Chapter Thirty-Eight:
Friday morning had barely found its footing.
Breakfast was done, the station was easing into its familiar rhythm, and Olivia had just settled behind the front desk—her desk—adjusting a stack of papers and sipping from a mug that had appeared sometime between bites of toast and conversation.
Then the world ended.
—or at least, that’s what it sounded like.
An earth-shattering ROAR tore through the parking lot outside, vibrating the glass in the lobby windows and rattling the old brass fixtures. Olivia’s ears snapped upright instantly, every instinct screaming attention! She whirled in her chair just in time to see a red-and-white blur streak past the front windows, impossibly fast.
The roar cut off abruptly.A sharp metallic clack followed.
Silence.
Olivia was already on her feet.
There—standing just outside the lobby doors like she’d personally bullied physics into submission—was a very familiar figure: bright red motorcycle leathers, lab coat flapping open over them, matching helmet tucked under one arm, tactical backpack slung casually over her shoulder as if she hadn’t just announced her arrival to half of Mercer County.
Lenny.
Olivia didn’t even think.
She vaulted the desk in one smooth, powerful motion, hit the manual latch, yanked the door open, and grabbed Lenny by the lapels of her lab coat, hauling her inside with zero regard for decorum, witnesses, or Newtonian mechanics.
“LENNY!”
She wrapped her arms around her with every ounce of strength she had, tail whipping behind her, spinning the startled doctor clean off her feet as she squealed the name over and over.
“LENNY LENNY LENNY—!”
Lenny let out a startled laugh that quickly turned breathless as she was lifted and spun.“Whoa—HEY—Jesus Christ, you got stronger—!”
Olivia just laughed, pure and unrestrained, burying her face against Lenny’s shoulder, breathing her in like she needed proof she was real.
“You’re here,” Olivia said, voice thick and disbelieving. “You’re here.”
Lenny wrapped her arms around her in return, hugging back just as tightly, grinning like she’d just won something very important.“Yeah, yeah,” she said fondly. “Miss me?”
Olivia pulled back just long enough to look at her—helmet, leathers, lab coat, stupid perfect smile—and then hugged her again even tighter, tail wagging hard enough it nearly knocked over a brochure stand.
Somewhere deeper in the station, Charles paused mid-step, sighed with deep, long-suffering affection, and muttered to no one in particular:
“Well. That answers that.”
Lenny took off her pack with a grunt, set it neatly beside the old couch in the lobby, and parked her helmet on top of it like a trophy. Then she dropped backward onto the couch in a sprawl that claimed the whole thing as hers, grabbed Olivia by the waist, and tugged her down effortlessly into her lap.
“So,” Lenny said, voice smug and satisfied, one arm loosely around Olivia’s middle, the other draped over the back of the couch, “you did miss me.”
Olivia made a small, utterly content sound as she settled across Lenny’s lap, tail curling automatically around the edge of the cushion. She tipped her head back to look up at her, ears relaxed, eyes bright.“Obviously,” she said. “You left me. Rude.”
Lenny laughed and brushed a thumb under Olivia’s chin. “Good. In that case, I can finally reclaim my lab coat.” She leaned in just a little, lowering her voice. “After we go up to your place… and I get my revenge.”
Olivia blinked up at her, putting on her very best wide-eyed innocence.“What do you mean?”
Lenny’s grin turned positively wicked.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “I brought some… toys. And I fully intend to boink you silly.”
Olivia’s ears flicked straight back in startled delight, tail giving one sharp, betrayed thump against the couch.“Len—!”
Lenny laughed again, delighted, and added, “Question is—do you think you can sweet-talk a couple of hours away from the front desk with the old man?”
As if summoned by name alone, Charles chose that exact moment to pass through the lobby, cane tapping lightly against the floor. He took in the scene in a single glance: Lenny lounging like she owned the place, Olivia sprawled across her lap looking far too pleased with herself, and a very familiar gleam of chaos in both their eyes.
He stopped. Adjusted his coat.
Then, calmly, without missing a beat, he said,“Olivia, my dear, if you intend to be otherwise occupied for the next few hours, I suggest you inform me now so I can reassign coverage.”
Olivia didn’t even try to get up. She just lifted her head, smiled sweetly, and said,“Charles… would you be terribly upset if I took the rest of the morning off?”
Charles considered this gravely for exactly half a second.
