July, 1097

I press my hands against the cool reinforced glass of the upper deck hallway, my breath fogging the pane. Entirely mesmerized by the sprawling panorama stretching out before the landship.

The world outside is painted in blindingly vibrant, impossible colors.

A breathtaking expanse of water stretches toward the horizon, a brilliant, shimmering gradient of shallow turquoise that deepens into a brilliant sapphire blue. The gentle waves lap against pristine, sweeping white sand beaches. To the right, dominating the entire landscape, is a colossal mountain. Its steep, sweeping slopes are carpeted in incredibly dense, lush green forests that cascade all the way down to the shoreline. Nestled safely on the left, tucked perfectly between the turquoise waters and the base of the massive mountain, sits a sprawling city of pristine white and grey buildings, basking beneath a clear, brilliant blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds.

"Woah! This is the sea?"

I am entirely unable to peel myself away from the window, completely paralyzed by the sheer, untamed beauty of it.

Then, the ambient air in the corridor violently shifts.

The sterile, climate-controlled chill of the hallway is instantly washed away by a sudden, overwhelming wave of heat. It is unmistakably flavor of roasted spices, sharp cinnamon, and the crackling, enduring comfort of a roaring hearth fire.

"This is Siesta, Lethe. One of the few stationary cities on Terra boarding the Inland Sea of Clariside. Under the de jure control of the Columbian Union."

I whip my head around.

"Ms. Skyfire! Ms. Skyfire!"

I don't even hesitate. I abandon the window entirely and launch myself forward. I crash into her, wrapping my arms securely around her waist and burying my face into her coat, giving her the absolute best, tightest squeeze I can muster.

For a fraction of a second, the Senior Caster completely stiffens. A sharp, startled spike of spicy tastes flares in the air. But almost instantly, the spice melts away, banking into a deeply fond, simmering warmth. She lets out a delicate sigh, but I can feel one of her hands come down to rest gently on the top of my head, carefully navigating around the bases of my horns.

"Honestly, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire chides. "I leave you to Ms. Naumann’s care for a few months, and you regress into a completely unruly child. Unhand me before you entirely wrinkle my attire."

I let out a muffled giggle into her coat before reluctantly pulling back. I look up at her, my tail fanning the air.

"What are you doing back on Rhodes Island?" I ask, my eyes shining with absolute delight. "I thought you were in Victoria!"

Ms. Skyfire clears her throat, adjusting the collar of her coat to reclaim her flawless composure.

"My work in Victoria is ongoing, but it requires occasional… logistical interludes," she explains, her amber eyes flicking toward the massive mountain looming outside the window. "However, my presence here today is strictly academic and preventative." She gestures toward the sprawling landscape of Siesta.

"That colossal landmark you are staring at is Siesta Volcano. It is an obsidian volcano," Ms. Skyfire lectures. "I am here to conduct extensive geological surveys of its subterranean Originium veins and thermal activity. I will be working alongside Ms.

Naumann and a highly specialized Catastrophe Messenger named Provence. We must ensure the tectonic stability of the region is not compromised."

I look back out the window at the vibrant blue water and the lush greenery still completely enthralled by the sight.

I turn away from the breathtaking view of the turquoise sea, looking up at my original tutor in sheer admiration.

"Ms. Skyfire and Miss Adele are so smart!" I chime, my eyes wide with genuine awe. The sheer scale of what they do; surveying massive, subterranean Originium veins to keep entire cities safe from Catastrophes; feels incredibly vast and heroic.

Ms. Skyfire clears her throat delicately, her posture straightening as she lifts her chin. The crackling warmth of her emotional resonance flares with a distinct, prideful satisfaction, but she quickly masks it.

"Flattery won’t get you less homework now that I am here again, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire declares, tapping a finger against her arm.

"Aww," I whine softly. I puff my cheeks out, my tail giving a defeated slump toward the floorboards.

Ms. Skyfire ignores my pouting entirely, though the corners of her lips twitch with a suppressed smile. She glances down the quiet corridor of the administrative deck.

"What brings you up here, Lethe? This deck is usually reserved for department heads and executive briefings."

"Amiya called me up here earlier," I explain, my posture instantly bouncing back with renewed, bubbling excitement. I gesture toward the sprawling, sun-drenched city of Siesta. "She told me since it is July, and she has decided that Rhodes Island will participate in the annual Obsidian Festival!"

I lean forward slightly.

"Amiya told me Sarkaz are welcome too!" I beam, the sheer relief and joy of being allowed to step onto a foreign beach making my voice ring clearly in the hallway. "She said Hibiscus is going, and two other Sarkaz Operators named Ifrit and Vigna are all going! We won't have to hide on the landship!"

The moment the words leave my mouth, the ambient air in the corridor violently shifts. The comforting, roaring hearth fire stutters. It doesn't extinguish, but a sharp, prickly flavor suddenly bleeds directly into the roasted spices. It hits the back of my tongue like scorched cinnamon bark mixed with the tart, acidic bite of an unripe, bitter orange. I blink, staring up at her, entirely unsure how to react.

Before I can even open my mouth, Ms. Skyfire violently clears her throat again. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, completely averting her gaze from the sun-drenched beaches outside the window.

"Well," Ms. Skyfire scoffs, her voice dripping with an exaggerated disdain that completely fails to mask the bitter orange flavor leaking into the air. "The sun is absolutely dreadful for the skin, anyway. Sweating on a crowded beach with blaring music is an entirely unrefined way to spend one's time. I much prefer the quiet rigor of a geological survey."

Ms. Skyfire adjusts the cuff of her sleeve, completely ignoring the vibrant paradise waiting beyond the reinforced glass.

"I must take my leave," she announces, her tone shifting back into a crisp, professional cadence. "I have entirely too many topographical maps to finalize before Provence and I deploy. Do enjoy the festival, Lethe."

"Laters, Ms. Skyfire!" I call out, offering her a bright, enthusiastic wave.

I watch her turn on her heel, and marches down the corridor.

Once she disappears around the corner, I turn and gingerly run toward the central elevators. My thick-soled sneakers squeak softly, and my tail sways with a rhythmic bounce.

I swipe my ID card, and the elevator cabin hums to life, carrying me downward.

The doors part at Middle Deck 2.

The sterile, recycled air of the elevator lobby is instantly washed away. A massive, familiar wave of pure, protective honey floods my senses.

Mom is standing just a few paces away from the elevator banks. Her eyes scanning the scrolling text on her digital slate. The moment the doors part, she looks up.

