her hands behind her back. She peered to Harvey. "Remember that first night I stayed here, when you invited me over for dinner?"

Harvey chuckled, his fingertips dancing along the planes of her hair before he settled a hand on her shoulder. "How could I forget? I'd been so anxious that I'd completely forgotten that I had no way to actually prepare a homemade meal here."

She turned to face him, snaking her arms around his neck. "That pizza we ended up ordering from the saloon was the best pizza I've ever had," she told him before pressing her lips against his.

Deciding it best to give them their personal space, Lyra retreated back to the bathroom to finish applying her makeup. She'd settled on a simple style, nothing too flashy, but an apparent effort. She gathered her hair up once again to tie it back, but stopped, releasing it and slipping the hair tie onto her wrist. They'd be late to the bus stop if she kept messing with her hair, and she didn't need the guilt of that sitting on her chest as well.

"Ready!" she announced, rejoining the couple.

Estelle assessed her, her narrowed eyes scanning up and down, and pursed her lips with a wolf whistle. "Look at you! Sebastian will definitely be checking you out all night."

Lyra's face flushed and she could feel the tips of her ears warming. "That's not — I don't — He'll be too busy playing," she stammered. "Besides, I don't really care if he notices me or not." Her hands found the hem of her sleeve, her fingertips fidgeting with the black lace as she looked everywhere but at Estelle.

"Being bad at lying must run in your family." With a shrug, Estelle added, "Well, even if you don't care, I'm positive he'll end up scoping you out. That guy is so into you."

"Honey," came Harvey's low mutter, a small warning that made Lyra think the two of them had talked about this in private.

"What?" she replied as she held her hands up innocently. "You saw how he looked at her the other day, Harv."

"He's not into me," Lyra insisted. She could feel the beat of her heart slamming in her chest. "He's just really nice."

Estelle gave her a leveled look. "Sure, Seb's nice, but not that nice."

Something about that roused a strange sort of flame in Lyra, a sudden urge to defend Sebastian. It dissipated immediately, though, at Estelle's next words.

"Like I told you before, he's a good guy, but it usually takes him some time to warm up to strangers. A long time. I mean, it took him half a year to remember my name and another half to acknowledge that he actually knew me. But with you…" She sighed dreamily. "It's cute, really. He's a smitten kitten."

Sebastian, a smitten kitten? Because of her? The thought of it was so absurd that she couldn't help but giggle at it. Sebastian was cool. He played in a band, rode a motorcycle, and somehow made smoking cigarettes seem attractive. There was a chest full of comics and a sword hanging on the wall in his bedroom. He had a voice made of rich velvet and a smile that made her feel vaguely lightheaded.

And Lyra was… Lyra. An alcoholic college drop-out who worked a soul-sucking job and whose only real talent was throwing some paint on a canvas, hoping it made a discernible shape, and calling it art. She didn't have a car, she could barely afford to keep her shitty apartment, and she found herself severely lacking in swords on her bedroom wall.

Sebastian was so far out of her league that she began to wonder if Estelle's eyesight was just as bad as Harvey's. Maybe that was something the pair bonded over as well.

Lyra snagged her sunglasses from the kitchen counter, settling them onto her face. "Well, if we're all done being delusional, we should get a move on before the bus leaves without us."

A boisterous, lively crowd had already thronged the bus stop by the time they arrived. Lyra recognized a few of the faces: Haley with her camera secured in her hands, Emily chatting with Haley, Maru, Robin, and Vincent, who approached an older woman with a wiggling worm on the tip of a stick.

"Look, Mom! A caterpillar!"

"Vincent, put that poor thing back where you found it."

Estelle lifted herself onto her toes, scanning the mass. "She's late again?" she murmured, frowning.

"Who?" Lyra inquired as she tore her attention away from the way Vincent dejectedly dragged his feet back to the bush he'd kidnapped the caterpillar from.

"Pam, our bus driver. She should be loading everybody up by now."

Harvey glanced at his watch. "Give her some time," he suggested, his other hand idly rubbing soothing circles onto Estelle's back. "She's only five minutes late. Besides, Penny is here. She wouldn't be if something were wrong."

