Chapter 17: The Punishment Pact
The oceanids walked across the water, their forms shedding saltwater that fell not in drops, but in tiny, iridescent pearls that vanished before hitting the surface. Up close, the SS Bon Voyage was a cliff of white steel and lit windows, a floating island of noise and hubris. The anti-magic field was a palpable wall, a buzzing, staticky resistance that made their skin itch.
Europa, the younger, reached out a hand. Where her fingers met the field, blue-white sparks crackled, and a deep, resonant thrum vibrated through the ship’s hull, felt in the bones of every passenger.
“It is a cage,” she said, her voice like a tide pulling stones.
“A cage with a bird inside,” Calypso replied, her eyes fixed on a specific deck. “A red bird, singing. Can you not hear it?”
Europa listened. Through the static, she felt it—a pulse of chaotic, joyful, stubbornly human energy. Jan. “I hear it.”
Calypso placed her palm flat against the ship’s side, just below the waterline. “Then let us open the door.”
Inside, the vibration was felt as a sudden, profound shiver. Glasses rattled on shelves in the bars. Sleeping passengers stirred. In the infirmary, Hornpipe, trapped in his catatonia, twitched.
In Stacy’s suite, the floor pitched just enough to make Jan, who was gently disentangling herself from a now-sleeping Vivian, grab the headboard. “Whoa. Big wave.”
Fatima, standing watch by the door, felt it differently. It wasn’t a wave. It was a key turning in a vast, invisible lock. A pressure she hadn’t fully acknowledged—the dull, constant headache of the ship’s anti-magic field—lifted for a single, breathtaking second before slamming back down, slightly… altered.
“Something just changed,” she whispered.
Bethany, in the ruined control nexus with Liam, saw it on her scanner. The energy grid surrounding the ship flickered, a distortion wave passing through it. The sterile, grey suppression field shimmered with sudden, rainbow-edged flaws. “The field’s integrity is compromised,” she said, her voice tight with disbelief. “By what?”
Liam, who was trying to stack unconscious Consortium agents neatly against a wall, paused. “Something bigger than us, lass.”
The group began to disperse. Stacy insisted on escorting Rebecca and Charley back to their suite personally, her hand resting near her hidden pistol. Fatima helped a drowsy Vivian to her feet. “You’re coming with me,” Fatima said softly. “You need proper rest, and your security officer needs checking on.”
Vivian nodded, leaning heavily on her. “Dale. Is he…?”
“He’s fine. Bored and worried about you, I’d imagine.”
Mike, Casey, and the sleeping Rick, along with Molly and Ginny, headed for their own stateroom. As they walked, Casey looked at Mike. “Sleep-sleep?” she asked, hopeful.
Mike glanced at the baby in her arms, then at the weary but amused faces of Molly and Ginny. “We should probably… check on them. Make sure they’re okay. After the scare and all.”
Casey followed his gaze and smiled. “Right. Checking. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Mara and Zack peeled off toward their own room. The corridor was quiet now, the earlier chaos subdued. Once inside their immaculate navy-and-white stateroom, Zack closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long, shaky breath. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a guilty, jittery anxiety.
Mara went to the small, polished desk and poured two fingers of whiskey from a crystal decanter. She didn’t drink it; she just swirled the amber liquid, watching it catch the light from the porthole.
“Mara,” Zack began, his voice strained. “About earlier… I was invited to a stateroom and I...did things. With Ginny and Molly…”
Mara took a slow sip. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out. “I shouldn’t have… you were resting, recovering from that… that thing with the old lady, and I just… Ginny invited me, and Molly was there and Ginny and… fuck, I’m sorry. It was a dick move.”
Mara set her glass down with a precise click. She turned, her expression unreadable. She walked toward him, her heels silent on the plush carpet. “Let me get this straight,” she said, her voice low. “While I was lying in our bed, trying to piece my mind back together after a psychic entity the size of a planet had just brushed my consciousness, you were in a stateroom. Fucking Ginny. And Molly.”
Zack flushed, his eyes dropping. “Yes.”
“With Mike and Casey watching.”
His head snapped up, surprise overriding his shame. “How did you…?”
