Chapter 30: Mandy's Midnight Audit
The hallway was dark.
Mandy stood at the top of the basement stairs, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, her tablet clutched against her chest like a shield. She had been working for six hours straight—encryption protocols, security updates, a new firewall for the beach house's magical wards—and her eyes burned from the glow of too many screens. The house was quiet. The house was never quiet.
She checked the time. 2:17 AM.
Sleep was a foreign concept. Had been for years. Her brain didn't shut off—it just switched channels, from tech problems to existential dread to the kind of low-grade horniness that came from spending too many hours alone in a basement with nothing but her thoughts and the distant, muffled sounds of other people living their lives.
She needed water. She needed air. She needed to stop thinking about the way her father had looked in that basement—flushed and unashamed, his body still slick with sweat, his eyes meeting hers without a trace of embarrassment.
She needed to stop thinking about that.
The beach house had a particular smell at night. Salt and ozone and the faint metallic tang of Rachel's astral residue, which still clung to the air like a ghost's whisper. The enchanted circuits in the walls hummed with a low, almost subsonic frequency, their neon-blue sigils flickering along the baseboards like trapped lightning. Mandy had installed those circuits herself—had spent three weeks tweaking the calibration until the magic and the technology stopped fighting each other and started working together.
She was proud of that.
She was also avoiding her bedroom.
Ben and Jess were in there. They had been in there since the rescue team had returned to the beach house, exhausted and exhilarated and covered in the kind of grime that came from blowing up doors and threatening dragons and pulling naked people out of basements. They had showered together—Mandy had heard the water running, had heard the low murmur of their voices, had heard the soft sounds that weren't quite words—and then they had collapsed into her bed and fallen asleep.
She hadn't joined them.
She had told herself it was because she needed to work. Because the security protocols wouldn't update themselves. Because someone had to make sure the house was safe.
That was a lie.
The truth was simpler and harder to admit: she didn't know how to be vulnerable right now. She didn't know how to crawl into bed with the two people she loved and let them hold her. She didn't know how to stop being the one who fixed things, the one who had the plan, the one who kept her shit together while everyone else fell apart.
She was Mandy Williamson. She was unflappable.
She was also, apparently, the only person in this house who wasn't getting laid.
She moved down the hallway, her bare feet whispering against the floor. The guest room door was cracked open—just a sliver of light, just enough to see through.
She shouldn't look.
She looked.
Mike was on his knees behind Casey, his hands gripping her hips, his body slick with sweat. His ass flexed with every thrust—slow, deep, deliberate—and Casey's tits bounced against the mattress with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Her head was turned to the side, her cheek pressed against the pillow, her mouth open in a silent moan.
Katrina knelt behind Mike, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her storm-grey eyes half-lidded and dreamy. Her hand was wrapped around the base of Mike's shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts, her lips brushing against his ear.
"That's it," she whispered. "Fuck her. She's been waiting all day. She's so wet for you."
Mike groaned—a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate through the wall.
Casey's response was barely audible. "Harder. Please."
Katrina's hand moved faster. "You heard her. Harder."
Mandy watched her father's hips snap forward, watched her mother's body jerk with the impact, watched Katrina's eyes roll back as she pressed her breasts against Mike's back.
Her hand drifted to her own thigh.
No. She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to stand in the hallway and finger herself while her parents fucked. That was—that was a line. A boundary. Something she should respect.
She kept watching.
Mike's rhythm changed—faster now, more urgent. Casey's moans grew louder, muffled only by the pillow she had pulled over her face. Katrina's hand moved in tandem with his thrusts, her fingers slick with Casey's wetness, her breath hot against Mike's neck.
"Come on," Katrina murmured. "Come on, baby. Fill her up. She wants it. She's been so good."
Mandy's fingers pressed against her clit through the thin cotton of her underwear.
She should stop. She should walk away. She should go downstairs and pour herself a glass of water and pretend she hadn't seen anything.
She didn't move.
Mike's body tensed. His thrusts became erratic—short, sharp, desperate. Casey's voice cracked on a sound that was half-moan, half-sob. Katrina's hand tightened around him, milking him through his orgasm, her own breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Fuck," Mike whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Casey came with a shudder that Mandy felt in her own bones.
Katrina pulled back, her hand still wrapped around Mike's shaft, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.
"Good boy," she said.
Mandy stepped away from the door.