“Not at all,” he replied. “Doctor’s orders, I presume.”
Lenny saluted him lazily from the couch.“Strictly medical.”
Charles nodded. “Very good. Try not to break anything structural.” He paused, then added dryly, “And do remember—lunch is at noon.”
Olivia laughed, burying her face briefly against Lenny’s shoulder as Charles walked on, already muttering about paperwork.
Lenny leaned down, voice warm and teasing in Olivia’s ear.“See? Easy.”
Olivia smiled, utterly undone, and said,“Okay. But if you’re getting revenge, I get a rematch later.”
Lenny grinned.“Deal.”
Lunchtime arrived in a pleasantly domestic sort of chaos.
Charles was at the breakroom counter, sleeves rolled just so, laying out an impressive spread of cold cuts, cheeses, mustards, pickles, and bread with the quiet efficiency of someone who had been doing this for centuries and still took pride in it. Miss LaDonna moved around the table, setting places for four, adjusting a napkin here, a plate there, humming softly to herself.
That was when the door banged open.
Lenny and Olivia staggered in together like victorious survivors of some private, very athletic disaster.
Lenny was wrapped in a satin robe—emerald green this time, catching the light beautifully—hair a little wild, grin lazy and satisfied. Olivia, meanwhile, was wearing Lenny’s new lab coat, which on her taller, broader frame looked hilariously indecent: sleeves riding up her forearms, hem barely past mid-thigh, tail flicking out from underneath without the slightest apology.
Neither of them cared. Not even a little.
Miss LaDonna took one look at the pair, smiled without comment, and wordlessly handed each of them a bottle of water.
They both took it like it was a lifesaving artifact, twisting the caps and downing the contents in long, unbroken gulps. Olivia had just enough presence of mind to thump the empty bottle down on the table and exhale loudly.
Charles gestured with a knife toward the food.“Before either of you collapses outright, I suggest you eat.”
They did not argue.
Plates were filled. Sandwiches were constructed with less finesse than usual but enormous enthusiasm. Soon everyone was seated, the room settling into that comfortable post-chaos calm that felt uniquely like home.
Charles took a bite of his sandwich, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and then—without even looking up—said mildly,“So. How much is this little… checkup going to cost me, Doctor? I’m well aware I may need to invest in additional soundproofing upstairs.”
Lenny didn’t miss a beat. She chewed, swallowed, and shot him a wicked grin.“Patient’s fully recovered. No charge this time.” She leaned back in her chair slightly, eyes flicking to Olivia. “Though I’ll admit—I may have to try harder after lunch. If you can spare her a bit longer.”
Olivia immediately turned toward Charles and deployed the full force of the puppy-dog look: ears tilted just right, eyes wide and hopeful, tail giving the smallest, most treacherous wag.
Charles sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose.“Oh, this is entirely unfair,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Very well. I surrender.”
Olivia beamed—
—and yelped as Lenny did something under the table.
Miss LaDonna didn’t even look surprised. She raised her teacup, sipped calmly, and said with perfect composure,“Both of you. Hands above the table during lunch, please.”
Lenny laughed. Olivia flushed. Charles shook his head, smiling despite himself.
Conversation flowed easily after that.
Between bites, Olivia mentioned the shopping trip planned for tomorrow, glancing between Charles and Lenny.“I was wondering… if you wanted to come along? If that’s okay?”
Charles nodded immediately.“I see no objection.”
Lenny, however, grimaced apologetically.“Wish I could, gorgeous, but no. Jersey Devil’s still laid up with a sprained hoof. I’ve got to check on him tomorrow morning.”
Olivia’s ears dipped for just a moment—until Lenny leaned over and kissed her cheek.“But,” she added, voice dropping, “you’ve got me all night tonight.”
Olivia’s tail thumped once, decisively.
Miss LaDonna smiled into her tea. Charles took another bite of his sandwich.
And somewhere in the station, the weekend quietly prepared itself for chaos.
By six o’clock the lobby had settled into its familiar almost-showtime hum.
Olivia was back in her chair behind the front desk—her chair, her desk—hair still faintly damp, ears twitching now and then as sounds drifted in from distant hallways. She’d made a good-faith attempt at “proper attire”: a soft T-shirt, well-worn jeans, barefoot as usual. Lenny, for her part, had opted for motorcycle pants and a bustier, lab coat nowhere in sight, boots kicked off and tucked under the desk.