"There you are," mom says, a soft, incredibly fond smile breaking across her face.

"Yes, mom?" I ask, stepping out of the cabin and tilting my head slightly.

She lowers the slate, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from my bangs.

"I have been looking for you. We need to get you ready, Lethe.”

We are going to a festival.

"Can I finally wear my kitten hoodie again?" I ask. I practically vibrate on my heels, desperate to trade my jacket for the comfort we had bought back in Trimounts.

Mom lets out a soft, breathy chuckle. Her feathers fluff up slightly.

"Of course, Lethe," mom promises, reaching out to gently tap the tip of my nose. She offers me a conspiratorial, exciting smile. "And maybe we can even get you new clothes while in Siesta."

Mom practically shoves me into my dorm room, her own excitement bleeding through the air in bright, carbonated flashes of honey-sweetness.

I quickly shed my standard uniform and pull on my only civilian clothes: the oversized, fleece-lined kitten hoodie, my denim shorts, the thick, tights, and my familiar sneakers. I sit obediently on the edge of my mattress as mom stands behind me. Her fingers are incredibly gentle as she works a brush through the heavy mass of my long hair. She gathers the strands, meticulously pulling them back from my face, and ties them securely into a straight nape ponytail. It feels wonderfully light, the heavy curtain no longer draping over my shoulders.

"All done, Lethe," mom murmurs, giving my shoulders a soft, affectionate squeeze. She steps back, smoothing down her own uniform. "Well, I need to change too. Just don’t run too far. Wait in the garden."

"Okay!" I chirp, grabbing my Arts Unit from the nightstand.

I gingerly run out of the dorm, I make a beeline down the metallic corridors toward the Convalescent Garden.

The doors of the garden open. The humid, earthy air washes over me, but my eyes are immediately drawn to the three figures gathered near the central flowerbeds. They have all shed their standard attire for the festival.

Lisa looks absolutely radiant. She is wearing a soft white blouse with gently puffed sleeves, tucked neatly into a beautiful teal skirt trimmed with delicate white lace. A small, circular brown bag rests against her hip, and she is holding a woven wicker basket in her hands. Nestled adorably among her nine fluffy tails is a plush black cat accessory.

A few paces away, Podenco is dressed in a breezy teal and pale green dress adorned with black ruffled trims and a small emerald-colored gemstone at her collar. She looks just a tiny bit sleepy as she rests near her mechanical Arts Unit.

Miss Lena stands beside them, though her attire remains highly practical. She is wearing a crisp white blouse fastened with a bright blue ribbon tie at her throat. A black utility apron is strapped securely around her waist, meticulously packed with small glass vials, gardening shears, and botanical tools. She completes the look with thick black tights and sturdy, buckled black platform shoes.

"Everyone is going?" I ask as I step down the path.

Miss Lena offers a serene smile, adjusting the strap of her utility belt.

"Podenco and I are going to the botanical reserves, Lethe," Miss Lena explains. "Siesta has an incredibly unique microclimate due to the obsidian volcano, and we are going to look at the tropical plants."

"And I am going to explore the commercial districts!" Lisa chimes, her eyes sparkling. "I am so excited to see the city and all the festival shops!"

I stop in my tracks.

My tail halts its happy wagging, dropping limply toward the floor tiles. The bubbling excitement in my chest deflates just a fraction, replaced by a tiny, hollow pang of disappointment. I look at Miss Lena's gardening shears and Lisa's woven shopping basket.

No one mentioned the sand. Or the ocean.

I am standing here in my oversized hoodie, completely ready to see the massive, shimmering blue waves of the Sea of Clariside, and a sudden, quiet realization settles over me. Out of all of us, I am the only one who actually wants to go play at the beach. Before my shoulders can completely droop, the doors of the Convalescent Garden slide open with a soft hiss.

I turn my head.

Mom steps onto the garden path.

I blink, my eyes blowing wide. She is dressed in a simple, breathable tank top and a pair of casual, fitted denim jeans. Resting effortlessly on the crown of her hair is a pair of dark sunglasses. She looks so incredibly normal, entirely unburdened for one day. And she is not alone.

Standing right beside her, gripping mom's hand like a vital lifeline, is Opal.

She is no longer drowning in the sterile, oversized hospital gowns. She is wearing a beautiful, breezy white sundress that flutters gently around her knees. The thin straps sit delicately on her shoulders, purposefully leaving the dormant, jagged black crystals near her collarbone undisturbed. Her ears twitch nervously in the humid air, and her free arm holds the soft plushie securely against her chest.

"Hi everyone!" mom calls out, her voice ringing clear and bright.

Opal peeks out from behind mom's leg. She hesitates for a second, slowly, she raises a small hand.

"Hi," Opal whispers, offering a meek wave to the group.

A soft, timid flutter of emotion that tastes like diced strawberries and warm milk. It is incredibly fragile, but it is undeniably, beautifully alive.

Lisa’s ears snap straight up.

She bounds across the floor tiles, before stopping just a respectful pace away.

"Oh! Oh!" Lisa’s eyes sparkling with absolute, unadulterated joy. She leans forward slightly, clasping her hands together. "Opal, do you want to go shopping in the city with me? There are so many bright stalls, and we can look at all the festival clothes and souvenirs together!"

Opal freezes.

The sudden, bubbly burst of Lisa's energetic invitation makes her shrink back just a bit against mom's jeans. Her grip on the plushie tightens slightly. Her eyes dart around the garden in a rapid, seeking panic.

She looks at me. Then, she looks at Lisa's beaming, hopeful smile. Finally, she looks up at mom, silently seeking permission to step out of the safety of the landship.

I don't hesitate for a single second.

Even though my own heart gives a tiny, protective flutter at the thought of her navigating the loud, crowded streets of Siesta, I know exactly what this moment means. She is being invited to step out of the shadows and actually live.

I look directly into Opal's uncertain eyes, stretching my face into the brightest, most unwavering smile I can muster.

I give her a slow, deliberate nod of encouragement.

You can do it.

Opal takes a slow breath. Then, very slowly, her chin dips.

"Okay," Opal whispers.

Lisa practically vibrates out of her shoes, her tails wagging so hard they threaten to lift her off the floor.

With our paths decided, we happily filter out of the landship.

Stepping down the massive deployment ramp, the transition is immediate and entirely breathtaking. The sterile, climate-controlled air of Rhodes Island is instantly swallowed by the brilliant, sun-drenched heat of Siesta. The breeze coming off the Isea smells strongly of coarse salt, warm sand, and blooming tropical flowers.