Even so, Estelle nibbled at her bottom lip as she returned the waves of some of the townsfolk who looked their way, her head constantly on a swivel toward the path that led into town. Meanwhile, Lyra busied herself with staring at a man with the most gorgeously flowing ember hair she'd ever seen. Grateful that she'd remembered to bring her sunglasses to partially shield her gawking, she wondered what sort of mystical force drew so many redheads to Pelican Town.

If I moved here, she thought, would I have to dye my hair to fit in?

The nagging, chastising beast inside her began to open its maw, readied to berate her for having such a stupid thought. She could never move here and away from the city; Griffin would expect her to be just where he'd left her and—

"Oh, thank Yoba," Estelle breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. "There she is."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" the approaching woman shouted, her words laced with a rattling wheeze. She waved a hand through the air, the afternoon sunlight glinting off the key ring she held.

Pam strode past Lyra, nearly knocking into her. A heady scent of ale and sweat trailed after her, and Lyra turned to Harvey, embarrassed at the fact that her first concern was that if the venue they were heading to had an open bar.

She voiced her second concern in a hushed whisper, "That's the bus driver?"

"The one and only," Harvey murmured back, "unfortunately."

That couldn't be right. Lyra definitely would have remembered if the bus driver who had driven her into Pelican Town reeked of booze. The confusion must have been evident on her face.

"Pam only drives as far as Zuzu City," Harvey explained, shuffling behind her as the gathering began to form a line to board the bus. "When she shows up for her shifts, that is."

Not that she'd ever driven while drunk — the lack of a car ensured that — but she felt a bit hypocritical as she asked, "And we're all okay with this? Letting this lady who's clearly been hitting the bottle today drive a giant bus full of people?"

"I'm sure she's sobered up," Estelle piped up. "Pam has an impeccable driving record."

"So far," Lyra said under her breath, inching forward as Emily practically danced up the stairs of the bus.

The closer she got to the door, watching Pam wave everyone through, the more her stomach clenched into tight knots. She fought back a shiver as a bead of sweat slithered its way down her back. Maybe this was some divine karmic consequence for all the terrible things she'd done in her life. An ironic twist of fate, to die in a crash caused by the one substance that brought her a backhanded comfort during her lowest point in life.

"You're new," Pam stated as Lyra placed her foot on the first bus stair.

She took this chance to really look at Pam, from the vibrant magenta of her eyeshadow to the wild curls of her honey hair. Her eyes seemed clear enough; they didn't have that heavy glaze of someone who was plastered.

Swallowing her relief, Lyra replied, "Oh, yeah, I'm Doct—"

"Keep it moving," Pam snapped, giving her a light push between her shoulder blades. "We're already running late."

Lyra stumbled up the rest of the stairs with a shocked squeak and made to turn to tell Pam that if they were late, she was the reason why.

"Lyra!"

Maru waved her over, sitting in a seat near the back of the bus. Lyra's gaze flicked to Estelle, who had already perched herself toward the front, and assumed she and Harvey would be sitting together.

"I feel like it's been forever since I've seen you," Maru commented as Lyra joined her on the bench seat. "I came in to work for a few hours this morning and I thought you'd come down while I was there."

Maru didn't seem like the type to judge, so Lyra explained as she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, "I, um, got my hands on some comics I've been looking for, so that sort of took over my entire morning."

"Oh, that's nice! My brother reads comics, but I don't know—"

The bus lurched with a deep hiss and Lyra grabbed onto the back of the seat in front of her, her grip adding a new small crack in the faded navy faux leather.

"It has its quirks," Maru said with an awkward smile, "but it hasn't broken down in a long time."

"That's great," was all Lyra could manage to say through the sudden panicked buzzing in her brain.

I am definitely going to die on this bus.

Fortunately for Lyra, Maru was a talker and — whether she knew it or not — did a fantastic job at distracting her each time the brakes squealed with an abrupt stop, or Pam hit a painful pothole, or when Lyra was absolutely sure that they were traveling well above the speed limit. Maru told her of all the projects she was working on, and although most of the terms she used went completely over Lyra's head, Lyra found her fascinating. She nodded along politely and chimed in when she could to ask what an angle grinder was or to throw in her inexperienced opinion of the handling differences between aluminum and steel.

