“I know. I can feel it. Or... not feel it? It’s like I’m becoming less dense. Less solid. But not in a bad way.”
“You’re remarkably calm about this.”
“What’s the alternative? Panic? We already know the ceremony is our only option.”
From the conference room, where Keith has apparently resumed his presentations for the gathered shadows, Keith calls out: “SLIDE SIXTY-FIVE! ADAPTATION AS A STRENGTH!”
“Keith has opinions,” Rianne mutters.
“Keith has PowerPoints for all occasions.”
“We should make him Minister of Shadow Integration when this is over.”
“Bold of you to assume there will be an after.”
“Pessimist.”
“Realist.”
“Same thing sometimes,” she repeats, then looks at her increasingly transparent hand. “Though you might have a point.”
The lights flicker back on. In the sudden brightness, Rianne’s translucency is even more apparent—she’s like a person made of frosted glass, still solid but catching the light strangely.
“It’s accelerating,” I observe. “An hour ago, this was barely visible.”
“I know. I can feel it. Like I’m... lighter. Less here.” She flexes her fingers, watching the light pass through them. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Helpful.”
“We’re all going to become something else, aren’t we?” she asks quietly.
“It appears so.”
“Unless we complete the ceremony.”
“Unless we complete the ceremony,” I agree.
She takes my hand, and I can feel how cool she is now—almost matching my temperature. The barrier between us—between human warmth and Vetrfolk cold—is thinning along with everything else.
“Is this helping or hurting?” she asks. “For the ceremony, I mean. If I’m becoming more like you...”
“I don’t know. The Chronicle didn’t specify.”
“Of course it didn’t.”
“Then we better mean it tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Really mean it. Not for the town. Not to stop transformation. For us.”
“For us,” I agree, and realize I mean it completely.
Not much time now. Soon we’ll find out if meaning it is enough.
RIANNE