And Lenny was very comfortably lounging in Olivia’s lap.
It was the posture of someone who had decided, firmly, that this was now their seat for the evening. One arm looped loosely around Olivia’s neck, the other draped over the arm of the chair, chin resting against Olivia’s shoulder. Olivia had one hand at the desk, the other idly tracing circles at Lenny’s hip, both of them looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
They’d earned it.
The first Host arrived right on cue.
The lobby doors swung open and in strode Baron Morbid, lab coat visibly stained and singed, spiral-lens goggles gleaming under the lights, beard flying in several enthusiastic directions at once. Behind him came Jaque Straph, his assistant and co-host, dressed as ever like an unhinged French mime—striped shirt, suspenders, shocking red hair—dragging a wagon piled high with bubbling, sparking, questionably legal “scientific” equipment.
They stopped at the desk.
“Well now,” Baron Morbid boomed, peering over his goggles. “Look at you, Miss Olivia! Positively thriving. I always said proper alignment of body and soul improves conductivity.”
Jaque leaned in, nodding vigorously.“Oui, oui! Très radiant! Like a wolf-shaped sunrise, mon amie!”The accent was so aggressively fake it almost echoed.
Olivia laughed, tail flicking behind her chair. “Good to see you too, Baron. You’re in Studio D tonight. And—” she smiled sweetly, “—not Studio B.”
Baron Morbid froze for half a beat.
“…Of course not,” he said carefully. “Naturally. We all remember why.”
No one elaborated. No one ever did.
Jaque crossed himself theatrically. “Le Incident,” he whispered, in an accent that drifted wildly between Paris, Quebec, and somewhere near Jersey City.
Baron Morbid turned his attention to Lenny, visibly relieved to change subjects.“Ah! Doctor Myles. My thanks again for the courtesy call last week. Those residual humors were vicious.”
Lenny grinned, lifting her chin in greeting. “Anytime, Baron. Try not to electrocute yourself this weekend.”
They signed in, collected passes, and trundled off down the hall, Jaque’s wagon rattling behind them, humming something that might once have been the Marseillaise but had long since lost the plot.
And that set the rhythm of the evening.
Hosts arrived in ones and twos, sometimes threes. Compliments flowed freely—Olivia looked healthier, stronger, more herself. Several paused to greet Lenny warmly, swapping quick stories about injuries, ailments, strange diagnoses, and stranger recoveries. Olivia watched it all with growing amusement, occasionally pausing mid-kiss to hand over a studio assignment or point someone in the right direction.
Because yes—between check-ins, they absolutely made out.
Not subtly. Not discreetly. Just enough to make it clear that this was happening, it was mutual, and everyone could cope.
At one point, during a lull, Olivia tilted her head and murmured, “I didn’t realize you knew everyone.”
Lenny smirked. “Sweet cheeks, I’m the station’s doctor. Most of the Hosts have been on my exam table at least once. Some of them more than they’d like to admit.”
Olivia blinked. “All of them?”
“Well… not Rob and Catherine, obviously,” Lenny said easily. “And not Geoff Arbuckle.”
“The radio guy?” Olivia frowned. “Why not him?”
Lenny shifted in her lap, tone turning practical without losing warmth.“He’s Mundane. Anything beyond basic triage and first aid could kill him. Different physiology, different tolerances. I don’t mess with that.”
Olivia absorbed that, nodding slowly. “Huh. Good to know.”
Lenny kissed her jaw. “See? Educational and fun.”
By the time the last early arrivals had passed through and the lobby lights dimmed just a touch, Olivia felt it—that deep, contented sense of being exactly where she belonged, doing exactly what she was meant to do.
With the right person very firmly in her lap.
Saturday morning arrived the way Saturday mornings often did at the station—slowly, with the air of something that had watched far worse exhaustion and decided to be merciful.
Olivia and Lenny finally staggered into the breakroom somewhere between late and technically still morning, both of them moving with the careful precision of people whose bodies were functioning perfectly well but whose brains were still negotiating terms.
They made a beeline for the cooler first.
Two bottles of juice were grabbed, twisted open, and downed in near unison without a word spoken. Only after the bottles were empty did either of them breathe again.
Then came the buffet.
Weekend spread—hot trays, cold trays, things fried, things roasted, things that might once have been vegetables but had long since given up any moral high ground. Olivia loaded her plate like she was fueling for a marathon. Lenny matched her bite for bite, adding an extra slab of something smoked and redolent of pepper before nodding in satisfaction.
