I stared at Lucas, stuhe words were there—I khe past Charlie. She died.—but my mind refused to process them. It was like trying to read through frosted gss; I could see the shape of the truth, but it was distant and painful.

  I forced a breath, tasting the faiallig of the bar’s recycled air. The smell of syic leather from the seat crept into my senses, grounding me just enough to speak.

  “What…” My voice cracked slightly, so I tried again, clearing my throat. “What were y to achieve, Lucas?”

  His head dipped lower, like he was brag himself for a blow. When he finally looked up, his eyes shimmered uhe pulsing neon lights, and for a sed, I saw something raw in them—regret, guilt, heartbreak all taogether.

  “I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I wao see her again.”

  The words hit me harder than a bandit’s mace. I swallowed the lump f in my throat.

  Her. Not me.

  Her.

  “You wao see your lover one more time.” I didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in my voice. It g to each word like a sip of badly distilled whiskey, burning all the way down. “And instead, you got me.”

  “No!” he blurted, his hands g into fists oable. “No, Charlie, I didn’t… I didn’t want it to be like this. It was supposed to stay in the game. Just the game.” His voice trembled now, the fidence he always carried gone, repced by something desperate. “I didn’t think it would ge you. I didn’t know it could—no one k could. And now…”

  “And now yret it.” I finished for him, the hurt bubbling to the surface. My voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut. “Because you didn’t want me, your friend. You wanted her.”

  Lucas flinched as if I’d spped him.

  Good.

  He opened his mouth tue, but nothing came out. Instead, he slumped bato his seat, defeated, looking like he’d aged a decade in those few seds.

  Before the tension could strahe air between us pletely, the waitress appeared, her neon green dress fshing brightly uhe pulsing lights. She set the bourbon in front of me and the vodka before Lucas.

  “Here you go,” she said cheerfully, pletely oblivious to the emotional wreckage at our table. The smell of the bourbon, rid smoky, wafted up as I took the gss, the ess of it soothing my fingers but doing nothing for the storm inside me.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, not b to look at her as she walked away.

  I gnced out and caught L to look casual as she leaned against the wall, her attention glued to her tablet. It lifted my mood—if only a little.

  I swirled the amber liquid in my gss, watg the light refract through it. “So… what now?” I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the swirling bourbon. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I’m here. I exist. But I’m not her.”

  Lucas reached for his vodka, but his hand trembled slightly as he lifted the gss. “I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to… hurt you. I never wahat.”

  I took a long sip of my bourbon; the heat burning down my throat, masking the ache in my chest. “Well, grats, Lucas,” I said, putting my usual sarcastic edge to it, masking the hurt underh. “Mission aplished. You didn’t just hurt me—you made me questiohing.”

  The weight of the moment pressed down on us, and for a brief sed, her of us said anything. Just the soft hum of the bar, the faint king of gsses, and the muted chatter of distant patrons filled the silence.

  I put the gss down with a soft k.

  “So, what now? What do we do with this mess you made?” I wasn’t even sure if I was asking him or myself.

  Lucas didn’t answer right away. He just stared into his vodka, as if it held the answers he couldn’t find in his own mind. “I don’t know.”

  I leaned ba the plush seat, letting the bourbon’s warmth linger in my chest as my thoughts swirled in slow, ag circles.

  Everything that had happened siin… Jerry ged me as Charlie—since I came back to this bizarre past version of my life—pyed out in my mind like some video.

  Disjointed, fusing, but painfully real.

  I remembered Lucas’ funeral. God, that was a day. The rain had fallen in cold, miserable sheets, matg the emptiness inside me.

  I’d stood there, surrounded by faces I barely knew, all of us cloaked in bd grief. I didn’t ever could at funerals. But something about that day had hollowed me out, left this broke void in my chest where something important used to be.

  And now, here he was. Alive. Breathing. Talking to me across a table.

  It was… surreal, to say the least.

  I g Lucas, who was staring down into his vodka like it might offer him absolution.