Her heart was pounding. Her pussy was wet—aching, actually, the kind of deep, empty throb that demanded attention. She pressed her palm against the wall and closed her eyes.
The next room was Calista's. She didn't need to look through the door—she could hear everything. The honeyed gasps, the low Spanish groans, the rhythmic creak of the bedframe. Diego said something in Spanish that Mandy didn't catch, and Calista laughed—a breathless, delighted sound—before gasping again.
"Fuck," Calista breathed. "Fuck, Diego, right there—"
The bedframe creaked faster.
Mandy moved past the door.
The next room was Beth's. Rachel's voice drifted through the wall—soft, breathy, the kind of sound that made Mandy's stomach clench. "Beth—Beth, please—"
"Shh," Beth murmured. "I've got you. I've got you, Ray-Ray."
The wet slap of skin against skin.
Mandy kept walking.
Yukio's room was at the end of the hall. Her cane was thumping against the headboard—a steady, rhythmic beat—and Amy was moaning Jason's name like a prayer.
"Jason—oh god—Jason—"
"That's it," Yukio said. "That's it, Willow. Ride him. Ride him hard."
The headboard thumped faster.
Mandy stopped at the end of the hallway and leaned against the wall. The wood was cool against her back, the sigils flickering in her peripheral vision. She could hear all of them—every room, every couple, every moan and gasp and wet, obscene sound.
She was the only person in this house not currently getting fucked.
She laughed. A soft, incredulous sound that she muffled with her hand.
Mara was in Chicago. Probably riding Zack on her desk right now—or maybe on the couch, or against the wall, or in whatever position Mara had decided was appropriate for a woman who had spent the day rescuing her friends from a magical prison and filing lawsuits against their captor.
Mandy had talked to her an hour ago. Mara had been breathless. She had said she was "celebrating."
She had definitely been riding Zack.
Mandy's fingers found the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down.
She didn't know why she cared. She didn't know why she hesitated. The house was full of people who loved her, people who had seen her naked, people who had fucked her and been fucked by her and would not judge her for standing in the hallway with her hand between her thighs.
She cared because she was Mandy.
She cared because being vulnerable was terrifying.
She cared because admitting she wanted—needed—to be touched felt like weakness.
She didn't care.
She pressed two fingers against her clit and circled slowly.
Her breath hitched. Her hips jerked. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.
This was stupid. This was ridiculous. She was standing in a hallway, naked from the waist down, listening to her family fuck while she fingered herself like a teenager hiding from her parents.
She pressed two fingers inside herself.
Fuck.
She was wet—so wet, wetter than she had realized. Her fingers slid in easily, her body opening around them like it had been waiting for this, like it had been aching for this for hours. She curled her fingers, pressed her thumb against her clit, and started to move.
Slow at first. Lazy. The kind of rhythm that didn't demand anything, that just felt good. Her eyes closed. Her head fell back against the wall.
She could hear Mike and Casey through the door. They were still going—or maybe they had started again. Casey was moaning, a low, satisfied sound, and Mike was saying something that Mandy couldn't quite hear.
She could hear Calista laughing.
She could hear Beth whispering.
She could hear Yukio's cane.
She thought about Ben. About Jess. About the way they had looked at her when they came home, exhausted and grimy and relieved. About the way Ben had pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. About the way Jess had pressed her face into Mandy's neck and breathed her in like she was oxygen.
She thought about the way they were sleeping in her bed right now, naked and tangled together, waiting for her to come join them.
She could go upstairs. She could slip into bed between them. She could let them touch her, hold her, make her feel something other than the cold, empty ache that had settled into her chest.
Her fingers moved faster.
The wet sound of her own slickness was obscene in the quiet hallway—a soft, rhythmic squelch that seemed louder than the muffled moans filtering through the walls. Her hips rolled against her hand, chasing the friction, and she pressed her forehead against the cool plaster.
She was close. Embarrassingly close, actually—her body coiled tight and desperate after hours of ignoring what it wanted. She curled her fingers deeper, found that spot that made her knees buckle, and—
A door opened behind her.
Mandy's hand froze. Her eyes snapped open. She didn't turn around—couldn't, actually, her body locked in a posture that was impossible to explain.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
Mai's voice was flat. Exasperated. Dripping with the kind of incredulous disdain that only someone who had just been kept awake by an entire house of fornicating lunatics could muster.
Mandy turned her head.