“Jan,” Mara said, a small, cold smile touching her lips. “She was here recovering next to me. She sensed the five of you in the same area fucking. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who you were with. She mentioned it was a lovely, group bonding experience.”
Zack stared, speechless.
Mara closed the distance between them. She reached up and slowly, deliberately, loosened his tie. “Being friends with Jan,” she said, her voice dropping to a purr, “means having some… flexibility. On this sort of thing.” She pulled the silk tie free from his collar. “I don’t really mind.”
Hope and confusion warred in Zack’s eyes. “You… don’t?”
“No.” Her smile turned wicked. “But you’re new to the group. You haven’t realized that yet.” In one swift, practiced motion, she grabbed his wrists, crossed them behind the bedpost’s ornate mahogany finial, and wrapped the tie around them, pulling it tight. “So I figure I can have some fun.”
Zack’s breath hitched. He tested the binding. It was secure, but not painful. His heart began to hammer against his ribs. “Mara…”
“Since you can’t keep your cock to yourself,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, “playing with Ginny and Molly again…” She stepped back and began to undress.
It wasn’t a striptease. It was a dismantling. Every movement was efficient, calculated. The click of her bracelet on the nightstand. The whisper of her silk blouse sliding over her shoulders. The precise fold of her trousers over the chair. She stood before him in just her black lace bra and panties, her body a study in lean, powerful lines. Her eyes never left his, watching the desire build in his face, in the blatant erection straining against the front of his suit pants.
She knelt before him. Her fingers worked his belt buckle, then his fly. She pulled his slacks and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, already fully hard, the tip flushed and leaking.
Mara didn’t take him in her mouth immediately. She leaned forward and blew a soft, cool stream of air across the sensitive head. Zack groaned, his hips jerking instinctively against his restraints. She smiled, a predator’s smile, and then her tongue darted out, a quick, wet flick along his length from base to tip.
“Fuck, Mara,” he gasped.
“Not yet,” she whispered. Then she took him into her mouth.
She was merciless. Her technique was flawless, a combination of deep, sucking pressure and sharp, flicking passes of her tongue over the most sensitive spots. She used her hand at the base, pumping in time with her bobs, her other hand cupping and rolling his balls. She pushed him to the edge again and again, feeling his thighs tremble, hearing his choked cries, and then she’d pull back, leaving him throbbing and empty, dripping onto his stomach.
“Please,” he begged, his voice ragged. “God, please, let me…”
She stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let you what?” she asked, her tone all professional curiosity. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties and slid them down, revealing a neat strip of dark hair. She was already wet, her folds glistening.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. She took his aching cock in her hand, guiding it to her entrance. She hovered there, letting the swollen head just barely part her lips, teasing them both.
“You don’t come until I say,” she ordered, her voice dropping to a low, commanding register that went straight to his gut.
Then she sank down onto him in one smooth, devastating motion.
Zack cried out, a raw, guttural sound. She was so tight, so impossibly hot and wet. She took him to the hilt, grinding against him, letting him feel every inch of her gripping him.
She began to ride him. There was no gentle build, no romantic rhythm. It was punishment. She rose up until only the tip remained inside, then slammed back down, her hips driving with a ruthless, piston-like force. The sound of their bodies meeting was loud, wet, and percussive. The bedframe knocked against the wall in a steady, frantic beat.
From the other side of the wall, a muffled cheer went up. Then another. The banging of a different headboard joined the rhythm, slightly out of sync.
Mara threw her head back and laughed, a wild, unrestrained sound. She kept her punishing pace, squeezing her internal muscles around him on every downstroke, milking him brutally. “I thought they wanted to go to sleep,” she gasped, her own breath coming in ragged pulls.
The noise from Mike and Casey’s room grew louder—Casey’s high-pitched cry of “Oh, god, right there!” followed by Mike’s low groan, perfectly audible through the bulkhead.
Mara fucked Zack harder, using the sounds as a metronome. Sweat slicked her skin. Her breasts bounced with each forceful impact. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, her face inches from his. “You see what you started?” she hissed, her eyes blazing. “This is your fault. You and your… your fucking generosity.”