They carried their plates over to a table already occupied by several Hosts on break.
Not a single eyebrow lifted. Of the ones present, only two even had eyebrows, and neither bothered with them.
They sat.
They ate.
They ate voraciously.
Halfway through their second bottles of juice, Lenny paused, fished two small packets out of her pocket—vivid green, aggressively neon—and tore them open with her teeth. She dumped one packet into each bottle, capped them, and shook hard.
“Electrolytes and caffeine analogue,” she said casually, sliding Olivia’s bottle back to her. “We both need it after last night.”
Olivia snickered, taking a long pull. “And this morning.”
Lenny smirked. “And again before I leave.”
That earned a round of chuckles from the table.
Mistress Malicious leaned back in her chair, crimson nails tapping against her mug. “Doctor Myles, darling, you always did have excellent bedside manners.”
Lenny raised her bottle in salute. “I aim to please.”
Deadly, seated nearby, lifted his hands and signed something animatedly, jaw clacking as he went.
Lenny watched, nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that was a compound fracture. And no, you absolutely cannot just ‘walk it off’ when you don’t have muscles.”
Deadly gave a thumbs-up and mimed gratitude with exaggerated flourish.
Victor Von Psychotron, polishing his pinstripes with unnecessary precision, inclined his skull slightly. “You saved my voicebox once. Temporarily. It was… unpleasant.”
“You swallowed a cursed kazoo,” Lenny replied evenly. “I did what I could.”
“Still counts,” Victor said.
Bobby Gammonster chimed in next, nudging Boris the Buzzard aside to reach his coffee. “She patched me up after a stage collapse in ’92. Told me I’d be fine so long as I didn’t ‘try to be dramatic for a week.’”
Lenny snorted. “You tried to be dramatic that afternoon.”
Bobby shrugged. “I heal fast.”
Olivia listened, ears flicking, tail swaying gently behind her chair as story after story surfaced—burns, hex rashes, slipped dimensions, allergic reactions to otherworldly pollen. Even Baron Morbid, drifting past with a plate piled alarmingly high, paused to add, “Still owe her for the antigravity inversion incident.”
“That was your fault,” Lenny called after him. “I warned you about mixing reagents alphabetically.”
Miss LaDonna passed through briefly, setting down a fresh pot of tea with a knowing smile. “Good morning, children.”
“Mornin’,” Olivia and Lenny chorused, without looking up from their plates.
The room hummed with warmth and familiarity—the easy trust of people who had been cared for, mended, scolded, and stitched back together more times than they could count.
Olivia glanced around the table, then at Lenny, eyes soft. “You’ve really been part of this place forever, haven’t you.”
Lenny took another drink, gaze distant for just a second. “Long enough.”
Then she grinned, bumping Olivia’s knee with her own. “Eat up, Guardian. Big day. Big Bazaar. And I need you horizontal for at least a few more hours.”
Olivia laughed, raised her bottle, and drank.
Laughter and clinking cutlery filled the breakroom when a familiar presence passed the door.
Charles walked by once, unhurried as ever, glancing through the window at the crowded table—Olivia, Lenny, a scattering of Hosts mid-break, plates half-cleared, bottles sweating condensation.
He disappeared.
Then, a moment later, he reappeared—this time slowing, leaning slightly toward the window, silver-tipped cane resting lightly against the frame. He peered in with theatrical gravity, checked a watch that definitely did not obey any known laws of timekeeping, and spoke just loudly enough to carry.
“It is eight seventeen a.m.,” he announced pleasantly. “I trust we’ll be ready to leave for the Bazaar by ten?”
The room went quiet for exactly half a second.
Then—
“Shit!”
Lenny snapped upright so fast her chair skidded back an inch. “I have to see the Devil at ten!” She looked at Olivia, eyes wide and feral with urgency. “Come on, pup—wolf that food down and let’s get doggy-style! Time’s a wastin’!”
Olivia blinked once.
Then she grinned.
What followed was less “finishing breakfast” and more “competitive consumption.” Sandwich halves vanished. Juice bottles were drained. Someone—no one was sure who—cheered as Olivia cleared her plate in record time.
Lenny grabbed two extra bottles of juice on the fly, tossing one to Olivia without breaking stride. “Hydration,” she declared. “Non-negotiable.”
