Chapter 6: Strip Dungeons & Dragons
The observation lounge celebration was brief. The jar sat on a low table, a conversation piece that made the air hum faintly. After one round of drinks from the honor bar, paid for by Liam with a grumble about “post-combat morale,” the group dispersed, buoyed by success but worn thin by the emotional expenditure.
Mara took Zack’s hand. “Our room. Now. I need to not think for several hours.”
Jan, buzzing with residual energy, caught Stacy’s eye. “We should… decompress.”
Stacy nodded, hefting the drowsy Rick. “I’ll get the munchkin settled with his parents first.”
Mike and Casey’s stateroom was a nest of cheerful chaos. A half-finished sketch of the ship’s funnel was taped to a wall, colored pencils scattered across the desk. Baby supplies covered every surface in organized piles. Polluck was a loaf of battle-scarred fur atop the wardrobe, one eye open.
“Here you go, Papa,” Stacy said, gently transferring Rick into Mike’s waiting arms. The baby sighed, rooting sleepily against his father’s chest.
“Thanks, Coach,” Casey said, kicking a pair of her own jeans aside. She was already in a large t-shirt and, as per her vacation policy, nothing else. “For everything.”
“Anytime.” Stacy lingered for a second, her eyes soft as she watched Mike adjust the blanket around his son. A complicated future-sentiment tightened her throat. She cleared it. “Get some rest. Big day of doing nothing tomorrow.”
“God, I hope so,” Mike said, his goofy grin genuine.
Once Stacy left, the quiet of the room settled around them. It was a different quiet than the lounge—private, intimate, charged with the unspent energy from being the “anchor” of the ritual. They had been the calm center, and now, alone, that calm began to crackle.
Casey watched Mike sway gently with their son. The simple domesticity of it, set against the insanity of their evening, made her heart ache with a fierce, protective love. And something else. A deep, physical pull.
“He’s out,” Mike whispered after a few minutes, carefully laying Rick in the bassinet near the bed. He turned, and his eyes found Casey’s. The look there wasn’t just tired affection. It was a banked heat, reigniting.
They didn’t speak. They’d been together long enough, been through enough Jan-induced weirdness, that words often got in the way. Casey pulled her t-shirt over her head in one smooth motion and tossed it on the dresser. The cool air kissed her skin, tightening her nipples. She’d never gotten back into underwear after feeding Rick earlier.
Mike’s breath caught. Even after everything, after seeing her body change with pregnancy, after birth, the sight of her still stole the air from his lungs. She was all strong lines and soft curves, a confident, creative force made flesh. He shucked off his own shirt and fumbled with his belt.
“Let me,” Casey murmured, closing the distance. Her fingers were deft, undoing his pants, pushing them and his boxers down his hips. His cock sprang free, already thick and hard. She wrapped her hand around him, feeling the jump of his pulse under her palm. “You’re already so ready for me.”
“Always,” he breathed, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She arched into the touch, a soft sigh escaping her.
She guided him backward until his knees hit the bed. He sat, and she followed him down, straddling his lap, not yet taking him inside. They kissed, deep and slow, a rediscovery. Her hands were in his shaggy hair; his slid down her back to grasp her ass, pulling her tighter against his erection. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against her wet folds, sending sparks through her.
“Mike,” she whispered against his mouth. “I need you.”
“I’m here.” His voice was ragged. He reached between them, positioning himself. “I’m always here.”
She sank down onto him, and they both groaned into the kiss. It was a perfect, slow, stretching fit. He filled her utterly, the sensation so familiar and yet forever new. She began to move, a rolling, grinding rhythm that had her clit rubbing against him with every rise and fall.
His mouth left hers, trailing down her neck, licking, sucking at the sensitive skin over her collarbone. One hand stayed on her hip, guiding her, the other slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit as she rode him. The dual stimulation—the deep, fullness inside and the precise, circling pressure outside—made her vision blur.
“Oh, fuck, right there,” she gasped, her rhythm becoming less controlled, more desperate. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he grunted, his own hips meeting her upward thrusts. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths.
She was close, teetering on the edge. The stress of the night, the primal joy of trapping the Entity, the overwhelming love for the man inside her—it all coalesced into a tightening coil in her belly. “Mike, I’m gonna…”
“Come for me, Case,” he urged, his voice thick. “Let me feel you.”