He was lost, completely at her mercy, teetering on a precipice so acute it was agony. “Mara, I’m gonna… I can’t…”
“You can,” she snarled, driving down onto him with a particularly vicious snap of her hips. “You will. You belong to me. That cock is mine. Your come is mine. You don’t spill it unless I tell you to.” She slowed then, grinding against him in deep, torturous circles, making him whimper.
Suddenly, she stood up, pulling herself off him with a slick pop. His cock stood up, rigid and glistening with her wetness, aching desperately in the cool air. She flipped him onto his stomach, his wrists still tied to the bedpost. She didn’t bother untying him; she just maneuvered his hips up, presenting himself to her.
She spat into her hand, slicked him roughly, and then guided him back into her from behind. This angle was deeper, more invasive. She gripped his hips and began to fuck herself on him, her nails digging into his skin.
“Now,” she commanded, her voice cracking with her own approaching climax. “Now, Zack. Come for me. Fill me up.”
It was the permission he’d been dying for. With a shattered cry that was half-sob, he erupted inside her, his whole body convulsing as jet after jet of his release pumped into her clutching heat. The intensity triggered her own orgasm; she clenched around him, her inner muscles fluttering wildly, and let out a sharp, keening wail that was echoed by a similar cry from Casey through the wall.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the faint, happy squeak of bedsprings from next door.
Mara collapsed forward onto his sweaty back, her body trembling. Slowly, she reached up and undid the tie binding his wrists. He brought his arms down, groaning at the rush of blood back into his hands.
She rolled off him, lying beside him on the tangled sheets. They lay in silence, listening to the faint, post-coital murmurs from Mike and Casey’s room and the ever-present hum of the ship.
“So you’re really not mad?” Zack finally asked, his voice hoarse.
Mara turned her head to look at him. Her smirk was back, soft and sated now. “No. But I reserve the right to punish you for not asking first. And for being so damn good at it that Mike and Casey felt the need to give us a standing ovation through the wall.”
He laughed, pulling her into his arms. “Noted.”
Down in Vivian’s stateroom, Dale Foster was propped up in bed, looking pale but alert. The moment Vivian walked in, supported by Fatima, his worried expression softened into one of profound relief. “You’re okay,” he breathed.
Vivian managed a tired smile. “More or less.”
Fatima helped her to the bed, then checked Dale’s bandages with a clinical eye. “You’re healing well. The anti-magic field is weaker. I can feel it.”
“Weaker?” Vivian asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Something just… tweaked it,” Fatima said, frowning. “Like a key turned in a lock it wasn’t meant for.” She looked at Dale. “The Consortium tech in your system is inert. Permanently. You’re free of them.”
Dale took Vivian’s hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “Thank you,” he said to both women.
Fatima nodded. “Rest. Both of you. We have eleven more days of this voyage. Something tells me the quiet is over.”
As if on cue, the ship’s lights flickered. Not the emergency lights—the main ones. For three seconds, the entire vessel plunged into a darkness so absolute it felt like the void of space. Then they returned, steady and bright.
In the control nexus, Bethany’s scanner lit up like a Christmas tree. “The field,” she whispered to Liam. “It just recalibrated. It’s not weaker… it’s been changed. The suppression parameters are altered. It’s not blocking magic anymore. It’s… filtering it. Amplifying some frequencies, dampening others.”
“Is that good or bad?” Liam asked, eyeing the console warily.
Before Bethany could answer, the door to the corridor slid open silently. No one had touched the controls.
Two women stood there. They were soaking wet, seawater pooling at their feet on the linoleum, yet they gleamed as if lit from within. One had eyes the color of a tropical lagoon, the other the deep blue of a midnight sea. Their hair flowed like kelp, their skin shimmered with a pearlescent sheen.
Europa and Calypso stepped into the room, their gazes sweeping over the unconscious agents, the damaged equipment, and finally coming to rest on Bethany and Liam.
“You are the keepers of the brass and gears,” Calypso stated, her voice filling the room like the sigh of a wave retreating over pebbles.
Bethany, for once, was speechless. She slowly lowered her scanner.
Europa’s lagoon eyes fixed on Liam. “And you,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her tone. “You smell of turned earth and green things. You are not of the metal mind.”
Liam swallowed, his poet’s soul recognizing something ancient and vast staring back at him. “I’m… I’m a landscaper,” he said, utterly honestly.