Charles watched the scramble with serene amusement, lifting his teacup in salute as the pair bolted for the door.
They ran.
Up the stairs, down the hall, laughing breathlessly, footsteps echoing as they disappeared toward Olivia’s apartment, the sound of joy and chaos trailing behind them.
Charles took another sip of tea, smiling to himself.
“Excellent,” he murmured. “Right on schedule.”
At 9:45 on the nose, the ladies came down the stairs to the lobby again.
Olivia and Lenny stepped inside together—clean, composed, and only slightly vibrating with residual energy. Both had clearly showered yet again; their hair and fur still carried that unmistakable fresh-steam scent that clung to tile and warm towels.
Lenny was fully geared now: red-and-black leathers zipped and buckled, her old lab coat back where it belonged, scuffed in familiar places, pack secured across her shoulders, helmet tucked under one arm like it was an extension of her body. She looked ready for speed, triage, and trouble in equal measure.
Olivia… well.
Olivia wore a newer pair of jeans that fit her perfectly now, tail slipping neatly through the tailored slit, and a soft tee that read, in bold cheerful letters:
VERY GOOD GIRL
Lenny noticed it immediately and snorted.“Oh that’s just rude,” she said. “You know I always lose underwear when I’m here, and you wear that?”
Olivia flicked an ear, grinning shamelessly.“Can’t help it if you’re yummy, Doctor.”
Lenny barked a laugh. “Next time I’ll just skip underwear entirely from the start.”
Olivia stopped walking.
Dead stop.
Her eyes went wide. Her ears snapped forward. Her tail began wagging so hard the lobby plants trembled, loose papers fluttering like startled birds. Somewhere in the building, a vent rattled in mild protest.
Lenny took three steps before realizing she’d lost her.
She turned.
Saw Olivia.
Paused.
Then leaned in, caught Olivia by the collar, and stole a quick, decisive kiss—warm, playful, grounding.
“I’m joking,” she said firmly.
Olivia blinked. “Oh.”
They resumed walking toward the doors.
Two steps later, as Lenny swung a leg over her bike and slid her helmet on, she glanced back over her shoulder. Just before snapping the visor shut, she added casually:
“…or am I?”
She winked.
The engine roared to life.
Moments later, Lenny was gone, tearing out of the parking lot at a speed that was not merely illegal but aspirational, the sound echoing off the trees and fading into the distance like a promise.
Olivia stood there for a moment, hugging herself, tail swishing slowly now, ears tilted toward the road long after the sound had vanished.
Then she exhaled, smiled to herself, and turned back toward the station.
Charles and Miss LaDonna would be waiting.
Sure enough, when Olivia stepped back into the lobby, tail still beating far too fast to be anything but radiantly healthy, they were waiting.
Charles stood near the doors, pocket watch open in one gloved hand, expression amused and perfectly composed. Miss LaDonna stood beside him, smiling broadly—and holding two messenger bags.
As Olivia approached, Miss LaDonna extended one toward her.
Olivia took it automatically, then really looked.
It was sturdy canvas, midnight blue, with rich leather reinforcing the bottom and corners. The stitching was immaculate. Across the flap, worked in fine silver thread, was her name:
Olivia Harrison – OtherWorlds TV
Olivia turned the bag over in her hands, fingers tracing the embroidery as if it might vanish if she didn’t keep touching it. Her throat tightened, eyes shining dangerously.
“It’s… beautiful,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
Miss LaDonna accepted the compliment with a warmer smile still.“Don’t thank me, dear. The laundry sprites thought you might need it today—just like mine.”
She lifted her own bag, sage green and equally well-made, embroidered with:
Miss LaDonna – OtherWorlds TV
“Of course,” she added lightly, “I did have a small hand in it. Making sure it would have plenty of room… and wouldn’t feel too heavy.” She winked.
Charles leaned in conspiratorially.“She won’t say it outright, but she did the stitching herself. And wove in a few charms besides. The bags hold quite a lot—and never weigh more than about twenty pounds when full. Also,” he added, glancing at Miss LaDonna, “only you can take things in or out of your own bag. Correct, my dear?”
Miss LaDonna actually blushed.“Well… yes. But I don’t care to brag.”
Charles chuckled and fumbled briefly inside his coat before producing a small leather pouch, soft with age, embossed with the OtherWorlds logo. He handed it to Olivia.