It crashed over her, a wave of pure, blinding pleasure. Her inner muscles clenched around his cock in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses. She cried out, her head falling back, her body bowing. The intensity seemed to go on and on, wringing every drop of sensation from her.
Her climax triggered his. With a groan that was half her name, half a prayer, he erupted inside her. Hot jets of cum flooded her depths, each pulse milking another aftershock from her own orgasm. She collapsed forward against him, her face buried in his shoulder, both of them slick with sweat, trembling.
They stayed like that, joined, breathing each other in, until their heartbeats slowed.
In the quiet, a different sound emerged. A faint, rhythmic thump-thump-thump against their door.
Mike and Casey exchanged a look. Polluck lifted his head from the wardrobe, his ears twitching.
“I swear to God, if that’s Jan with another goddamn…” Casey muttered, carefully disentangling herself. She grabbed Mike’s discarded shirt and pulled it on, leaving it unbuttoned. Mike pulled on his boxers and pants, leaving them undone.
He opened the door.
Jan stood there, vibrating with manic energy. Stacy was behind her, looking resigned. Godfrey sat at Jan’s feet, a velvet bag clutched in his mouth.
“You guys are done, right?” Jan chirped, peering past Mike into the room. “Good. We’re playing a game. Everyone’s meeting in my and Stacy’s room. It’s bigger.”
Casey sighed. “Jan, it’s late. We just trapped an inter-dimensional emotion vampire. Can’t the game wait?”
“Strip Dungeons & Dragons cannot wait!” Jan declared, snatching the bag from Godfrey. “It’s a tradition! And we just won! We need to celebrate properly!”
Mike looked at Casey. Casey rolled her eyes, but a small, amused smile played on her lips. This was the price of Jan’s friendship. The chaos never stopped; it just changed channels. “Fine,” she said. “Give us five minutes.”
Jan and Stacy’s room was, as promised, larger. It was also a disaster area of Bohemian thrift store chic. Colorful scarves were draped over lamps, casting patterned shadows. Incense that smelled of patchouli and something spicier smoldered in a seashell. The large bed was already occupied.
Mara sat propped against the headboard, wearing silk pajama shorts and a tank top, her reading glasses on. She was examining the single crimson rose that had been left on her pillow upon their return. “No card. Just… this.” She held it up. The petals did have an unnatural, waxy sheen.
Zack sat beside her, looking adoring and a bit shell-shocked.
Liam and Bethany were on a loveseat, Bethany in a polka-dot slip dress, Liam in a worn band t-shirt. Hank and Fatima occupied chairs dragged from the desk; Fatima was already looking skeptical, her arms crossed. Molly and Ginny were on the floor, leaning against each other. Rebecca and Charley stood near the door, holding hands.
“We’re just here to say goodnight,” Rebecca said softly. “This game sounds… a little silly for us.”
“Oh, come on, Teach!” Jan cajoled. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Her sense of adventure is respecting her first-trimester fatigue,” Charley said, his arm slipping around Rebecca’s waist. His tone was pleasant, but it held a firmness that was new. “We’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Once they left, Jan plopped onto the center of the bed and upended the velvet bag. A set of ornate, oddly carved dice clattered onto the duvet. “Okay! Rules are simple. We do a quick, stupid one-shot. I’m Dungeon Master. You roll for actions. Natural 1, you lose an article of clothing. Natural 20…” She grinned wickedly. “You get to choose someone else to lose one.”
Mara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jan, this is infantile.”
“It’s celebratory!” Jan argued. “And my magic is barely involved. Just a little… atmospheric enhancement. To keep things interesting.” A subtle, familiar warmth began to permeate the room, not a compulsion, but an amplification of existing sparks, a lowering of thresholds.
Fatima sighed. “Ya Allah. This is not in any of the texts.”
“Live a little, Fati,” Hank said, nudging her with his elbow.
“I will live by studying precedent and theory, not by removing my clothing because a many-sided die tells me to.”
“We’ll start simple!” Jan announced, ignoring her. “You’re all adventurers hired to clear a goblin-infested tavern. First encounter! Casey, you’re on point. Roll for stealth.”