A smile, slow and mysterious as a shipwreck revealed by a shifting tide, touched Europa’s lips. “Good,” she said. “The earth remembers what the metal forgets.”
Calypso turned her attention back to Bethany. “The cage around this iron island has been… adjusted. The red bird’s song is clearer now. We have come for the Anchor. Where is the spark? Where is Jan O’Connor?”
Where is Jan O’Connor?”
The question hung in the control nexus, not as a sound, but as a pressure change. Bethany blinked, her mind struggling to process the wet, gleaming presence of the oceanids. Their power was a tangible humidity in the air, tasting of salt and deep, cold places.
“She’s…” Bethany began, her voice surprisingly steady despite the circumstances, “…not here.”
“Her resonance is,” Calypso countered, her midnight eyes scanning the room as if reading invisible threads. “It lingers like perfume on a pillow. You have been near her. Recently.” Her gaze settled on the unconscious forms of Redmond and Ava. “You fought for her.”
Liam found his voice, his Scottish brogue warm against the oceanic chill of theirs. “Aye, we did. And we’d do it again. But she’s a friend, not a… a bird in a cage. Or a spark. She’s a person.”
Europa’s lagoon eyes softened slightly as she looked at him. “All living things are a spark. Some burn brighter. Some are anchors for other fires.” She stepped closer, her feet leaving damp prints on the linoleum. “The field around this vessel has been corrupted. We have tuned it to find what was hidden. The Anchor calls out now. It must be with her.”
“She doesn’t have any artifact,” Bethany insisted, her professional detachment returning as her Golden Wand training overrode her awe. “We’ve searched. The Consortium tore her suite apart. They found nothing.”
“Perhaps they searched for a physical object,” Europa murmured, almost to herself. “The Anchor is not a thing to be held. It is a state of being. A confluence.”
A loud, rhythmic thumping echoed through the wall from the crew quarters. It was unmistakably the sound of a headboard hitting a bulkhead with enthusiastic, human rhythm. Then, a woman’s voice—Mara’s—rose in a sharp, triumphant cry, followed by a lower, guttural groan of release.
Calypso’s brow arched. “The mortals on this vessel are… vigorous.”
Liam’s ears turned pink. “That’ll be Mike and Casey. Or… someone.”
The noise seemed to break the lingering tension. Europa smiled, a genuine expression that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Life persists. It is good.” She turned her attention fully to Bethany. “The metal-minded one. Your tools sing a song of clever gears. Can you pinpoint the locus of the greatest magical distortion aboard now? The epicenter of the… adjustment we made?”
Bethany, grateful for a concrete question, lifted her scanner. It whirred, its dials spinning. “The field is stable but altered. The epicenter of the recalibration…” She frowned, adjusting a brass knob. “It’s not a single point. It’s a… a pathway. It traces from the outer hull near the waterline, up through several decks, and… it terminates near the forward luxury staterooms. Suite… A-17.”
“Jan’s room,” Liam said.
Calypso was already moving toward the door. “Then we go to the source.”
Europa placed a hand on her sister’s arm. “Gently. We are guests here. We seek, not siege.”
“The child of the sea who summoned us is distressed,” Calypso said, her voice hardening. “His song is one of displacement and longing. We have listened for millennia. We do not have time for gentle.”
Meanwhile, in suite A-17, Jan O’Connor sat cross-legged on her bed, a green river stone held between her palms. Her eyes were closed. The familiar, comforting buzz of her own magic, usually a soft hum in her veins, was changing. It wasn’t the suppressed, muffled feeling of the Consortium’s anti-magic field. It felt… clean. Like a window had been thrown open in a stuffy room.
“The field,” she whispered, her eyes snapping open. “It’s different. Lighter.”
Stacy, who was polishing her 9mm on the desk, didn’t look up. “Different how? Less of a headache?”
“Less of a clamp,” Jan said, standing up. She paced, the puppy Godfrey trotting at her heels. “Before, it was like trying to shout through a wool blanket. Now it’s like… the wool’s been pulled away, but the air is thinner. More resonant.”
“Great.” Stacy reassembled her pistol with practiced, efficient clicks. “So the science club’s toys are on the fritz. I’m really starting to hate those guys, and I don’t even have any magic, just a gun and a body honed by years of physical fitness.” She slotted the magazine home with a definitive snap. “Makes me feel underdressed for the party.”