Mai stood in the doorway of her bedroom, completely naked, her dark hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, her hazel eyes narrowed with irritation. She was tall—taller than Mandy, taller than most people—and her body was the kind of lean, athletic build that came from years of chasing monsters through jungles and swimming after sea serpents. The rose tattoo on her shoulder caught the faint blue light from the enchanted sigils, and her breasts rose and fell with the force of her annoyance.
"You," Mai said, pointing at Mandy's hand, still buried between her thighs, "are the biggest hypocrite I have ever met in my entire life."
Mandy pulled her hand away. Her fingers were slick and glistening, and she had no idea what to do with them—wipe them on her shirt, stick them in her pocket, lick them clean like some kind of degenerate.
She settled on letting them hang awkwardly at her side.
"I was doing a security check," she said.
Mai's eyebrows shot up. "A security check. With your fingers inside your cunt."
"I was multitasking."
"Right." Mai leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms under her breasts. "Because that makes sense. That's such a Mandy thing to say. 'I was multitasking.' Jesus Christ."
She was annoyed—genuinely annoyed—and Mandy couldn't blame her. For the past three hours, the beach house had become an increasingly unsubtle orgy, and Mai had apparently been the only person actually trying to sleep.
"Felicity," Mai said, spitting the name like a curse. "Felicity, of all people. My shy little bookworm roommate who blushes when someone says the word 'penis.' She's in there with Bruce, and they've been going at it for two hours. Two hours, Mandy. I knocked on the wall, and she just moaned louder."
Mandy winced. "That's... yeah, that's a thing."
"And your parents. Your actual parents. I can hear them through the wall, and they are not quiet people. Your mother has this thing she does with her voice—I don't know what it is, but it sounds like she's dying, and it's very upsetting."
"She's not dying. She's just having a good time."
"I know she's having a good time! Everyone in this house is having a good time except me!" Mai's voice rose, cracking with the kind of frustration that only came from sexual deprivation combined with sleep deprivation. "And then I come out here to get some water, and I find you—you, Mandy, the person who has fucked literally everyone in this house, including me, multiple times—standing in the hallway, fingering yourself like a sad little gremlin."
"I am not a gremlin."
"You're gremlin-adjacent right now. This is gremlin behavior."
Mandy opened her mouth to argue, but Mai was already crossing the hallway toward her. Her bare feet were silent on the wood, and her hips swayed with a predator's grace that was entirely at odds with her irritated expression.
She stopped inches from Mandy—close enough that Mandy could feel the heat radiating off her skin, could smell the salt and coconut of her shampoo.
"You're dripping," Mai said, glancing down at Mandy's thighs.
"I'm aware."
"On the floor."
"It's hardwood. It'll wipe up."
Mai's lips twitched. The annoyance was still there—Mandy could see it in the tension of her jaw, the way her fingers flexed against her biceps—but something else was creeping in. Something that looked a lot like amusement.
"You're a mess," Mai said.
"I know."
"You're standing in a hallway, half-naked, listening to your parents fuck."
"I know."
"And you couldn't just come into my room? Knock on my door? Say, 'Hey Mai, I'm feeling lonely and horny and I need someone to touch me'? You had to do it yourself, in the dark, like a weirdo?"
Mandy's throat tightened. "I didn't want to bother you."
"Bother me." Mai laughed—a short, sharp sound that was more incredulous than amused. "You didn't want to bother me. So instead, you decided to stand in the hallway and give yourself carpal tunnel syndrome."
"I don't have carpal tunnel."
"You're going to if you keep this up."
Mai's hand moved—fast, faster than Mandy could track—and grabbed the hem of Mandy's shirt. She yanked it up and over Mandy's head before Mandy could protest, leaving her completely naked in the blue-lit hallway.
"Hey—"
"Shut up."
Mai's hands landed on Mandy's shoulders. Her palms were warm, her grip firm, and she pushed Mandy back against the wall with a force that made the sigils flicker.
"You," Mai said, her voice low, "are going to let me help you. And then you're going to stop being weird about it."
"I'm not being weird."
"You're being so weird. You're the weirdest person I know, and I've met actual sea monsters."
Mai kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was the kind of kiss that demanded a response—lips and teeth and tongue, the taste of mint and the faint bitterness of red wine. Mandy's hands came up automatically, her fingers threading through Mai's hair, and she pulled her closer.
Mai made a satisfied sound against her mouth and bit Mandy's lower lip.
"Good," she murmured. "That's better."