Casey, now wearing one of Mike’s t-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts, picked up the twenty-sided die. She gave it a dramatic blow and rolled it across the bed.
It tumbled to a stop.
Natural 20.
The room erupted in whoops. Jan cackled. “Holy shit! Okay! The goblin doesn’t see you! You get a free action. And you get to choose who fails their save so spectacularly they have to strip!”
A slow, snarky smile spread across Casey’s face. She looked at Mike. “I choose my husband. He never saw me coming.”
Mike’s eyes went wide. “What? I didn’t even do anything!”
“Constitution save against the distracting power of my awesome stealth!” Jan declared. “Roll, Mike!”
Mike picked up the die. The ambient magic in the room, focused by Jan’s will, curled around his fingers. He felt a sudden, intense wave of arousal, laser-focused on Casey—the memory of her riding him minutes before, the smell of her on his shirt she wore. He rolled.
The die showed a 1.
“Fail!” Jan crowed. “Pants off, Williamson!”
Mike groaned, but he was already painfully hard again, his cock tenting the front of his undone pants. He stood up and shoved them and his boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His erection sprang free, thick and bobbing.
Molly let out a low whistle. Ginny smirked. Zack stared, then quickly looked at Mara, who raised an eyebrow at him.
“The game continues!” Jan said, her eyes sparkling. “The goblin turns around! Mara, your turn—roll for initiative!”
Mara, with the air of a surgeon picking up a scalpel, picked up the die. “This is statistically ridiculous.” She rolled.
A 5.
“The goblin slashes at you with a rusty dagger! Dexterity save to avoid!”
Mara rolled again. A 3. She closed her eyes. “For God’s sake.”
“Shirt off, Counselor!” Jan sing-songed.
With deliberate, unhurried motions, Mara reached back, unclasped her bra through her tank top, slipped it out one sleeve, and then pulled the tank top over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her breasts were full, her posture defiant. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Jan beamed. “Zack, you see your companion wounded! Roll for… ah… aggressive negotiation!”
Zack, mesmerized by the sight of Mara topless, fumbled for the die. He rolled a 12.
“A solid hit! The goblin is stunned. As a reward…” Jan’s magic pulsed, a gentle nudge. “You feel a sudden rush of commendation. Lose the pants.”
Blushing furiously, Zack stood and removed his jeans, leaving him in just his t-shirt and boxer briefs, which did little to hide his obvious reaction.
The game devolved rapidly from there. Liam rolled a 20 and, with a poetic flourish, commanded Bethany to remove her dress, leaving her in vintage lace underwear. Hank rolled a 1 and lost his shirt, revealing a mechanic’s sturdy build. When Fatima rolled a 2 on a perception check, she scowled, muttered something fiery in Arabic, and unbuttoned her blouse with stiff fingers, leaving her in a dark, practical bra.
Jan’s magic wove through it all, not forcing desire, but stoking it, blending the silly fun of the game with the raw, exposed intimacy in the room. The air grew thick with the scent of skin, perfume, and arousal.
It was Molly’s turn. “I attempt to… seduce the goblin chief!” she announced in her best bimbo voice.
“Roll for persuasion!” Jan cried.
Molly rolled. Another natural 20.
The room cheered. “Oh, that’s a critical seduction!” Jan howled with laughter. “Okay, Ginny! You’re playing the goblin chief’s jealous consort. Wisdom save against Molly’s dazzling… charms!”
Ginny picked up the die, a sly look in her eye. She made a show of rolling it. It clattered, spun, and settled.
A 1.
“Yes!” Molly squealed. “Consort is overwhelmed with jealous lust! Everything off, right now!”
Ginny, playing her part, stood up with a put-upon sigh. But her eyes were locked on Molly’s. She peeled off her shirt, unsnapped her bra, shimmied out of her shorts and panties, and stood naked in the middle of the room, her body willowy and pale in the lamplight. “Satisfied?”
“Getting there,” Molly purred, crawling across the bed toward her. The game forgotten, Molly pulled Ginny down onto the floor beside the bed, their mouths meeting in a hungry kiss. Hands roamed, Molly’s shirt joining Ginny’s pile on the carpet.