Jan wasn’t listening. She was staring at the door, her head tilted. “Someone’s coming.”
“Consortium?” Stacy was on her feet in an instant, gun held low at her side.
“No.” Jan’s expression was one of deep curiosity, not fear. “Something… older. Like the ocean taking a deep breath.”
A knock sounded at the door—three firm, measured raps.
Stacy moved first, gesturing for Jan to stay back. She peered through the peephole. Her posture didn’t relax; it shifted from combat-ready to bewildered. “It’s… Liam and Bethany. And two women who look like they just walked out of a really high-budget pirate movie. They’re soaked.”
“Let them in,” Jan said, her curiosity piqued.
Stacy opened the door. Liam and Bethany stood there, but their usual alertness was gone. Their faces held the same, placid, utterly content expression—a vacant smile, eyes slightly unfocused. Behind them stood Calypso and Europa, seawater still dripping from their hair and clothes onto the plush hallway carpet.
Jan’s smile faltered. “Liam? Bethany?”
They didn’t answer. They just stood there, blissfully dazed.
Stacy saw the blank happiness on her friends’ faces and reacted on instinct. She stepped in front of Jan, her free hand coming up. “What did you do to them?”
Calypso’s eyes flicked to Stacy. She didn’t speak. She merely waved a hand, fingers trailing a mist of salt spray.
Stacy’s aggressive stance melted. Her shoulders slumped. The fierce protectiveness in her eyes dissolved into a warm, sleepy contentment. A slow, goofy smile spread across her face. She lowered her gun, her gaze drifting to a fascinating spot on the ceiling. “Huh,” she murmured. “Pretty lights.”
“Stacy!” Jan cried, rushing forward. She grabbed her friend’s shoulders, but Stacy just leaned into the touch, humming tunelessly.
Jan whirled on the oceanids, her fear turning to anger. “What did you do to my friends?”
Europa’s voice was a calming tide. “Nothing that will cause them any damage. It is a simple pacification. A reflection of the peace found in the deep, silent waters. They will snap out of their stupor just fine once you hand over the Cosmological Anchor.”
Jan’s anger was replaced by pure, bewildered frustration. “I have no idea what that is!”
The two oceanids exchanged a long, silent look. Their communication was wordless, a raising of brows, a slight tilt of the head. Calypso’s expression hardened. “The signature is strongest here, in this room, centered on you. You are either lying or profoundly ignorant of your own nature.”
“I swear I’m not lying!” Jan insisted, her voice rising. “I’m Jan O’Connor! I’m a Green Moon initiate! I make people horny and happy! I don’t have any anchors!”
A low growl sounded from under the bed. Godfrey the puppy waddled out, his golden fur standing on end. He planted himself between Jan and the oceanids, his tiny body vibrating with a fierce, protective energy. He barked, a sharp, defiant sound.
Calypso looked down at the puppy, faintly amused. She waved her hand again, the same gentle, pacifying gesture she’d used on the humans.
Nothing happened.
Godfrey barked again, louder.
Calypso’s amusement vanished. She frowned, concentrating. A more visible pulse of energy, like a ripple of distorted air, flowed from her fingertips towards the dog.
Godfrey yawned.
His utter, complete immunity to the enchantment shocked both sisters. Their perfect, otherworldly composure cracked for a single, crucial second. Their heads tilted in unison, identical expressions of profound confusion on their faces.
It was all the opening Jan needed.
In one fluid motion, she scooped Godfrey up, tucked him under her arm like a furry football, and bolted. She didn’t head for the balcony or the bathroom. She just ran straight between the two stunned oceanids, down the hallway outside her stateroom door.
The sudden movement seemed to stir something in Bethany. Her eyes, glazed with oceanic peace, flickered. A golden light, faint but stubborn, sparked behind her pupils—her Golden Wand magic, embedded in the tech of her sunglasses and her tools, fighting the foreign enchantment. “Where…” she mumbled, her voice thick, “where does she expect to go on a ship in the middle of the ocean?”
Calypso’s confusion solidified into sleek, ancient anger. Her form seemed to grow taller, the shadows in the hallway deepening around her. “It does not matter. The Anchor cannot flee itself.” She turned to follow.