  He didn’t want this. Not like this. He’d wanted her, the old Charlie, the one who wasn’t me but somehow was me. And knowing that dulled the weight pressing down on my shoulders. If I could feel even a fra of the grief I had for Lucas that day, what must he have felt for her?

  A minor part of me—just a tiny fragment—wao stay angry. But it was hard when I could see the same pain mirrored in his eyes.

  Dammit, Lucas.

  I sighed, swirling the bourbon again, watg the amber liquid catch the faint pink glow from the bar’s holo-lights.

  My refle shimmered in the gss, and for a moment, I studied it.

  Really studied it.

  My hair, lohan it had ever been before. My features, softer, framed in a way that made me look… well, undeniably beautiful. And then there was the makeup—still gie the sweat and adrenaline from the fight. Riker’s gm squad had done an impressive job.

  I didn’t look like John anymore. That much was clear.

  Do I care?

  The thought didn’t sting the way it used to. I’d spent the first few days after my transformation furious at everything—at Lucas, at the world, at myself. Being a woma wrong, unnatural, like I’d been forced into wearing someone else’s skin.

  But now?

  I smiled faintly, remembering the first time I tried walking in high heels. I hated those damn things with a passion—wobbled around like a drunk penguin, cursing every step.

  Now?

  Now I could strut through Rim- like I owhe pce, and I even caught myself patting my heels earlier. The rhythmic click-cck sound they made when I walked had bee… soothing, weirdly. A remihat I’d adapted, that I was still standing, even if on stilettos.

  Without Lucas, without Jerry, none of that would’ve been possible. Hell, I’d probably still be stumbling around in those heels if it weren’t for their support—Jerry’s deadpan entary and Lucas’ quiet presence, however awkward it might be.

  I didn’t know if I was ready tive Lucas entirely, but maybe… maybe I was ready to stop being angry.

  At least for tonight.

  The smile on my lips lingered a little longer as I traced the rim of my gss with a fihe smooth chill of it bringing me bayself. I tapped the side of my gss, letting the rhythmik-tink of my nail against the crystal fill the brief sileween us.

  The tension hanging in the air had cracked, and I figured it was time to break it entirely before it got too heavy again.

  “Okay, Lucas,” I said, swirling what was left of my bourbon, the faint burn still lingering pleasantly in my throat. “I five you. At least for tonight.”

  His head shot up, eyes wide with a mixture of relief and fusion, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “You… do?”

  “Yeah.” I leaned back against the cushioned seat, crossing one leg over the other and fshing him a small grin. “You’re my friend, Lucas. A really stupid friend who clearly thought dabbling in something insane would somehow turn out fine. But if you promise me—pinky swear, cross your heart, hope-to-die-level promise—that you’ll never, ever do something that stupid again…” I paused, letting the grin widen into something mehen yeah. I’ll try. We’ll figure it out.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, clearly struggling to find the right words. “You’re… taking this better than I thought,” he admitted, still wary, like he was waiting for my heel to drop on his head.

  I couldn’t help but ugh—a quick sound that made him blink. “Lucas! This is nothing new. I’ve always been like this.”

  I gestured dramatically with my hands, nearly knog over my gss. “Quick to anger, quick tive. Flexible personality. Adaptable, like… a dart pyer who ges targets mid-throw when a drunk stumbles into the board.”

  Lucas snorted, a relut smile tugging at his lips. “You’re paring yourself to… dart pyer?”

  “Exactly.” I jabbed a finger in his dire, pleased that he was finally loosening up. “I mean, think about it. Life hits me with something weird and ued, and I bend, twist, and fil around for a bit before boung back with a grin. That’s me.”

  I wi him. “Always has been.”

  “You make it sound so… easy,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious now.

  “Oh, trust me, it’s not.” I draihe st of my bourbon ahe gss down with a soft k. “It’s messy, and it sucks half the time, but it’s the only way I know how to deal with things. Freak out, adapt, move on.”

  That was a cue for Jerry. “Miss Charlie, my online-” I unfastehe watch to shut him up.