The sight was the final catalyst. The thin veneer of the game dissolved.
Hank watched Fatima, who was watching the two women with scholarly intensity that was cracking into something hotter. “Hey, Fati,” he said softly.
She turned to him. “Do not say what you are about to say.”
“I’m just thinking. Your shirt’s already off. Seems a shame to let that research go to waste.”
She stared at him, then at the room—the naked, the half-naked, the aroused. The intellectual part of her brain calculated probabilities, social dynamics, magical feedback loops. The rest of her just saw Hank, her idiot, her love. “Khalas,” she muttered, finally. Enough. She stood, took his hand, and pulled him toward the relative privacy of the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.
Liam was already kissing a trail down Bethany’s stomach, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear. Bethany’s head fell back, her hands in his hair, her earlier cool replaced by hungry need.
Mike and Casey were kissing again, deeper now, Mike’s hands under the t-shirt she wore. She broke the kiss, panting. “Bed. Now.”
They moved to an empty space on the large bed, a tangle of limbs, Mike’s mouth closing over her nipple, Casey’s hand guiding him back inside her with a gasp of perfect relief.
Zack looked at Mara, his eyes pleading. “Mara…”
Mara surveyed the room. Jan was watching it all unfold with a delighted, goddess-like smile, petting Godfrey. Stacy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a small, fond smirk on her face as she observed the ecosystem she protected.
Mara’s analytical mind categorized it: consensual, safe (magically and physically), a logical release of tension following a high-stakes operation. Her body, however, had a far simpler report: she was wet, she was wanted, and the sight of her brilliant, clumsy Zack aching for her was intensely satisfying.
“Close the privacy curtain,” Mara commanded, nodding toward the room’s divider. Zack scrambled to pull it, creating a semi-private alcove with their corner of the bed.
Once it was drawn, Mara pushed him down onto the mattress. She stripped off her pajama shorts, kicked them aside, and straddled his hips. She didn’t bother with his boxers, just tugged the front down enough to free his hard cock. She positioned herself, and sank down in one smooth, relentless stroke, taking him to the hilt.
Zack cried out, his hands flying to her hips. “Oh, god, Mara…”
“Quiet,” she ordered, but her voice was breathless. She began to move, a powerful, driving rhythm, her inner muscles clamping around him with each downward plunge. Her breasts swayed, her head tilted back. This was control, this was hers. The raw carnality of the others in the room, the sounds of flesh and moans, only fueled her pace. She rode him like she argued a case—with absolute focus and devastating force.
She rode him like she argued a case—with absolute focus and devastating force. Her hips pistoned, each snap of her pelvis a closing argument, each gasp from her lips a verdict delivered. Zack could only watch, enthralled, as she fucked him with a ruthless, beautiful precision. “You’re mine,” she panted, not a question but a declaration, her nails digging into his chest. He could only nod, a strangled sound of agreement catching in his throat as she drove him toward a blinding, inevitable finish.
Across the privacy curtain, the room was a symphony of unrestrained need. Liam had Bethany bent over the arm of the loveseat, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her from behind. Her pink-spiked hair was a mess, her cheek pressed against the velvet, her moans swallowed by the cushion. “Harder,” she demanded, her voice ragged, and he obliged, the sound of skin on skin a sharp, wet counterpoint to their breathing.
On the floor, Molly had Ginny pinned, her mouth latched onto Ginny’s breast, her fingers working between Ginny’s legs with practiced intensity. Ginny’s back arched, a string of filthy, praising curses spilling from her lips as Molly drove her over the edge again and again. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop,” Ginny begged, her hands fisted in Molly’s blonde hair.
From behind the bathroom door, the sharp, rhythmic slap of flesh echoed, punctuated by Fatima’s muffled, Arabic expletives and Hank’s guttural grunts. The door vibrated slightly with their movement.
In the center of the bed, Mike and Casey moved together in a slow, deep rhythm, a stark contrast to the frenzy around them. They were face to face, his forehead against hers, their shared breaths hot. Every time he pushed into her, she let out a soft, shattered sigh. “Right there,” she whispered, her legs locked around his back. “God, Mike, right there.” His response was to kiss her, swallowing her cries, his own release building in a steady, mounting pressure.
