From Fiction, voices rise in dramatic dialogue. Keith’s shadow converts have formed a book club and they’re reading my romance section aloud. One shadow has a laptop made of compressed darkness.
“‘His masculine presence filled the doorway like liquid smoke,’” one shadow intones. “‘Cassandra’s heaving bosom betrayed her desire—’ What’s a bosom?”
“Corporate terminology for chest,” Keith explains. “Very unprofessional in the workplace.”
Carl holds up a sign: “CARL FINDS THIS EDUCATIONAL.”
“Should we stop them?” Stenrik asks.
“Let them learn.” I manage to swallow the protein bar chunk. It goes down like gravel. “Besides, we need to practice.”
“Practice?”
“The ceremony. You said there’s an essence exchange thing?”
He shifts uncomfortably, and something flickers in his expression—nervousness mixed with something warmer. “Yes.”
“Which involves?”
“Full palm contact. Synchronized breathing. Maintained eye contact throughout.”
“Throughout what?”
“The entire final phase. Approximately ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes of staring into each other’s eyes?”
“While maintaining physical connection and breath synchronization, yes.”
I stand, brush cracker crumbs off my jeans. My hand is definitely more translucent now—I can see the circulation desk through it faintly. “Show me.”
“Now?”
“We have three hours until midnight. I’d rather not wing it again.”
He stands too, and in the space between the desk and the wall, we’re already too close. He has to look down. I have to crane my neck back. The height difference is ridiculous and shouldn’t be attractive but something about it makes my breath catch.
“Keith mentioned he remembers being human,” I say suddenly. “Vaguely.”
“Yes?”
“What if that’s what’s happening? What if we’re all becoming... something else? Like Keith chose corporate shadow, but we’re choosing something different?”
“That’s possible.”
“I can see through my hand, Stenrik.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not scared.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re here.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “Because whatever I’m becoming, you’re here for it.”
He reaches out slowly, takes my translucent hand in his solid one. “Show me the positioning,” I say. “The actual ceremony choreography.”
He moves behind me, and I feel the cold radiating from him before he even touches me. “We start like this. Back to chest.”