Maru was incredibly intelligent, Lyra realized, and there was something familiar about her that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

While listening to Maru describe a new robot prototype she'd spent the past week designing, Lyra couldn't help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening behind them where Robin and Vincent's mother sat.

"I hope there's a good turnout this time. Sam was so disappointed that only a handful of people came to the last show."

"Oh, poor Sam. Seb didn't come out of his room for two days after that show. Said he was working on a tight contract deadline when we finally did see him again, but I think he was a little upset about it too."

"Is he still planning to…?"

Robin sighed. "He says he is. I wish he wouldn't, but who am I to try to persuade him not to, Jodi? I did the exact same thing after I married Demetrius."

"That's big of you. I know it's hard. I couldn't imagine what I'd do if Sam decided to take that route, how I'd explain it to Vincent. He loves his brother."

"And especially considering what he's been through with Kent."

Maru's voice cut through the space between the two of them, yanking Lyra back to their shared seat. "So, what do you think?"

"Um, I think…"

You nosy idiot, her mind screeched. Why can't you just mind your own business?

"I think," Lyra repeated with a hint more confidence, "that it's a great idea." A safe response, she assumed, since every idea that had come from Maru's mouth had been great.

Maru nodded, pure determination gracing her features. "Aquatic it is. I've never attempted something like that before, so it'll be nice to test what I can really do."

From there, their conversation focused on more common topics, things Lyra could better relate to. She learned that one of Maru's guilty pleasures was tuning into one of the reality shows her mother raved about, and Lyra told her between a series of giggles that she'd watched them as a kid, so when she grew up and stepped foot into the real world, she was surprised to learn that life wasn't as dramatic as those shows made it out to be.

They talked about men and Maru's lack of interest in them when Lyra asked if she had a boyfriend. "No, I'm single," Maru explained. "Men aren't really…" Behind her glasses, her gaze found the ceiling of the bus. "Let's just say I haven't found the right woman yet. And what about you? Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?"

Did she have someone? Not really, not at the moment. She'd screwed that up months ago. Was he waiting for her back home? She thought of what she'd do if she returned to her apartment, opened the door, and found Griffin waiting there for her on the couch. She pictured his cocky grin, the way his eyes narrowed as if he were looking straight through her. Her mouth went dry.

"Super single," Lyra admitted, which was the first time she'd used that word to label herself since he left.

"You should meet my brother. I think you two would get on well. You both like comics, and I'd love it if he met a nice girl like you. I think our parents would, too."

"Oh, I — I don't know. I'm not really girlfriend material right now." Had she ever been? "Besides, I'm leaving in a few days anyway."

Three days, to be exact. The reminder sat like a jagged stone in her stomach. Three days until she had to say goodbye to this sleepy little coastal town, to Harvey and Estelle, to Sebastian, though she was already planning on saying her goodbye to him tonight, if she could manage to catch him. There would be no other reason for her to see him before her departure, and it would be rude not to say anything at all.

Alongside her goodbye, she'd decided she was going to thank him as well for so many things: his interest in her silly little painting, the sunglasses, for offering to allow her to lounge at his house while he worked on his bike. Sebastian was kind and patient and as intriguing as Maru, if not more so. Lyra would miss him, which struck her as odd because she hadn't missed anyone aside from Griffin and Harvey, one of whom she'd known for years, the other her entire life. She'd only known of Sebastian's existence for less than a week.

"I hope you'll come back someday," Maru told her, her eyes wide and clear with hope.

The sight of it tugged at Lyra's heart. "Yeah," she replied. "Me too."

Outside, the rolling hills and vivid pastures yielded to cracked concrete, blinking traffic lights, and the blaring honks of cars being impatiently driven. The smell of fried food permeated the inside of the bus, and Lyra's stomach rumbled as she peered past Maru and through the window, watching a hotdog street vendor go by. Pam turned a sharp corner and a sign came into view, snagging Lyra's attention.

Most of the lettering had been faded with time and sun exposure, but she could still make out the majority of the advertisement for the Zuzu Apartments.