Through it all, Jan sat cross-legged near the foot of the bed, Godfrey curled asleep by her knee. She watched the tapestry of pleasure she’d helped weave, her smile beatific. Stacy, still leaning against the wall, caught her eye. The fitness instructor’s smirk was one of cocky bemusement, her arms folded over her sports bra-clad chest.
“Hey, Red,” Stacy said, her voice cutting easily through the noise. “You know any games that don’t involve stripping?”
Jan’s laugh was a bright, delighted sound. “I don’t know of any fun ones that don’t,” she chirped, shrugging.
Stacy pushed off the wall and sauntered over to the bed. She scooped up the abandoned twenty-sided die from the duvet. She held Jan’s gaze, her dark eyes glinting. “It’s all in the wrist,” she said, and gave the die a casual flick.
It tumbled once, twice, and settled.
Natural 20.
Jan’s eyebrows shot up. “Were they rigged?” Stacy asked, her smirk deepening.
“Only by destiny,” Jan replied, her grin turning wicked.
“My win, my rules,” Stacy stated. She placed a foot on the bed, starting to peel off her leggings. “I pick you. Strip. Now.” She shimmied out of her pants, then pulled her sports bra over her head, standing naked and unselfconscious in the lamplight. “Then you’ve got a choice. Make love to me. Or invite yourself in with one of them.” She gestured with her chin toward the other couples. “We both know no one’s turning you out right now if you ask.”
Godfrey, disturbed by the movement, let out a soft huff and rolled over, trying to resume his nap.
Jan laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. She watched as Stacy finished undressing, appreciating the powerful lines of her oldest friend’s body—the defined abs, the strong shoulders, the casual confidence in her stance. Jan stood up and began removing her own eclectic layers: the scarves, the embroidered vest, the loose linen shirt, the patterned leggings. Soon she was as naked as Stacy, her fiery hair a shocking contrast against her pale, freckled skin.
“My choice, huh?” Jan said, her gaze sweeping the room. Mara was shuddering through her climax atop Zack, her cries sharp and triumphant. Liam was spilling into Bethany with a ragged shout. The bathroom door was silent now, Hank and Fatima spent.
Her eyes landed on Mike and Casey. They were close, so close, their rhythm starting to fracture. Casey’s eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent plea. Mike’s movements were becoming jerky, desperate.
Jan made her choice.
She moved to them, placing a gentle hand on Mike’s sweat-slicked back. He flinched, then opened his eyes, finding hers. There was no surprise, only a dazed, welcoming warmth. “Room for one more?” Jan whispered.
Casey’s eyes fluttered open. She looked from Jan’s face to Stacy, who had followed and now stood watching with an arched brow. A slow, wicked smile spread across Casey’s lips. “Always,” she breathed.
Jan leaned down and kissed Casey, deep and exploratory. Casey responded immediately, her tongue tangling with Jan’s, her hands coming up to tangle in Jan’s red hair. Breaking the kiss, Jan trailed her mouth down Casey’s neck, then lower, taking one of Casey’s nipples into her mouth, sucking hard.
Mike watched, transfixed, the sight pushing him even closer to the edge. Jan’s hand snaked between their bodies, her fingers finding Casey’s clit, rubbing in tight, rapid circles just as Mike thrust deep.
Casey shattered. Her body seized, her cry muffled against Jan’s shoulder, her internal muscles clamping down on Mike in a vice-like pulsation. That was all it took. With a choked groan, Mike came, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside her.
Jan didn’t stop. As they rode out their climax, she slid down Casey’s body, pushing Mike’s softening cock aside with a gentle nudge. She buried her face between Casey’s thighs, her tongue laving through the mess of their combined release. Casey, oversensitive and shuddering, gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets. “Jan, oh fuck, yes…”
Stacy watched for a moment longer, then crawled onto the bed behind Jan. She ran her hands over Jan’s back, down to her ass, spreading her cheeks. Jan moaned into Casey’s cunt, her hips pushing back against Stacy’s touch. Stacy spat into her hand, slicking her fingers, and pressed one slowly into Jan’s tight opening.