She kissed her way down Mandy's throat—slow, deliberate, her tongue tracing the line of Mandy's pulse. She sucked at the hollow of Mandy's collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark, and Mandy's breath stuttered in her chest.
"Fuck," Mandy whispered.
"That's the idea."
Mai's mouth moved lower. She kissed the curve of Mandy's breast, the sensitive skin just above her nipple, and then her lips closed around it—warm and wet and sucking with a pressure that made Mandy's knees buckle.
"Shit—Mai—"
Mai's hand slid down Mandy's stomach, fingers finding her clit. She circled it slowly, deliberately, her mouth still working at Mandy's breast, and Mandy's hips jerked forward involuntarily.
"Someone's eager," Mai said.
"Fuck you."
"You will. Later. Right now, I'm fucking you."
She dropped to her knees.
Mandy's head thunked against the wall. Her mouth opened—to say something, to protest, to beg, she wasn't sure which—but nothing came out.
Mai's thighs were spread on the wood floor, her own wetness visible in the blue light, and she looked up at Mandy with that same smirk she had worn in the mountains.
"Watch," she said.
Her mouth found Mandy's pussy.
The first lick was slow—a long, deliberate stroke from Mandy's entrance to her clit, ending with a flick that made Mandy's entire body shudder. The second was faster, more focused, Mai's tongue circling her clit with the kind of precision that came from practice.
"Holy shit—"
Mai's hands gripped Mandy's thighs, holding her in place. Her tongue dipped lower, pushing inside—just a little, just enough to make Mandy moan—and then returned to her clit, alternating between broad strokes and sharp flicks.
Mandy's fingers tangled in Mai's hair. Her hips rolled against Mai's face, chasing the friction, and she could feel the wall scraping against her back, the Cool of the wood against her bare skin.
"Don't stop," she gasped. "Please don't stop—"
Mai didn't stop. She sucked harder, her tongue moving faster, and Mandy felt the coil in her stomach tightening—winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.
She was close. So close. She could feel it building, that electric pressure, that—
"Are you two planning to do this in the hallway?"
Mandy's eyes snapped open.
Casey stood in the doorway of the guest room, naked and gleaming with sweat, her silver-streaked hair tumbling around her shoulders. She looked more amused than scandalized—her lips were curved into a knowing smile, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of delight that came from being right about everything.
Katrina appeared beside her, equally naked, equally slick. She had her arm around Casey's waist, her dark hair sticking to her forehead, and she looked at Mandy and Mai with the kind of warm, curious expression that suggested she would be perfectly happy to watch.
Mai pulled back. Her mouth was slick with Mandy's wetness, and she wiped it with the back of her hand.
"The hallway has better ventilation," she said.
Casey laughed. "It's also harder on the knees. Trust me, I know."
"Mom—"
"Hush, Bug. You're the one getting eaten out in the corridor. You don't get to be embarrassed."
Mandy flushed. The nickname—Bug, the one only her parents used—hit her somewhere soft and vulnerable, and she suddenly felt very aware of the fact that she was completely naked, her thighs slick, her body still trembling with the ghost of an orgasm she hadn't quite reached.
"We're waking up the whole house," Casey continued. "And while I'm all for public displays of affection, I think we'd all be more comfortable with an actual bed. Don't you agree, Kitty?"
Katrina nodded solemnly. "Beds are superior to hallways. Unless the hallway is the point."
"Is the hallway the point, you two?"
Mai was already climbing to her feet. "No. The hallway was not the point."
"Good. Then get in here. Both of you."
Mai grabbed Mandy's hand and pulled her toward the door.
"Wait—" Mandy said.
"Why?"
"I don't—I mean, I wasn't—" She stopped. Took a breath. "This is weird. This is a weird family thing."
Mai turned to look at her. Her expression had softened—the annoyance was gone, replaced by something gentler. "Mandy. You've seen me naked more times than I can count. You've fucked me. You've fucked your parents. You've fucked my mom. This is not the weirdest thing you've ever done."
"It's different."
"How?"
"Because I'm the one who's supposed to have her shit together."
Mai's hand squeezed hers. "Nobody has their shit together. Not me, not you, not your parents. We're all just—doing our best. And right now, our best is getting in that room and letting people who love us make us feel good. Okay?"
Mandy looked at her. At the earnest expression on her face, the warmth in her eyes, the way she was still holding Mandy's hand like she had no intention of letting go.
