"But you can’t go back there," Splice said, his voice low and serious. "It’s an active crime scene, under police surveillance and magical wards. If you’re sleepwalking past those protections… Goldie, it’s not safe. You could get hurt."
"Don't you see?" she protested, gesturing emphatically at the wall of clues as if it were a masterpiece. "That’s why I have to go! It’s so important that the building is willing to let me walk right into a police investigation to find it."
She paused, mind racing, then her face lit with sudden revelation, worry chased off by the spark of a new scheme. “And… Greymarket said I’d be safer if someone went with me.” Her gaze locked on Splice, fierce, almost triumphant. “I couldn’t figure out who it meant before. But it has to be you, right?”
Splice’s expression tightened, but Goldie’s brain was already off and running. Her solemn intensity melted into a grin that was pure, unadulterated trouble.
“Oh, here’s the brilliant part!” She bounced once on her toes, excitement fizzing in her chest. “If the cops show up, you can vouch for me. Just tell them I’m there at the Thornfather’s invitation. Since you’re his official proxy, and he technically owns the land now, boom! Not even a lie. I’d have legitimate permission to be there!”
As if on cue, the building gave what felt distinctly like an approving shimmer around them, the light in the room warming slightly, as if it, too, appreciated the logic of the plan.
Just then, Goldie’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. She glanced down and a snort of laughter escaped her.
Nell Townsend-Samora
Have you been asking the building yes/no questions again? Because the doors have been opening and shutting like crazy. Nothing on the right-hand one. So, yeses all around, but Golds, you’d better tell me EVERYTHING the next time I see you.
“What?” Splice asked, drawn in by her sudden shift in mood.
She looked up at him. “Apparently, our investigation is so riveting it’s causing interdimensional disturbances in Nell’s apartment.”
He was quiet for a moment, gaze lingering on the chaos of sticky notes that lined her wall. “If the Grove Core and Greymarket Towers both believe you need to be there, then you need to be there safely. I will go with you.”
Warmth swelled in her chest, so sudden and potent it stole her breath. “Thank you,” she managed, the words soft but sincere.
She turned back to their wall of evidence. The pieces were all there, a dangerous, thrilling puzzle. Then, a sudden spark of mischievous inspiration lit up her eyes. She spun around to face him, her energy crackling.
"You could come stay here and spend the night,” she exclaimed, the idea tumbling out before she could properly examine the words.
The silence that followed was thick with the weight of her impulsive, loaded, and entirely practical invitation.
A low, insistent thrum pulsed through Goldie's body. She immediately waved her hands frantically, as if to physically bat the idea away.
"No! Not… not like that," she blurted, her voice a little too loud, a little too bright. "I just meant for the... the investigation. We just... I..."
"I see," Splice said, his voice laced with a texture that sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
Goldie took a half-step back, running a hand through her hair in a gesture of pure nervous energy. She peeked up at him from beneath her copper lashes, her bravado faltering.
"You don't have to. It was a stupid idea. I just thought… it would be easier if you're already here when I start sleepwalking."
For a long, agonizing moment, Splice was silent. He closed his eyes, and Goldie could almost feel him weighing the implications. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and measured, each word chosen with deliberate care. "Very well. I will be your shadow."
A giddy wave of relief washed over Goldie, and she clapped her hands together. "This is going to be so fun! Okay, first things first. What snacks do you like?"
Splice’s expression became utterly stunned, as if she'd just switched from speaking English to reciting ancient, profane poetry. "I don’t require?—"
"Everyone requires snacks," Goldie interrupted firmly, adopting the faux-serious tone she used when explaining the Dewey Decimal System to particularly dense patrons. "It's, like, sleepover law. Non-negotiable. Do you like popcorn? I make excellent popcorn. What about classic horror films? Oh! And we should probably figure out sleeping arrangements. I don’t have a guest room, but my couch folds out, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.”
Splice was beginning to edge toward the door. "Perhaps I should just... stand guard outside your apartment? I don’t need much sleep."
"Oh, I didn't even think about that!” she exclaimed. “Do you go dormant? Photosynthesize? What happens?"
"I... sleep," he protested, though something in his voice suggested he wasn't entirely sure that was the right word. "There are long stretches of time when I simply... am not. I meditate. I exist in quiet spaces between moments."
Goldie could see him retreating, physically and emotionally, and preparing to flee to the hallway like some kind of handsome, overly polite security system.
"How about games?" she asked quickly, her voice a bright, frantic lure to pull him back before he could bolt entirely.