Jan arched her back, a guttural sound of pleasure vibrating against Casey’s flesh. She fucked herself back on Stacy’s finger, then another, her own need now a driving force. This was her joy, her magic—connecting, feeling, drowning in the sheer physical proof of life and love around her.
Outside, on the quiet pool deck, the night air was cool and carried the tang of salt. The ship cut through the black water, a island of light and warmth in the vast dark. Vivian Chase leaned on the railing, her red hair stirring in the breeze, her face turned toward the invisible horizon.
She felt the echoes from Jan’s stateroom as a distant, pleasant warmth against her senses—a buffet of emotional energy she sipped from delicately, careful not to drain. It was enough. The ambient hum of the ship itself, the dreams and quiet desires of two thousand passengers, provided a steady, gentle meal.
“Everything alright, miss?”
The voice was polite, professional. Vivian turned. A handsome security agent stood a respectful distance away. He had a strong jaw, clear blue eyes, and a build that suggested he took his job seriously. He was, she noted with a slight flutter, very much her type.
“I’m fine,” she said, offering a shy smile. “Just getting some air. It’s a beautiful night.”
“It is,” he agreed, stepping closer. He wore the crisp uniform of the ship’s security, his name tag reading “D. Foster.” “First night out can be overwhelming for some. Lots of excitement.”
“You could say that,” Vivian said, her smile turning a touch more genuine. The low-grade attraction radiating from him was a savory note in the ship’s emotional symphony. “I’m doing much better now.”
Agent Foster returned her smile. “Glad to hear it. My name’s Dale. Let me know if you need anything.” His gaze held hers just a moment too long, a flicker of appraisal beneath the professional veneer.
“Thank you, Dale. I will.”
He gave a curt nod and continued his patrol, his footsteps fading on the teak deck. Vivian watched him go, a slight, unwarranted chill brushing her spine before she dismissed it. She breathed in the sea air, sated for now.
She hadn’t seen Charley and Rebecca approaching from the other side. Rebecca’s arm was looped through Charley’s, her head on his shoulder. They stopped near Vivian.
“Everything okay, Vivian?” Rebecca asked, her voice soft with concern. “You’re out here all alone.”
Vivian turned, her peaceful expression reassuring. “I am. It’s by design. If I joined in on Jan’s… festivities,” she said with a little grimace, “my powers might overwhelm a few people if I’m not careful. This is safer. I’m just gently feeding off the ambient emotions swirling around the ship tonight.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened with fascination. “That’s incredible. I wish I could study the supernatural more. Properly, I mean. Not just… experience it.”
Charley squeezed her shoulder. “You’d be good at it. You have a gentle way of understanding things.”
“Given everything that’s changed,” Rebecca mused, looking out at the dark water, “with magic not being automatically forgotten… it’s only a matter of time before it becomes common knowledge. Someone needs to be there to study it who isn’t hostile to the concept.” She glanced at Vivian. “Not to treat people like… subjects. But to understand.”
Charley’s face lit up. “You could start a journal. A proper ethnographic study. Interview people like Vivian, like Jan, document their experiences.” The former Auditor’s eyes shone with the thrill of human potential. “You could design a whole doctoral program in magical studies.”
Rebecca laughed, a bright, hopeful sound. “A Doctor of Magic? I like the sound of that.”
They talked for a few more minutes, weaving an elaborate, joyful fantasy of academic grants and ethical guidelines. After checking if Vivian wanted to join them for a nightcap—she declined, preferring the quiet feed—they wandered off toward one of the quieter bars, their heads close together, deep in planning.
Vivian stayed at the railing. She closed her eyes, extending her senses. The pleasant warmth from Jan’s room. The low hum of sleeping passengers. The sharper, focused intent of Agent “Dale” Foster, now standing at a junction of corridors below decks, filing a report into a secure comm device. His attraction to her was real, a faint silver thread in the emotional web.
But beneath it, a core of steely, antiseptic purpose pulsed. It felt like polished metal and sterile rooms. It felt like watching. It felt like the jar now sitting on a shelf in Jan’s room.
She opened her eyes, the peaceful feed now tinged with a cold, unfamiliar dread. The ship plowed onward through the night, a gilded cage cutting through an endless, hungry sea.