"Okay," she said.
They walked into the guest room together.
Mike was lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, his chest still heaving. His body was flushed, his cock half-hard against his thigh, and he looked at Mandy with an expression that was equal parts surprise and welcome.
"Bug," he said. "You're joining us?"
"I'm—" Mandy swallowed. "Yeah. I guess I am."
"Good. Get over here."
Mai didn't need to be told twice. She vaulted onto the bed with a grace that made Mandy's heart stutter, straddling Mike's hips and sinking down onto his cock in one smooth motion.
"Fuck," Mike groaned.
"You missed me?" Mai asked, rocking her hips.
"I always miss you."
Mandy stood at the edge of the bed, watching. Mai's body moved with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic—her hips rising and falling, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back. She was beautiful, all that lean muscle and golden skin, and Mike's hands were gripping her waist with the kind of desperate intensity that made Mandy's stomach clench.
"Come here, Bug."
Katrina's voice was soft. She was lying on the bed beside Mike, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her legs open. Her fingers were between her thighs, moving slowly, and she looked at Mandy with an invitation that was impossible to refuse.
"I want to taste you," Katrina said. "I've wanted to taste you since the moment I met you. Is that okay?"
Mandy's throat was dry. "Yeah. Yes. That's—yeah."
She climbed onto the bed.
Katrina pulled her closer, positioning Mandy over her face. Her hands gripped Mandy's thighs, her mouth found Mandy's pussy, and Mandy let out a sound that was half-moan, half-sob.
"Shit—Katrina—"
Katrina's tongue was different from Mai's. Slower. More deliberate. She explored Mandy's body like she was mapping it, her tongue tracing patterns that made Mandy's hips jerk and her breath catch.
Across the bed, Mai was riding Mike with renewed enthusiasm. Her hands were braced on his chest, her hips snapping forward, and she was making sounds—dirty, honest sounds—that Mandy had never heard from her before.
"Fuck me," Mai gasped. "Fuck me harder, Mike. Come on."
Mike's hips bucked upward, meeting her thrusts, and the slap of their bodies was loud in the room. Casey was beside them, kissing Mai's neck, her hand between Mai's thighs, and the three of them moved together with a synchronization that spoke of practice.
Mandy watched.
Katrina's tongue pressed deeper.
Her orgasm hit without warning.
She came with a cry—loud, broken, her body convulsing around Katrina's mouth. Katrina didn't stop. Her tongue kept moving, drawing out every last shudder, until Mandy collapsed on top of her, breathless and trembling.
"Jesus," Mandy said.
Katrina laughed. It was a warm, delighted sound.
"I take it that was good?"
"It was—" Mandy stopped. Swallowed. "It was really good."
"Good."
The door opened.
Kim and Maryam stood in the doorway, still dressed in the tactical gear they had been wearing on guard duty. Kim's curved sword was still strapped to her back, and Maryam's baseball bat was leaning against her shoulder. They stared at the scene in the room—the tangled bodies, the slick skin, the unmistakable smell of sex—with expressions that hovered somewhere between scandalized and intrigued.
"We heard screaming," Maryam said. "We thought someone was dying."
"She might have been," Kim said. "But in a good way."
Mandy lifted her head from Katrina's shoulder. "Are you two just going to stand there?"
Kim and Maryam exchanged a glance.
"We're on duty," Kim said.
"The house is full of people having sex," Marnyam said. "That's the opposite of danger."
"Depends on your perspective."
"Fine. Fine. We're off duty."
She leaned her bat against the wall and started pulling off her tactical vest. Kim followed suit, her sword joining Maryam's bat, and within moments they were both naked—Kim's elegant Green Moon body, all curves and muscle, and Maryam's more athletic build, the backward baseball cap the only thing she was still wearing.
"I'm not missing this," Maryam announced.
She dropped onto the bed next to Mike, tracing her fingers along his chest.
"You look busy, big guy."
"There's room for one more."
"Good."
The room grew crowded. Bodies tangled, limbs intertwined. Mandy found herself on her back, staring up at the ceiling, while Jason—who had appeared from Yukio's room at some point—knelt between her legs and pushed inside her with a groan that vibrated through his chest.
"Fuck," Jason said. "Fuck, Mandy, you feel—"
"Just move. Please."
He moved.
Mandy's eyes closed. Her body arched. And beside her, on the same bed, Mai was being eaten out by Amy—Amy's blonde hair spread across the pillow, her tongue working against Mai's clit, her hands gripping Mai's thighs.