Europa laid a restraining hand on her sister’s arm. “Wait. She seemed sincere in her ignorance. There must be an explanation. The human did not smell of deception.”
“The reason is irrelevant,” Calypso said, pulling her arm free. Her voice was the sound of ice cracking on a frozen sea. “The child’s song grows fainter. We must retrieve the Anchor to trace his frequency. The human girl is the key, willing or not.” With a swirl of her damp, ethereal gown, she strode off down the hallway after Jan, her movements suddenly swift and soundless.
Europa watched her go, then turned back to the three dazed humans in the stateroom doorway. She sighed, a sound like a gentle wave receding. Her conscience, a rare and weathered thing among beings of her power, twinged. Bethany’s internal light continued to flicker, fighting the pacifying magic. Europa did not reinforce the spell. She observed, curious. Her older sister had indeed grown peremptory over the eons.
“You,” Europa said softly to Bethany, her voice now devoid of compelling power, merely ancient and kind. “Your metal heart is strong. It will clear the water from your mind soon.”
She then stepped into Jan’s stateroom, letting the door sigh shut behind her. She would wait. Jan would have to circle back eventually. They were, after all, in the middle of the ocean.
Down the hall, in the quieting aftermath of their own storm, Mara lay draped across Zack’s chest, listening to the slowing thunder of his heartbeat. The headboard from next door had finally fallen silent.
“Think they’re done?” Zack mumbled into her hair.
“Or unconscious,” Mara replied, a lazy smirk in her voice. She traced a finger through the sweat on his collarbone. “My money’s on done. Mike has the stamina of a particularly determined jackrabbit, but even jackrabbits need to breathe.”
Zack’s laugh vibrated through her. He shifted, rolling so she was beneath him, his weight a comfortable and familiar pressure. The urgency from before was gone, replaced by a deep, satiated warmth. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the line of her jaw.
“You,” he said between kisses, “are terrifying.”
“Good,” she whispered, arching into him as his mouth found a sensitive spot just below her ear.
His hand slid down her flank, over the curve of her hip, and slipped between her thighs. She was still slick from their earlier fucking, and his fingers slipped inside her easily. She gasped, her hips lifting off the mattress.
“You’re still so wet,” he murmured, his voice husky with renewed desire. He added a second finger, curling them just right, his thumb finding her clit in slow, deliberate circles.
“You… made a mess,” she managed to say, her breath hitching as his fingers worked her. “All that… come. Inside me.”
“I did,” he agreed, watching her face. He increased the pressure of his thumb, his fingers pumping in a steady, deepening rhythm. “And you’re still clenching around my fingers like you want more. Greedy.”
She couldn’t argue. Her body was lighting up again, a slower, deeper burn this time. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his cock. It was already hardening again, thick and hot in her grasp. She pumped him slowly, spreading the residue of their previous joining.
“Want it again?” he asked, his breath hot against her lips.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Now. Don’t be gentle.”
He needed no further encouragement. He shifted, positioning himself at her entrance. He pushed in, not with the brutal force she had used earlier, but with a deep, undeniable possession that stole the air from her lungs. He filled her completely, a perfect, stretching fullness.
He set a pace that was relentless but measured, each thrust grinding against that spot inside her that made her see stars. He fucked her with a focused intensity, his eyes locked on hers. The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, their joined breathing, and the soft, wet noise of his cock plunging into her well-used pussy.
“You feel incredible,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck. “So fucking tight. Even now.”
“It’s yours,” she gasped, her legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper. “All yours. Only yours.”
Her words pushed him over the edge. His rhythm faltered, grew jerky. With a deep, shuddering groan, he came inside her again, his release hot and pulse after pulse. The feel of it triggered her own climax, a rolling wave that started deep in her core and radiated outwards, leaving her trembling and breathless.
He collapsed atop her, spent. They lay tangled together, a sticky, satisfied heap.
A sudden, frantic pounding shook their door, followed by Jan’s voice, high-pitched and urgent. “Mara! Zack! Open up! I need to hide!”
Mara and Zack stared at each other, the afterglow evaporating. From the hallway, they could hear other footsteps—slower, measured, and dripping wet.