But it is the noise that hits me next.

Even from the docking station, the Obsidian Festival is a roaring, vibrating entity. The distant, heavy thrum of bass guitars and roaring crowds echoes across the city plates. The ambient emotional air is a chaotic, exploding symphony. It tastes like popping candy, fizzy fruit punch, and the blindingly bright, electric static of sheer adrenaline. Months ago, a crowd this massive and energetic would have sent me completely spiraling. I would have collapsed on the ramp, choking on the overwhelming cocktail of thousands of strangers' emotions.

But I close my eyes. I take a slow breath, reaching for the quiet lessons Amiya had spent hours teaching me in the safety of my dorm. I visualize a smooth, sheer glass wall in my mind. I let the bright, popping flavors of the festival wash over me, acknowledging the taste, but refusing to let the static stick to me. I let it slide right off the glass.

I open my eyes. My heart is beating a little fast, but I am standing perfectly steady. I can handle the crowds now, just like in Trimounts. But the sheer volume of the physical music itself is still incredibly disorienting, making my ears twitch uncomfortably against the heavy bass.

"So, Lethe," mom asks, stepping up beside me and resting a warm hand on my shoulder. She looks out over the sprawling, vibrant city. "Where do you want to go?" I look toward the towering volcano, and then at the massive, brightly lit stages flashing in the distance.

"This is a music festival, mom…” I shrink slightly into my oversized hoodie as another distant roar of the crowd washes over the bay. "But I don't like loud music… It makes my head spin."

Mom's expression softens instantly. She reaches up, sliding her dark sunglasses down from the crown of her head to rest perfectly over her eyes.

"Well, the beach it is then, Lethe," mom declares, an easy smile breaking across her face. "There are some parts along the shoreline that are quite tucked away. No massive speakers, no mosh pits. Just the waves and the sand."

The thought of just sitting by the ocean, far away from the chaotic noise, sounds like absolute paradise.

"Let's stop by a swimsuit place if you want to swim," mom adds, gently tapping the tip of my nose.

"I don't know how!" I gasp, looking up at her with a mix of mild panic and intense, radiating excitement. "But… I definitely want to try!"

Mom looks fondly at me and lets out a melodic laugh that perfectly harmonizes with the distant festival music.

"Don't worry, Lethe. I'll teach you," mom promises, her hand sliding down to gently take mine. "Come on. Let's go find you a swimsuit."

The shop we stop by is an absolute sensory overload. The walls are lined with racks of blindingly bright fabrics, floral patterns, and complicated strappy designs that look like they require a degree, that only Ms. Closure has, just to put on. I stand in the center of the aisle, entirely dazzled and a little terrified by the sheer volume of choices.

Mom, however, navigates the racks with the practiced efficiency. She completely bypasses the colorful strings and pulls out a simple, elegant white one-piece swimsuit. It has a reinforced tail hole neatly stitched into the back. She pairs it with a lightweight, dark blue sun jacket.

"Go put them on," mom instructs, handing the hangers to me with a warm, encouraging smile. "I will carry the change."

I step into the cramped fitting room. Peeling off my beloved hoodie and my shorts feels like shedding a layer of armor. I carefully step into the white one-piece, maneuvering my tail through the designated opening. It snaps against my skin with a sharp, elastic snap. I quickly pull the dark blue sun jacket over my shoulders, zipping it halfway up my chest.

I step out from behind the curtain, my arms crossed defensively over my torso. I tug nervously at the elastic hem of the swimsuit around my thighs.

"This is a bit tight, mom," I murmur, my voice dropping into a self-conscious whisper. I look down at my bare legs and my pale skin, completely stripped of the baggy layers I usually hide behind. "Is it supposed to be? I feel entirely exposed."

Mom steps forward, her eyes softening with absolute, unadulterated adoration. She reaches out, gently adjusting the collar of the sun jacket over my shoulders.

"Yes, little Lethe," mom replies. "Looks cute. Let’s go."

I take a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to drop their rigid tension, and give her a small nod.

We step back out into the sweltering Siesta heat. Mom takes my hand, and we walk past the vibrant, chaotic festival stalls including one where a Sarkaz girl is casually grilling barbecue. The air is thick with the scent of grilled skewers, melting sugar, and coconut sunscreen. I keep my mental glass wall firmly in place, letting the flavors slide harmlessly away.

Mom expertly guides us away from the booming speakers and the densely packed main stages, leading us down a quieter, winding path toward the tucked-away sands of South Beach.

The roaring music fades into the rhythmic, soothing crash of waves against the shoreline. The glaring signs give way to the natural, dappled shade of broad-leafed tropical trees.

We step off the pavement and onto a wooden boardwalk. My eyes immediately catch sight of a small, secluded lounge area, marked by a rustic wooden sign that reads SOUTH BEACH E-4.

And sitting right in the middle of it is Miss Sussurro.

The stern, uncompromising senior Medic who usually marches through the landship's corridors in her perfect uniform is completely unrecognizable. She is lounging comfortably on a blue-and-white striped beach chair, fully shaded by a large blue umbrella. She is wearing a striking black two-piece swimsuit adorned with delicate, translucent off-the-shoulder sleeves and small black bows.

Resting casually beside her leg on the striped canvas is her tail. It is covered in soft fur that is a pale, beautiful lilac-silver, matching the exact light purple-grey hue of her hair. She has a pair of large headphones pushed lazily off one ear. But it is the small white table sitting directly next to her lounge chair that completely short-circuits my brain. Resting on the glass surface is a tall, bright blue drink garnished with a fresh lemon slice, accompanied by a brown glass bottle, a large blue bottle, and a red can.

I stare at the colorful arrangement of glassware. I blink, looking from the beverages back to Miss Sussurro.

She is… drinking alcohol already.

The absolute cognitive dissonance of seeing the strict, intensely professional Miss Sussurro day-drinking on a beach chair before noon makes my own tail twist into a small question mark. The ambient flavor bleeding off her tastes like dark chocolate with sea salt slowly melting in the afternoon sun.

"Lethe. Erika," Miss Sussurro greets, her voice is softened considerably by the sun and whatever is in that bright blue cocktail.

"Hi. Miss Sussurro," I say, offering a small wave.

Miss Sussurro lowers her headphones just a fraction, resting her glass on the table. She points a stern finger directly at mom. "Keep a close eye on her in the shallows, Caladria. The undertow can be unpredictable. Make absolutely sure she doesn't go under and get saltwater in her lungs. Her respiratory system is still fragile."

