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Cora smiled, her cheerfulness returning. “What kind of question is that?” she asked. “Do you honestly think we’re gonna leave without getting pie?”

“Well, no, but I’m being considerate. Maybe your feelings have changed.”

“Psh,” Cora said. They began to walk away from the board together. “My feelings on pie are unshakable, thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll never doubt you again.” Signy pressed closer to Cora as they walked, sliding her hand up Cora’s arm so as to hang softly on to it. God, she felt good. They weren’t doing anything other than walking around the stupid market and reading the stupid message board, and still, still, after all these years, Signy could be swept up in the urge to press close right now, as though Cora possessed some vital nutrient Signy would wither without. “Oh, and also,” she said, “I saw a notice from Jessie. They need to swap out their water tank, and that seemed like—”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Cora said. Favors involving a pair of hands and a toolbox were ones she frequently took on. “Did they say when?”

“No,” Signy said. “Just to contact them if you were interested.”

Cora didn’t say anything further. A few steps passed in silence.

“Sorry, would you rather not?” Signy asked. “I don’t care either way—”

“No, um—” Cora shut her eyes. “It’s not that. Ah, fuck.”

“What is it?”

Cora fell quiet again. She stopped walking. A tension appeared around the corners of her eyes and mouth—a wince, a bracing. Signy knew that look well, and with a sudden alertness, she likewise knew what was going to come next.

When Cora opened her eyes again, her pupils had dilated to almost twice their previous size. “I think I’m getting a headache,” she said.

Chapter 37 Signy, Fortune

Signy didn’t know what to do.

She could hear Cora crying behind the door of the shop’s bathroom. She heard other sounds, too—inaudible pleas, rapid breaths, panicked whimpers. A series of thumps, indicative of the back of a skull being hit against the wall.

No, not the wall. The door. Cora was leaning against the door, Signy was fairly sure.

“Cora?” Signy called softly. She knelt down and placed her palm flat against the door, as though she could reach through. “Please—please don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cora sobbed, her voice uncharacteristically brittle. “I’m so sorry. I took my meds. I did.”

Signy had never cared one way or the other about this door before, but right now, she hated it. She felt ready to smash it down with her bare hands. “I know you did,” she said. “This isn’t your fault.” The dosage must not have been right. Or maybe it was binding to the wrong thing in Cora’s system, or maybe it was a problem with the delivery agent, or—no, no, this wouldn’t help, not right now. Genetic templates and chemical profiles would wait until later. Right now, what Cora needed was . . . was . . .

Was what?

Cora moaned like she’d been kicked somewhere already bruised. When she spoke again, it wasn’t clear if she was talking to Signy or merely talking. “I don’t—I don’t want—”

“You don’t want what?” Signy asked, keeping her voice gentle.

“This,” Cora said. “I don’t want this. I don’t want it. I am tired, I am tired, I am tired of—no, fuck, no no no, that’s not me.” A frustrated sob left her. “That’s not me.”

Signy was keenly familiar with the feeling of wanting to help and not being able to. She felt that way a dozen times a day. Sick strangers, broken breathing masks, gray cheeks, vacant eyes. But this wasn’t a stranger. This was Cora. This was Cora, and Cora was suffering. Reading through the clinical description of her symptoms had done nothing to prepare Signy for this. The words severe sensory disorientation, cognitive impairment, and emotional distress did not grab Signy’s heart and twist the way the frightened mewling coming through the door did. She wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t a counselor. She wasn’t even particularly good with people, and yet, this person needed her, and what Signy needed in turn—needed so badly her chest wanted to buckle—was to chase this monster away.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and made her voice a beacon, clear and steady. “Cora, I need you to open the door.”

“No,” Cora sputtered. “No.”

“Yes. I need you to open the door, please.”

“You can’t see me like this.”

“Why not?”

A spate of sobbing was the only response.