  Lucas stared at me for a moment, like he was trying to figure out whether to be impressed or ed. “You’re… incredible, Charlie.”

  I grinned wider, feeling the tension finally dissipate. “I know. Now, about that pinky swear?” I held up my hand, wiggling my little finger in front of him.

  He rolled his eyes but hooked his pinky around mine anyway. “Fine. Pinky swear.”

  “Good,” I said, releasing his hand and leaning back again. “Now, let’s just rex, drink, and pretend that this whole thing was just another one of those weird Rimelios gone slightly off the rails.”

  “Only slightly?” he asked, smirking.

  “Okay, wildly off the rails,” I admitted, chug. “But hey, that’s what makes it fun, right?”

  At that exaent, the gss door to our alcove slid open with a soft hiss, and before I could eve, something small and fast barreled into me like a heat-seeking spell.

  “Auntie Charlie!” a high-pitched voice squealed as tiny arms ed tightly around my waist.

  I blinked, momentarily stunned, as I looked down at the girl ging to me. Her wild curls bounced as she tilted her head back, grinning up at me with bright eyes full of excitement.

  She couldn’t have been older than six, maybe seven. She wore a t-shirt that immediately caught my attention—a ridiculously detailed print of me, mid-battle, fighting the frost statues from st night’s event.

  Wait. What?

  Riker already made merch? Seriously? I fought those statues, like… twelve ho! My mind whirled, already plotting a future versation-ssh-frontation with Riker. There was moo be made here, and if he thought he could cut me out of the profits, he had ahing ing.

  But first—back to reality. “Hi, Lena!” I said, f a smile and trying not to sound too bewildered. “Do you… know me?”

  Lena pulled back slightly, still ging to me but giving me a wide, excited nod. “Of course I know you! You were Uncle John, but now you are Auntie Charlie! And your rapier was awesome!” She barely fihe sentence before she jumped back, pulling an imaginary sword from her side and sshing at invisible enemies with all the fir of a seasoned adventurer.

  I couldn’t help but grie the knot f in my stomach at the whole Uncle John turned Auntie Charlie thing.

  The way she said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was just another day in Rimelion where people ge csses—or, apparently, genders—without fuss, made it weirdly easier to digest.

  “Wow, Lena!” I said, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow as I watched her dramatically duel her unseen foes. “You’ve got some serious moves there. Maybe I should hire you as my official sword trainer.”

  She stopped mid-swing, eyes wide with delight. “Really?”

  “Sure. You’ve got the knack for it,” I said with a smirk, gesturing to her t-shirt. “But take that up with the guy who’s already making a fortune off my image. Seriously, frost statues? I fought those st night, and he’s already got merch out?”

  Lucas, who had been sitting quietly until now, chuckled softly. “That’s Riker for you. Always oep ahead.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s about to get a step ahead of a very annoyed Auntie Charlie,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Lena, you tell your dad that your awesome new shirt needs another with extra royalties, right?”

  Lena nodded enthusiastically, apparently delighted at the idea of more shirts. She twirled in pce, her imaginary rapier fshing in the neon pink glow of the bar’s lights. “I want oh you fighting drago!”

  Before I could respond with something witty—because of course I had something ready—a familiar voice, sharp and sarcastic, cut into me like a well-aimed arrow.

  “Auntie Charlie, her dad hear you.”

  I blinked and gnced up, finding Adam standing a few steps away, arms crossed, his expression as warm as a gcier. Beside him was Lo, who looked relieved, thrilled even, as though finding them had been some grand quest she’d just pleted.

  Yep, she’s awesome.

  Adam, meanwhile, was dressed in casual clothes, but his stance screamed stern dad mode engaged. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and acg. He wasn’t even looking at Lena; his entire focus was zeroed in on me like a hawk spotting its prey.

  Then he saw the empty gss oable, and his gaze hardened further, cold.

  “I see you have ay bottle,” he drawled. “Do you wao fetother?”