"I promise, Sussurro," mom replies, her tone dropping into a serious, professional promise. "I won't let her out of my sight."

Miss Sussurro gives a satisfied nod, slips her headphones back over her ears, and leans her head back against her lounge chair, entirely checking out of the conversation. Mom gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "Come on. Let's go see the water."

We walk down the white beach. The dry, powdery sand gives way to a darker, packed surface near the shoreline. I let go of mom's hand, taking a slow, tentative step forward. The wet sand squishes delightfully beneath my bare feet. A moment later, the foamy edge of a gentle wave rolls up the shore, washing over my toes. The water is surprisingly cool, a brilliant, refreshing contrast to the sweltering heat of the sun. It retreats, pulling the sand out from under my heels and making me sink just a tiny bit deeper into the beach.

A massive, beaming smile breaks across my face.

"Mom! This is fun!" I call out, turning around to share the absolute thrill of the ocean. No reply.

"Mom?"

I blink. The space directly behind me is completely empty.

I spin around, my eyes darting frantically across the shoreline. There are a few tourists lounging in the distance, but the familiar, comforting figure in the tank top and sunglasses is entirely gone.

The vast, endless expanse of the ocean behind me suddenly feels incredibly loud and terrifying.

She's gone. Did she get lost? Did she leave me?

I scramble away from the water line, my bare feet kicking up clumps of wet sand as I break into a blind, desperate sprint straight back to the E-4 lounge area where Miss Sussurro is still relaxing.

I practically skid to a halt next to the striped canvas chair, my mouth opening to frantically beg the senior Medic for help finding my mother.

But before a single terrified word can tear out of my throat, a figure pops out from behind the wooden lattice fencing of the lounge area.

"Surprise!"

Mom steps out, a bright, playful grin stretched across her face.

The freezing panic in my chest completely flatlines, instantly washed away by the rich, protective honey of her presence and an entirely new, overwhelmingly sugary aroma. Mom is holding two massive, clear plastic cups.

I stare at the cups, my panicked breathing completely stalling as my eyes blow wide in absolute, starry-eyed wonder.

They are towering mountains of finely shaved ice, but the ice is almost entirely hidden beneath a glorious, chaotic deluge of sugar. The entire peak is drenched in a violently bright, cherry-red syrup that pools at the bottom of the cup. Generous, thick ribbons of gooey, sweetened condensed milk are drizzled heavily over the red ice, accompanied by a thick dusting of powdered milk that clings to the sticky surface. And resting precariously at the very summit of this architectural sugar marvel is a perfectly round, massive scoop of vanilla ice cream.

"Here Lethe, Siestan classic," mom announces. "I saw a stall selling them right behind the lounge area. Figured a certain little Djall with an insatiable sweet tooth couldn't survive a beach day without one. You have been behaving yourself, barring Amiya’s smuggled sweets, that is."

She holds one of the towering cups out to me.

"I… I thought you disappeared!" I whine softly, my lower lip trembling with the phantom residue of my panic.

But my hands completely betray my scolding. I eagerly reach out and grab the freezing plastic cup, my tail immediately resuming its frantic, happy wagging against the Siesta breeze.

The rest of the day melts away in a brilliant, sun-drenched haze.

Armed with the towering, sugary mountain of my shaved ice. I sit safely under the shade of the blue umbrella next to Miss Sussurro, happily digging my plastic spoon into the cherry ice while mom wades into the shallow, turquoise waters.

Once my cup is thoroughly scraped clean of every last drop of sweetened condensed milk, mom finally coaxes me out of my sun jacket.

The Siesta sun is sweltering against my skin, but the moment the foamy tide washes over my ankles, a brilliant, refreshing chill shoots up my legs. Mom holds both of my hands, walking backward as she gently guides me deeper into the Sea of Clariside. The water rises past my knees, then my waist.

"Just kick your legs, Lethe," mom encourages, her voice a warm, steady melody over the rhythmic crash of the waves. "I have you. I won't let you sink."

I grip her fingers so hard as my actual life depends on it, my tail floating awkwardly behind me beneath the surface. I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath, and lift my feet off the sandy bottom.

For exactly one second, the terrifying, absolute gravity of Terra releases me. I am floating. I am actually paddling.

But then, I open my eyes. My gaze drifts past mom's shoulder to the endless, sprawling expanse of the blue ocean stretching toward the horizon. It is so impossibly vast. It is a bottomless, terrifying abyss of water that could swallow the entire landship whole. The sheer, unfathomable scale of it instantly short-circuits my bravery.

"Nope!" I squeak, a sudden spike of freezing panic overriding my paddling.

I drop my feet, violently splashing water everywhere as I desperately scramble past mom. I completely abandon my swimming lesson, my feet kicking up massive sprays of saltwater and wet sand as I run blindly back toward the safety of the dry beach.

I don't stop until I am safely back under the shade of Miss Sussurro’s umbrella, chest heaving as I frantically grab my dark blue sun jacket and wrap it securely around my dripping shoulders.

Mom wades out of the water a few moments later, her hands resting on her hips. A bright, melodic laugh completely filling the air.

"I thought you wanted to swim!" mom teases, her eyes filling with absolute, unadulterated joy.

I puff my cheeks out, aggressively shaking my wet hair. I point a firm, dripping finger at the wet sand.

"I have officially decided," I declare, lifting my chin with as much dignity I can muster. "I am a land Djall. The ocean is entirely too big."

Miss Sussurro doesn't even open her eyes or lift her headphones, but a faint, highly amused smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. Mom just laughs harder, stepping over to wrap a dry towel around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm, damp hug.

The peaceful, sun-soaked paradise shatters exactly as the night falls.

“We should go get dinner and head back.” Mom slowly stands up and pats the sands off her jeans.

A deep, bone-rattling vibration that travels straight up through the white sand, vibrating directly against my ribs.

Then, the noise hits.

It is a massive, guttural rumble. It is so loud and so impossibly low that the heavy bass of the festival music playing down the shoreline is entirely swallowed by it.

I freeze, my hands tightening around the edges of my towel. The ambient air of the beach violently shifts. The popping candy and fizzy fruit punch flavors of the festival crowd instantly curdle, replaced by a sharp, static-laced wave of mass confusion and sudden, spiking alarm.

Rumble.