"Cheap rooms," she muttered to herself, then thought, How cheap is Zuzu City cheap?

They passed through intersection after intersection, weaving their way deeper into the maze of the city. Imposing skyscrapers rose to meet them, their architectural diversity drawing Lyra in and holding her tight. Some buildings were windowless — simply grey structures that piqued her curiosity and left her wondering what they had been built for, while others left nothing to the imagination; she could see office workers milling about, their arms full of folders and paperwork, or hunched over miserably in front of their computers.

Zuzu City was huge, much larger than Meadow Wood City. Lyra felt incredibly small here, an ant falling into formation with the rest of the bustling colony, and a part of her relished in it. Aside from the handful of people she'd met in Pelican Town, nobody here recognized her. She was just as faceless as the stranger hobbling down the sidewalk.

A spark lit inside her. She could start over here, find a job — there were a plethora of "help wanted" signs hanging in windows — and reinvent herself, figure out who she was again. She wouldn't even need a car; bulky busses and taxis were abundant, and there were even tramway tracks built into the ground.

And she'd only be an hour away from Pelican Town.

Don't be stupid.

Even if her mind couldn't seem to fully wrap itself around the idea, Lyra couldn't let go of the trickle of hope that had found its way to her.

The bus chugged to stop and an electric energy began to charge about the passengers. Vincent let out an excited holler from somewhere behind where Lyra sat, and she heard Jodi respond with a sharp shush. She caught sight of Estelle turning to beam at Harvey, whose mustache curved with his smile. Even Lyra couldn't help but grin as the soles of her feet bounced on the metal floor. She wanted to get off this bus and stretch her legs and track down the nearest bar to chug a beer before the show started.

She caught up with her cousin and Estelle as she hopped off the last stair of the bus and lifted her arms over her head in a great stretch. "We survived!" she announced with a laugh.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Pam snapped from the driver's seat.

Lyra pretended not to hear her, though she was sure everyone else did, and took in the sight before them. Pam had dropped them off at an empty lot next to a brick-and-mortar pizza shop. Haphazardly thrown pieces of rubbish sat in indents of overgrown patches of grass. An old tire served as a flowerbed for tall stems of weeds that looked sharp to the touch. Erected against the wall of the shop, a concrete-base stage stood proudly, lighting fixtures in the shapes of orbs hanging from the wooden overhead canopy.

A drum set, an electric guitar nestled in its stand, and a keyboard paired with an electric piano had been set up on the stage, though their players were nowhere to be found. The crowd, however, was growing by the minute; city dwellers flocked from nearby alleyways, some parked on the side of the street to wander toward the stage, and employees from neighboring businesses opened their windows to perch themselves on the sills to get a better look.

Lyra squeezed in closer to Harvey and Estelle, noticing Maru had disappeared into the mass at some point. After the day they'd had yesterday, she was hesitant to ask Harvey about places she could sneak away to find a drink. She observed the others around them and grimaced; not a plastic cup or a metal flask filled with alcohol in sight.

Estelle gasped, her hand finding Lyra's arm and gripping hard. "There they are!" she chirped. "Oh, Lyra, you're going to love this!"

Raising herself onto her toes, Lyra watched as Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian rounded the corner of the pizza shop, strolled up the rickety stairs onto the stage, and took their places behind their respective instruments. Sam visibly trembled as he lifted the strap of his guitar over his head and closed the distance between himself and the microphone stand. Abigail stared out into the crowd like a deer in headlights, her chest rising and falling with heaving breaths.

And Sebastian…

Lyra swallowed thickly as she took him in. Even through the shading of her sunglasses, she could see that his skin was paler than it had been in the time she'd known him. Like Abigail, his eyes were wide and frantic as they darted about the audience, desperately searching, and like Sam, his hands shook as he adjusted the smaller microphone attached to the keyboard.

The lights flickered on, not illuminating much in the steadily waning daylight. Recognition flashed across Sebastian's face as his gaze found Lyra and his shoulders dropped an inch as she lifted her hand in an acknowledging wave. Their smiles mirrored each other's.

Estelle was right; she was going to love this.