Mandy turned her head.
Through the haze of pleasure, she could see Ben—her Ben, her boyfriend—fucking Casey against the far wall. Casey's legs were wrapped around his waist, her back pressed against the bookshelf, and she was moaning with a freedom that made Mandy's chest ache.
"Harder," Casey said. "Oh god, harder—"
Ben complied.
And Jess was riding Mike on the bed, her dark hair falling around her face, her body moving with a confidence that Mandy had never seen from her before. She looked wild. Free. Jess, who had spent her life as an agent of the Golden Wands, who had followed rules and protocols and never let herself break.
She was breaking now.
Mandy felt herself let go.
The house became a den of pleasure—rooms and hallways and bathrooms, every surface slick with sweat and come. Rachel screamed in the other room. Beth moaned. Calista's voice rose and fell with Diego's in a rhythm that was almost musical.
And Mandy moved beneath Jason, taking what he gave her, giving what he wanted, her body open and warm and finally, finally not empty.
She lost track of time.
It could have been minutes or hours or days. The world shrank to hands and mouths and the wet slide of bodies. She came twice, three times, she wasn't counting anymore. At some point she was on top of Jess, her fingers inside her while Jess kissed her hungrily. At another point she was watching Felicity ride Bruce, her blonde hair a mess, her body making sounds that Mandy had never heard her make.
Amy was laughing. Casey was saying something. Mike was groaning.
And through the walls, through the floor, through the magic that ran like blood through Judy's beach house, the energy pulsed and spread.
Two doors away at Shiv's house, Jan lay in bed.
Her leg still ached—the bullet wound was healing, but slowly, the magical intervention that had saved her from bleeding out in the Coral Castle where Vane had shot her, long enough to get to a hospital, was only a stopgap. She could feel the stitch of the flesh, the ragged edges of tissue knitting together imperfectly. Physical therapy would take weeks. Running was out of the question.
But she could feel something else.
Green Moon magic was organic. It lived in the body, in the blood, in the thrum of living things. And the energy that was rising from Judy's beach house—the raw, unfiltered sex magic that pulsed through the walls and echoed in the night air—was impossible to ignore.
Jan's fingers curled against her thigh.
She pulled the energy in. Not deliberately—it came to her, drawn by the Green Moon mark on her soul, drawn by the fact that she was one of the most experienced initiates in the country. It flowed through the walls and under the doors and into her room, settling over her in a warm, tingling blanket.
Her leg throbbed. Then it burned. Then it stopped hurting.
Jan exhaled—a long, slow breath that carried the last of the pain with it. She sat up in bed, testing her weight on the injured leg.
It held.
Better than held. It felt almost normal. The magical energy had accelerated the healing process a hundredfold, drawing on the raw lust of an entire house of people to knit her flesh back together.
Cameron stirred in the armchair across the room. He was still in his tactical gear from the rescue, dirty and exhausted. He had refused to leave her side.
"Red?" he murmured, half-asleep. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Ranger."
"You're moving. You were supposed to be resting."
"I healed myself."
Cameron opened one eye. "You healed yourself at three in the morning?"
"I had a little help."
He sat up—slowly, with the kind of stiffness that came from sleeping in a chair designed for reading, not resting. "What kind of help?"
Jan smiled. It was the old smile, the one her father had used when he was about to get away with something. "The kind that doesn't require explanation. Now go back to sleep."
"You're not going anywhere."
"No. Not tonight." She settled back against the pillows, feeling the steady, warm pulse of her healed leg beneath the blanket. "But I'll be ready tomorrow."
"Ready for what?"
Jan's smile faded. The weight of everything that had happened—the rescue, the explosion, Inez Murphy's threats—was pressing against her chest, heavy. The Despair Bomb was still out there, waiting to be used. Rachel was free now, but the Shine was still a mystery, and Inez was still a threat.
"Whatever comes next," Jan said.
She closed her eyes, letting the distant pulse of Judy's beach house lull her toward sleep. It was still there—that steady, secret rhythm of bodies moving together, of joy and pleasure and the simple, stubborn refusal to let the darkness win.
Tomorrow would bring what it brought. Tonight, at least, there was this.
Her leg healed.
Her friends safe.
Her family asleep two doors away.
And somewhere out there, Inez Murphy was still waiting.
Jan smiled in the dark.
Let her wait.