A second roar echoes across the bay. This one is louder, carrying a terrifying, cracking resonance that sounds like the very earth is being torn in half.

Mom's playful, relaxed posture vanishes in a heartbeat.

Mom whips her head around, her eyes locking directly onto the horizon.

Miss Sussurro violently tears her headphones off her ears. She bolts upright, her tail bristling as she stares in the exact same direction.

I follow their gaze.

Looming over the sprawling city of Siesta is the colossal silhouette of Siesta Volcano. The massive, obsidian volcano.

The lush, green forests coating its slopes are suddenly dwarfed by a terrifying, billowing plume of dark, ominous smoke rising directly from the summit. The sky, which had been a brilliant, unblemished blue just moments ago, is already beginning to bruise with a creeping, suffocating grey.

My breath completely stalls in my throat. The memory of Ms. Skyfire in the administrative corridor flashes behind my eyes.

My hands begin to tremble. The towel slips from my shoulders, dropping onto the sand.

"Mom?" I whisper, the word fracturing. I reach out, my fingers blindly grabbing the damp fabric of her jeans. "Mom! Ms. Skyfire… Miss Adele… they are studying it!"

RUMBLE.

A third, bone-jarring tremor tears through the land beneath our feet. It isn't just a sound; it is a violent physical shockwave that threatens to knock me entirely off balance. The turquoise water of the sea violently churns, the gentle waves rapidly warping into aggressive, choppy swells. Above us, the suffocating grey plume of smoke from Siesta Volcano expands, blotting out the brilliant sun.

"Mom?!"

Mom immediately drops to her knees in the sand. Her arms wrap securely around my trembling frame, pulling me flush against her chest. The ambient air around her is laced with a sharp, sour spike of her own anxiety, but she forcefully drowns it out with a massive, rushing wave of protective honey.

"It is okay. Don't worry, Lethe," mom promises, her voice a steady, unwavering anchor against the roaring panic of the beach.

"Everyone! Evacuate now!”

The loud, commanding shout slices cleanly through the chaotic, rising screams of the fleeing tourists.

I peek out from mom's embrace. Striding rapidly across the sand are two figures. The first is a stark, impossible contrast to the sun-drenched beach: Doctor. His heavy, dark coat completely absorbs the moonlight, his face entirely obscured.

Running right beside him is a Sarkaz girl the same one grilling barbecue earlier.

She has vibrant, fiery crimson hair and short, curved horns jutting from the sides of her head. Despite the tropical heat, she is carrying a massive, heavy-looking lance, her grip on the weapon tight and completely uncompromising.

The moment she closes the distance, her ambient presence hits the back of me. It tastes like bursting cherry cola mixed with cracked black pepper and the sharp flavor pure adrenaline.

“Doctor! Vigna!” Mom calls out.

The Sarkaz Field Ops doesn't hesitate.

"Caladria, Sussurro, Lethe," Vigna orders, her voice carrying an absolute, militarized urgency that demands immediate obedience. She points her lance toward the sprawling, panicked crowds stampeding toward the paved streets of the city. "Help Doctor and I make sure everyone is evacuated back into the city, we will look for other Operators."

Miss Sussurro is already moving. She has completely abandoned her cocktail and her lounge chair. Mom stands up, pulling me firmly to my feet, her posture instantly snapping into that of an Operator.

But my feet feel completely rooted in the sand.

"Wait!" I cry out, my voice a desperate, high-pitched plea. I look frantically between Vigna and Doctor. "Ms. Skyfire, Miss Adele. They…"

They are right there.

Doctor steps forward. His boots crush the sand.

He looks at me through the opaque visor.

"They are fine," Doctor says.

His voice is entirely muffled by the fabric and the mask, lacking any inflections of warmth or comfort. But the absolute, unshakable certainty in his tone drops into the chaotic air like a lead weight.

Mom, Miss Sussurro, and I exchange a rapid, silent look. The sheer gravity of his command completely overrides the paralyzing terror in my chest. If Doctor says they are fine, then they are fine. We have a job to do.

I force my spine straight.

"Yes, Doctor!" we answer in unison.

The frantic stampede of tourists tearing across the beach is a chaotic, vibrating blur. My hands drop to my sides, my fingers curling inward to grasp the familiar, heavy weight of my stadf. But they grasp absolutely nothing but the thin fabric of my jacket. The realization hits me like a bucket of freezing ocean water, completely paralyzing my lungs.

"I didn't bring my Arts Unit, mom," I gasp, my voice barely audible over the deafening roar of the distant volcano and the screaming crowds. "What do I do?"

Without the Kazdelian artifact to act as a buffer, I have no shield. If I try to siphon the collective terror of thousands of panicked civilians, the unfiltered trauma will instantly tear my mind to shreds. The ambient air is already thick with it: a suffocating, violent smog that tastes like battery acid, crushed glass, and the sharp, electric tang of sheer hysteria. It burns the back of my throat with every breath I take.

Mom doesn't miss a beat. She reaches out, her hands gripping my shoulders with a firm, grounding pressure.

"Just follow me," mom commands, her eyes locking onto mine with absolute, unyielding authority. "We make sure people don’t panic. We establish triage areas for anyone who might be injured in the crush. You don't use your Arts, Lethe. You just use your voice and your hands. Understood?"

"Understood," I nod, my voice steadying.

Right beside us, Miss Sussurro steps forward.

She raises her hands, her voice effortlessly slicing through the chaotic din of the screaming tourists and the crashing waves.

"Listen to me!" Miss Sussurro shouts, her tone ringing with an absolute, uncompromising clarity that forces the nearest fleeing civilians to freeze in their tracks.

"We are Rhodes Island medical personnel! Do not run blindly! Walk in an orderly line toward the paved streets! If you are injured, or if you have inhaled ash, move to the blue umbrellas immediately! We are establishing a triage center here!"

The sheer gravity of her words acts like a localized anchor. The mindless, trampling panic of the crowd around us stutters, slowly organizing into a frightened but manageable flow.

Doctor gives a single nod. He doesn't say another word. He simply turns his back on the safety of the shoreline, his coat snapping violently in the wind.

"We're going to find the others," Vigna calls out over her shoulder, already falling into step right beside Doctor. "Hold the line here!"

Without looking back, the two of them sprint directly against the current of the fleeing crowd, diving straight toward the towering shadow of the city to gather the rest of our Operators.

I watch the dark coat of Doctor disappear into the chaos as mom's hand gently tugs at my sleeve.

"Lethe. With me," mom orders.