“Currency,” he said, “for most of the booths at the Bazaar. If you run low, simply tell me.”
Olivia opened the pouch and stared inside.
It was filled with… things.
Bits of metal worn smooth by time. Buttons of every imaginable size and color. Coils of wire in irregular lengths. Pieces of string, knotted along their lengths in intricate, purposeful patterns. Smooth shards of sea glass, glowing faintly in blues and greens.
She looked up, confused but intrigued.“Uh… how do I—”
Miss LaDonna gently laid a hand over Olivia’s.“When you negotiate a price, just pour some into your palm. The vendors will know what it’s worth.”
She smiled knowingly.“They won’t cheat you. In fact, they’ll make change if needed. Trust me, dear—nobody at the Bazaar cheats. The rules there are very… strict about such things.”
Charles snapped his pocket watch shut and slipped it away.“Well then,” he said pleasantly, “any questions before we go?”
The lobby felt very still.
Very expectant.
And very, very ready for a first trip beyond the mundane.
Olivia adjusted the strap of the messenger bag again, still faintly suspicious of how light it felt. Her tail slowed to an attentive, deliberate sway.
“Okay,” she said, drawing a breath. “I’ve learned when to ask the right questions. So let’s do this properly.”
Charles’s smile sharpened with approval. Miss LaDonna folded her hands, patient and attentive.
“First,” Olivia said, counting on her fingers, “what is the Bazaar? Not what it looks like. What it is.”
“A crossroads,” Charles replied at once. “Ancient. Neutral. Enforced neutrality. Trade, culture, favors, information. No conquest, no coercion, no violence.”
Miss LaDonna nodded. “It’s many things layered together. Market, meeting ground, resting place. Not a trap—but it will reflect what you bring into it.”
Olivia absorbed that, then continued. “Second. What can hurt me there?”
“Carelessness,” Miss LaDonna said calmly.“And forgetting yourself,” Charles added. “Or assuming everyone means harm—or kindness—in the same way you do.”
Olivia nodded slowly. “Third. If someone offers me something.”
Charles’s expression turned very precise.“Then you listen for the words.”
Miss LaDonna said them clearly, deliberately, as if engraving them into the air:
‘No strings attached. Freely offered, freely given.’
“If those words are not spoken,” she continued, “your answer is always, ‘Thank you kindly, but no.’ No explanations. No apologies.”
“And even if they are spoken,” Charles added, “you may still refuse. Consent is absolute.”
Olivia exhaled. “Good. I like rules that don’t wiggle.”
“Fourth,” she went on, “language. Am I going to be lost?”
“No,” Miss LaDonna said, smiling. “The Bazaar translates automatically. Meaning, intent, nuance. If you don’t understand someone, it’s because they are choosing to be unclear.”
“And that,” Charles said lightly, “is usually a sign to disengage.”
Olivia smirked. “Noted.”
She hesitated, then asked more quietly, “And if I get separated from you?”
“You stop,” Charles said immediately. “You stay where you are. You do not follow voices, lights, or helpful strangers.”
Miss LaDonna added, “And you trust your Marque. Warmth means no. Steady means safe.”
Olivia nodded. Then she straightened a little.
“…Your turn.”
Miss LaDonna’s gaze softened but stayed serious.“If someone makes you feel Seen—truly Seen—and asks something of you, will you pause before answering?”
“Yes,” Olivia said without hesitation.
Charles tilted his head.“If curiosity outweighs caution, will you say so instead of pretending you’re fine?”
“Yes.”
“And,” Miss LaDonna said gently, “if you feel overwhelmed, will you take our hands instead of trying to prove you belong?”
Olivia smiled, a real one.“I already belong. I won’t forget that.”
That settled it.
Charles slipped his pocket watch away and adjusted his coat.“Excellent. Then we’re on time.”
Miss LaDonna took Olivia’s hand, warm and steady.“Remember,” she said softly, “the Walk is part of the meeting. Pay attention.”
Charles turned, already heading toward a side hallway Olivia had sworn wasn’t there a moment ago. The air ahead of them felt… thinner. Not empty—expectant.
“Well then,” he said over his shoulder, voice bright with familiar mischief,“Shall we take a little walk?”
And together, at an unhurried pace, they stepped forward—not to the Bazaar, but into the way that leads there,the station quietly rearranging itself behind them,as if it had always known this was the path they would take.