I tear my eyes away from the city, and follow her and Miss Sussurro toward the abandoned lounge chairs. The sky above is rapidly bruising into a suffocating, ash- choked grey, but down here on the sand, we have a job to do.

One minute. Ten. Thirty.

The frantic, screaming stampede slowly bleeds out into a quiet, exhausted shuffle. The bruised, suffocating grey sky that had threatened to swallow Siesta whole eventually fractures, giving way to the velvet dark of night. Moonlight bathes the entire city, Arts Unit a silver glow over the the calming, rhythmic waves of the Sea of Clariside.

The sheer, suffocating terror of the crowd had dissolved as quickly as it had erupted. The triage center we had hastily constructed beneath the blue umbrellas was mercifully quiet. Very few people are actually injured; the chaos yielded nothing more severe than scraped knees, bruised elbows, and the lingering, breathless shock of a Catastrophe that never arrived.

I sit on the edge of a lounge chair, a roll of sterile gauze held carefully in my hands. Beside me is Hibiscus. She had found us shortly after the evacuation cleared the beaches, immediately jumping into the fray to assist.

Even in the exhausted aftermath of a near-apocalypse, the flavor radiating from Hibiscus is relentlessly, overwhelmingly positive, like a potent, concentrated burst of sweet floral nectar mixed perfectly with the sharp, clearing bite of medicinal eucalyptus.

"Just like this, Lethe," Hibiscus murmurs softly. Her hands gently guide mine, her fingers warm and steady. She shows me how to angle the white fabric over a shallow scrape on a civilian's arm. "Not too tight, so it doesn't pinch, but firm enough to keep the sand and dirt out."

I follow her movements, carefully wrapping the bandage and pressing the small metal clip into place to secure it.

The patient, a middle-aged Perro man with drooping ears and dust-stained clothes, looks down at the neat bandage. He looks up at us, his eyes shining with profound, exhausted relief. There is no hate towards the two Sarkaz near him.

"Thank you," the Perro man exhales, his voice thick with gratitude. He looks past me, taking in mom and Miss Sussurro coordinating the remaining medical supplies near the boardwalk. "Having Rhodes Island here… it is a pure blessing. We thought the mountain was going to bury us all."

I offer him a small, polite smile, the heavy tension in my chest loosening just a fraction more.

The mountain didn't blow.

The colossal peak of Siesta Volcano stands silently against the starlit sky. The terrifying, billowing plumes of black smoke simply ceased, the apocalyptic tremors fading back into the deep earth as if the volcano had suddenly, miraculously, changed its mind. With the last of the minor scratches bandaged and the civilians safely dispersed toward the city's stabilized sectors, the adrenaline finally leaves my bloodstream entirely.

Mom, Miss Sussurro, Hibiscus, and I gather around a small, round plastic table near the edge of the boardwalk. Resting directly in the center of the table is a massive, freshly cracked-open coconut.

I lean over it, both hands gripping the rough, fibrous shell, and greedily drink the sweet, hydrating coconut water through a plastic straw. The cool, refreshing liquid washes down my throat, completely clearing away the lingering, phantom taste of panic and dry sand. It is absolute heaven.

Miss Sussurro leans back in her chair, letting out a long, quiet sigh as she rubs her temples, the bitter tastes of her emotional resonance mellowing into a smooth, exhausted calm. Mom watches me drink with a soft smile.

Hibiscus rests her chin in her hands, her purple hair swaying gently in the cool ocean breeze. She looks out past the waters, her attention entirely locked onto the silent, towering silhouette of the volcano.

"I wonder what happened," Hibiscus ponders, her voice a soft, melodic hum in the moonlight. "Catastrophes don't just… stop."

None of us have an answer.

We sit in the quiet, moonlit chill of the beach, staring up at the colossal, silent silhouette of Siesta Volcano. The terrifying plumes of black smoke have entirely vanished, leaving the starlit sky unblemished. Catastrophes are the absolute, undeniable wrath of Terra; they do not simply change their minds. Yet, the mountain sleeps.

With the crisis averted and the shoreline cleared, we finally pack up our medical supplies and filter back to the landship.

The transition from the salty, humid air of the beach back to the climate-controlled, arteries of Rhodes Island feels like stepping into a different world. We make our way directly to the residential block.

The moment the doors to the lounge open, the lingering tension in my chest completely dissolves. Lisa, Podenco, Miss Lena, and Opal are all gathered there. Lisa’s tails immediately puff into a frantic blur of relief, and Podenco lets out a long, highly exaggerated exhale. Miss Lena offers a serene, grounding smile, while Opal sits quietly on a sofa, quietly observes everyone, holding her newly acquired Siestan collectible. Everyone is safe. The landship is whole.

The exhaustion of the day finally catches up to me. I am too completely drained to even think about a proper dinner. I manage to grab a simple egg salad sandwich with gooey boiled eggs from the late-night cafeteria trays. The soft bread and creamy, savory filling are just enough to settle my empty stomach.

Back in my dorm, the process of peeling off the damp, salt-crusted white swimsuit feels like shedding a second skin. I step into the shower, letting the warm water run over my shoulders, watching the fine sand of Siesta wash down the stainless-steel drain. I toss the swimsuit and the sun jacket into a laundry bin, flagging everything to be aggressively scrubbed clean by the logistics department tomorrow.

The moment my cheek hits the pillows, the darkness pulls me under.

The next morning, Siesta is roaring again.

Even through the reinforced bulkheads of the landship, I can feel the faint, rhythmic thrum of heavy bass guitars and cheering crowds. The city has completely shaken off the apocalyptic terror of yesterday afternoon; the Obsidian Festival has resumed with a defiant, blistering energy.

I am safely back in my civilian armor. The soft fabrics a desperate, cozy comfort against the chill of the morning cycle.

I sit in the recreational lounge, my legs tucked beneath me on the sofa, a warm ceramic bowl of oats resting in my lap.

I am still exhausted, perfectly content to hide inside the oversized fleece of my hoodie.

"No going out today?"

The voice materializes directly beside my ear, soft and entirely unannounced.

I flinch so violently my shoulders practically hit my ears. The spoon slips from my fingers, clattering sharply against the rim of the ceramic bowl. My tail, which had been resting lazily over the edge of the sofa, snaps completely rigid, pointing straight at the wall.

I whip my head around.

"Mom?!" I gasp, pressing a hand against my rapidly hammering chest. "You scared me!" Mom stands right behind the sofa, a bright, deeply amused smile stretching across her face.

"Sorry, my little Lethe," mom chuckles softly.

She steps around the back of the sofa, slipping into the empty space beside me.

Without another word, she gently reaches out, her fingers sinking into the messy, unkempt mass of my hair. She begins to methodically smooth out the tangles I had slept on.

I lean back into her touch, letting out a long sigh.

I stare down at my bowl of oats, the memory of the black plumes of smoke choking the sky flashing behind my eyes.

"Is it safe?" I whisper, my voice tiny in the quiet lounge. "The mountain?"

Mom's fingers pause their gentle rhythm. A faint, crisp note of cool ozone and sharp, victorious static bleeds into her honeyed emotional resonance.

"Yes," mom replies, her voice steady and absolute. "It is safe. I just caught up with Skyfire and Eyjafjalla."

"They told me what happened," mom continues, resuming the soothing strokes through my hair. "It wasn't a natural eruption, Lethe. The city’s Catastrophe Messenger, a man named Cronin, was secretly mining obsidian deep within the mountain behind Mayor’s back. His illegal operations opened up pathways, causing wild Originium slugs to find their way directly into the magma chambers. The slugs were destabilizing the volcano from the inside out."

I sit perfectly still. The sheer, terrifying scale of the sabotage makes my stomach give a hollow twist. An entire city of innocent people, the beaches, the tourists; all of it nearly buried in fire and ash just so one man could secretly sell rocks.

"But…" Mom's voice swells with a profound, undeniable pride. "They went in. Skyfire, Eyjafjalla, and a few other Operators pushed deep into the subterranean tunnels. They cleared the slugs out, and stabilized the magma chambers. For now, the mountain is asleep again."

The air is violently sucked out of my lungs.

I stare blankly at the far wall of the lounge. My mind races back to the hushed aisles of the Archives.

They didn't just run from the Catastrophe. They didn't just brace for impact or calculate the acceptable losses. They walked directly into the burning heart of a volcano, deciphered its wrath, and simply turned it off.

"They… they tamed nature?"

Mom's hands gently gather the smoothed sections of my hair, tying them neatly back to keep the heavy strands off my neck.

"They did, Lethe," mom murmurs softly, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to the crown of my head. "They did."

"Both of them are down on the beach right now, taking a very well-deserved rest," mom says, offering me a bright, conspiratorial smile. She tilts her head. "You don’t want to join your tutors?"

"Of course I do!" I exclaim, the lingering exhaustion in my bones instantly evaporating. I grab my spoon and attack the warm oats with reckless abandon. The ceramic clinks rapidly as I practically inhale my breakfast in record speed. I don't even wait for the milk to fully settle in my stomach before I slide off the sofa.

"Have fun out there, Lethe!" Mom calls out.

I charge into my dorm, tearing off my oversized kitten hoodie. I quickly pull on the one- piece swimsuit mom had bought me, and the sun jacket halfway up my chest to shield my skin. I grab my Arts Unit and charge right back out into the arteries of the landship. The moment I step off the deployment ramp, the blazing heat of Siesta washes over me. The Obsidian Festival is in full swing, a roaring, vibrating entity that makes the very pavement hum. I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, visualizing my sheer glass wall to block out the overwhelming, fizzy static of the massive crowds.

The street is absolutely bustling.

As I navigate the edge of the crowd, I spot a familiar Sarkaz. Vigna is leaning casually against a wooden railing, completely relaxing in the shade of a vibrant awning. She is dual-wielding her lunch with terrifying efficiency. In one hand, she holds a massive, caramelized skewer of grilled meat, practically dripping with a tangy, bright-yellow glaze that sizzles under the midday heat. In the other hand, she balances an absurdly large, hollowed-out coconut overflowing with a violently pink, sloshy crushed-ice drink, topped with three bendy straws. The sharp, adrenaline-laced cherry-cola flavor of her emotional resonance has entirely mellowed into a deeply satisfied, lazy hum.

I offer her a quick, polite wave, which she returns by raising her massive skewer in a silent salute, before I quickly steer myself away from the deafening music of the main stages and toward the quieter, tucked-away shorelines.

The roaring music slowly fades into the rhythmic, soothing crash of waves against the beach. But as I reach a relatively quiet section of the boardwalk, the ambient air suddenly sours. A brief, metallic tang of cold, stagnant water drifts over the sea breeze. Standing near a shaded cabana, two Siesta officials are speaking in hushed, heavy tones.

"They will have to move the city to nomadic plates," one of them murmurs, staring out at the towering, silent peak of the volcano looming over the bay. "It is just a matter of time…”

“But if we are a nomadic city, Columbia is going to try to enforce their infected laws on us… either pay health insurance premiums or join Pioneer Vanguard services…”

I slow my pace. The reality of Terra presses heavily against my chest. In this world, nothing stays safe forever.

But as I look out over the water, a familiar, crackling warmth pushes back the cold dread.

"Ms. Skyfire! Miss Adele!" I call out, my voice chiming clearly over the crashing waves. I step off the boardwalk sinking slightly into the warm, powdery white sand.

A few paces away, standing near the frothing edge of the shoreline, are my two tutors. They have completely shed their coats for the blistering Siesta heat, but they both command the beach with undeniable, striking presence.

Ms. Skyfire turns at the sound of my voice. She is wearing a sleek, elegant black swimsuit with a delicate halter neck.

Standing right beside her is Miss Adele. The gentle researcher looks absolutely radiant, dressed in a vibrant, ruffled pink two-piece swimsuit with a classic gingham pattern. A delicate, sheer pink overskirt flutters gently in the sea breeze around her hips, and a bright, tropical pink flower is tucked neatly behind her curling horns.

"Lethe!" Miss Adele chimes. She steps forward, her overskirt fluttering around her hips. Her eyes sweep over my outfit "Look at you! You look absolutely adorable. It suits you perfectly."

I feel a hot, prickly flush of embarrassment instantly warm my cheeks. I duck my head just a tiny bit.

"Mom picked it out for me," I murmur, my tail giving a shy, involuntary swish behind me. I look back up at her, and then at the imposing, elegant figure of Ms. Skyfire standing right beside her. "But you both look so beautiful. Like actual princesses from the storybooks."

Ms. Skyfire lets out a scoff, though the sharp, crackling spices in her emotional resonance immediately swell with a bright, undeniable note of burning pride. She crosses her arms, the sleek fabric of her swimsuit highlighting her confident posture.

"Naturally," Ms. Skyfire declares. "One must maintain a certain standard of elegance, even when forced to endure the sweltering humidity of a tropical shoreline."

"Mom told me what you two did," I say, my voice trembling with absolute, unadulterated reverence. I look toward the towering, silent peak of Siesta Volcano looming in the distance, and then back at my tutors. "You walked right into the mountain. You stopped the rocks from exploding. You saved the entire city."

Miss Adele’s radiant smile softens into something incredibly profound and melancholic. The warm chestnut flavor of her presence dims just a fraction.

"We didn't save it forever, Lethe," Miss Adele whispers, her eyes reflecting the sparkling turquoise waves. "We cleared the immediate danger and stabilized the pressure, but the damage is not something that can be permanently undone. We only gave them time." Ms. Skyfire nods slowly. She turns her gaze away from the volcano, looking down the sprawling, pristine shoreline of the white sand beach.

"Surely you’ve overheard the municipal officials on the boardwalk, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire states. "Siesta cannot remain a stationary city forever. The subterranean chambers will inevitably destabilize again. The Mayor and the city council already know this. Soon, this city will be ripped from its foundations, rebuilt on massive platforms, and converted into a nomadic one to outrun the next eruption."

Ms. Skyfire looks back out at the endless, shimmering blue water.

"And when they move the city," she continues, her voice carrying a quiet, heavy finality,

"this ocean, these shores, and this beautiful white sand… it will all be left behind. It will just be another memory."

The truth of her words confirms what I have heard. The breathtaking, vibrant paradise I am standing in is already living on borrowed time.

But then, Ms. Skyfire turns back to me. The heavy, solemn atmosphere completely shatters.

She reaches out, elegantly tapping her index finger directly against my forehead.

"Which is precisely why," Ms. Skyfire commands, her eyes flashing with absolute, unyielding authority, "we are not going to waste a single second of today mourning the inevitable. The skies are clear, the Catastrophe has been averted, and we have earned our reprieve."

Miss Adele smiles, a bright, radiant expression that completely pushes back the shadows of the future. She reaches out and takes my free hand, her touch warm and incredibly grounding.

"Ms. Mountbelan is right," Miss Adele adds, her voice full of gentle encouragement. "The future will come, Lethe. But today, the water is cool, and the sun is beautiful."

Ms. Skyfire rests her hands on her hips, fixing me with a stern, expectant glare.

"As your tutor, I am officially assigning you your practical task for the afternoon, Lethe," Ms. Skyfire declares. "You are to leave your heavy thoughts on the landship, put down that Kazdelian artifact, and simply enjoy the sea."

“Yes! Ms. Skyfire!” I give her my best salute.

I hold my crisp salute, trying my absolute hardest to look like the diligent, serious medical student Ms. Skyfire expects me to be.

Miss Adele brings a hand to her mouth, a soft giggle escaping her lips as her curling horns shake with her genuine amusement. The dormant hearth fire of her presence flares with a bright, joyful spark.

Ms. Skyfire lets out a long sigh, gently pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Perhaps she is a lost cause," Ms. Skyfire mutters. She shakes her head. "I leave her alone for a few months, and she is perfectly ready to trade Originium thermodynamics for building sandcastles."

Before I can puff my cheeks out and fiercely defend the architectural integrity of my future sandcastles, the thick, broad-leafed tropical plants framing the edge of the shoreline begin to rustle violently.

The ambient air of the beach shifts.

The warm, salty sea breeze and the sweet floral scent of Miss Adele are instantly pierced by a sharp, unmistakable spike of cold copper and expensive, old wine. But beneath that familiar, predatory taste is a heavy, overwhelming note of sour, bruised grapes.

The massive green fronds part.

My hand drops limply from my salute, and my jaw completely unhinges.

Stepping out from the dense tropical foliage is the our residential Haematologists. But she is absolutely not wearing her clinical lab coat.

She is wearing a striking, dark summer ensemble that practically absorbs the blistering Siesta sunlight. A sleek, black off-the-shoulder top with delicate ruffles pairs with dark, ruffled bottoms. It is all layered beneath a translucent, dark grey jacket that slips effortlessly off her shoulders.

A black strap emblazoned with bold, white RHODES ISLAND lettering crosses her chest, securing a small, utilitarian medical box at her hip. In her left hand, she clutches a tightly furled, deep red umbrella like a makeshift spear. Her long, white hair and pointed ears frame her face, her crimson eyes gleaming sharply against the vibrant greens and blues of the tropical foliage surrounding her.

"Dr… Dr… Dr. Warfarin?!"

The name tears out of my throat in a terrified squeak. My tail instantly snaps into a rigid, defensive coil around my leg. My hands fly up to cover the crooks of my elbows. Is she here to draw my blood on the beach?!

Dr. Warfarin rolls her eyes, stepping fully out of the bushes and onto the sand. She uses the pointed tip of her red umbrella to lazily push a stray palm frond out of her way.

"What are you staring at, little anomaly? Cannot little old me go on a mandated vacation and enjoy the ocean breeze?"

My brain completely short-circuits.

A vacation? The only breeze she has ever willingly enjoyed is the exhaust vent of her beloved centrifuges.

"You… you don't do vacations," I stammer. "You hate the sun! You said sweaty beaches were dreadful!"

Dr. Warfarin scoffs loudly. She lets her umbrella rest heavily against her shoulder. The bitter, sour taste in the air spikes aggressively.

"Tell that to your Kal’tsit," Dr. Warfarin grumbles, her fangs flashing in a scowl of pure outrage. "The infernal Lynx literally changed the biometric locks on my laboratory doors this morning. She claimed my 'refusal to leave the middle decks was compromising my baseline sanity' and evicted me. Evicted me! From my own lab!"

Beside me, Miss Adele covers her mouth again, her shoulders shaking with silent, helpless giggles. Even Ms. Skyfire looks away toward the waves, her ears twitching as she desperately tries to suppress a highly undignified smile.

"So now," Dr. Warfarin sighs dramatically, popping her umbrella open with a sharp, aggressive snap, "I am forced to wander this sweltering, sand-infested land until Kal decides I have absorbed enough 'vitamin D' to be allowed back to my samples."

She tilts the umbrella back, her eyes locking onto my swimsuit-clad form. That familiar, predatory smirk slowly begins to creep back onto her lips.

"Though," Dr. Warfarin purrs, "I suppose monitoring the heart rate and sun exposure of my favorite little anomaly might make this dreadful vacation marginally more tolerable."