Consciousness lingered in Therrye awhile longer. There was almost a remorse in not being able to agree with what Aolieon suggested. That path painted such a pleasant picture, didn't it? Of course, she knew the world outside Night City, and between most nodes of concentrated civilization, had been laid to waste in so many ways by the humans who had come before. Even if she left, where would she take her life? Go LEO? Continent hop? Take on the path of the Nomad?
It wasn't that any of these notions were leadheaded. They just didn't seem to offer her much that she wasn't already in touch with here. That, and she knew what dark designs had been taking clearer shape in her heart. Someone, many someones, deserved a lifetime of suffering for what they'd done - and Therrye, when it came down to it, couldn't choose walking away. Few others would give what she would to make them pay, and of those she knew, she was in the best position to do so. Even if it took a year or more to plan and execute.
The regret that lingered in her as she slipped into unconsciousness was that she had let such thoughts distract her from more fully appreciating the woman in her arms in those moments after she'd fallen asleep against her.
Vivid neon clouds and watercolor skies hung far out of reach above a roiling ocean of oil. Iridescent, transparent, abyssal; all types of oils bubbled and separated inside a thick, undulating layer. Stranded as she was in this endless sea, Therrye could somehow breathe it in, but it hung cloying and sick in her lungs. Kicking at the fluid pushed her in infuriating increments, the currents the only force that truly decided where her body would go. Something precious was deeper, and she could not tell whether it or her needed the other more. Thrashing up a cloud of distorted fluid, she then twisted into a diver's arc and swam with all her will.
But for every meter of oil she cut through, another expanded below. The curtain would not yield.
Lorn - Tempered By Your Love
Therrye awoke with a heaviness behind her ribs. Half groggy and coated in sweat recent and not, she came toward lucidity slowly. The noxious vision of her dream persisted, playing just outside the line of memory until she snatched it and replayed its details, layering it down through repetition in a choice driven purely by intuition. As she finished the mental sketch, she became aware of what was missing from her bed - what had tangled her sheets and left them marked. Elusive sensations twitched inside her left forearm and vanished before the speed of conscious thought could catch up.
Sitting up, she brought a palm to her chest, fingers absently tugging at the skin while her gaze remained unfocused. Memories swam back through her, waking nerves to a fraction of the intensity experienced last night - but waking them all the same. What happened had left a presence behind, laid into her flesh as surely as the nest of emotion weighing down next to her heart. Bringing up her other hand, she stared at her fingers; thought bottled up in the wreckage of how she had blended pleasure and pain. Part of it sparked such a sense of betrayal of self that she could hear screaming curses in her own voice, splaying through her mind.
Leaning back, she ran her hand through those electric blue locks, fingertips grazing her scalp to touch some calm into her. Her visual focus narrowed in on the globe lights above her bed, the same sight that had filled her vision as she was dismantled so few hours ago. Therrye looked away to scatter her gaze across familiar objects and patterns in her apartment. An overwhelming sense descended on her that, overnight, she'd filled her home with ghosts.
".. swearing lifelong revenge, driven by lust..."
The bruiser brought a hand to her face, resting some of its weight there. Fingertips touched the residue of lipstick, the thickness of a fresh application noticeable in it. A final parting gift from the dancer. She pulled away the hand to look at the plum stain on her skin.
What did I fall into last night?
Mansionair - Easier
Anger rolled through her strikes as she took on a second-tier reinforced punching bag, battering it with heavy swings. The usual faces were absent; rarely did she come this early in the day. She preferred that, though, as she didn't have to explain why she was going so hard. Working out her feelings through her arms wasn't always second nature, bound as it was to survival and suffering for much of her life span. Turning it into something more freeing of her demons had been a cathartic transmutation years in the making.
Today, they weren't releasing with the impacts. The stronger her punches, the more the feelings clung on, refusing to budge from where they'd latched into her. Therrye began throwing kicks, turning hits into volleys until she was raining down attacks with just a breath between streaks. None of it brought her any closer to the release she craved.
She surrendered before the bag did, hugging it to rest fatigued muscles. Others had started to watch her, lost in the grip of her fury, and then turned away once it abated. It seemed something on the news had caught their attention, anyhow (something about a cyberpsycho rampage?), though Therrye wasn't paying it any mind. Not even the shudder of weakness through overworked muscles stole the vibrancy from what lingered in her chest. Only time seemed to be having any diminishing effect, and it wasn't tackling it with any sense of haste.
Statistics rolled into a display between the pillars designating her lane. Accuracy was notably down, worse than even her first visit to this range. Her head wasn't in the game for these careful and calculated shots - the kind she'd need for sniping long distance targets. Targeting assistance would have been invaluable, but she'd never had a smart link installed to use the more wired firearm systems. For all its irregularities and foibles, Therrye trusted more in flesh than she did in chrome.
Once was more than enough for a lifetime, and she'd personally witnessed a cyberpsycho rampage twice. That she was as close to the line as she was bothered her, though she had never given voice to it. She'd refused to let go of the second rate dermal plating she'd gotten in her teens, and having already started there, why not finish the job? It'd saved her from death more than a handful of times in the past few years, so there was no arguing its effectiveness or value.
This relationship with augments was what led her to shell out the extra eddies to treat her body more like a foundation to add to, rather than meat to replace, and she never once regretted the price multiplier that brought with it.
Even if she was now shooting like garbage.
Switching to burst fire, Therrye lit up three targets at staggered distances and ran out the rest of the magazine. It wasn't single shot stealth kills or high ammo efficiency, but her kill rate was much higher.
Sometimes leaning into anger was the best choice. But it still wasn't easing the ache.
On the other side of a shower, Therrye sat hunched over, lost in thought, toes tapping.
Unsurprisingly, Aolieon had ghosted in the morning. It was more or less expected, even, but that didn't mean it didn't sting. Words spoken on pillows rarely meant anything once dawn hit, after all. That she'd never personally played into that sense of immediate disconnection (despite her distance) hadn't disabused her of the knowledge that it was still far more common than not. Vulnerability was avoided because of how much it could hurt, after all.
She pulled up her bike's location history, observing the brighter dot where she'd parked for the
Neon Hearts bar. Could she ask Kaede about getting in touch with her?
Maybe, came the unenthused response,
but if my choom didn't leave her digits, I definitely wouldn't give them out. Having expected all of this, that part of her rightly pointed out that she should let go. Aolieon made her choice; respect it. What good came of chasing a cat that didn't want to be caught? The dancer'd practically told her, even, that she'd be left wanting, and this was all a dead end.
Fingers rubbed together, callouses against callouses, the memory of the plum lipstick returning. Just another night, sealed and shut to linger in memory, beauty rich because of its fleeting nature? It didn't sit right.
You shouldn't linger. And yet. And yet. Hooks had been laid in her, and they weren't coming out so easily.
The tapping of her toes paused, a background thought pushing its way to the fore.
The malware. Bringing it up in her feed, she could see that the data package was large. Larger than expected. Even if it contained nothing of great importance, there might be information that pointed toward Aolieon. Enough that it could contain her address, at any rate. She didn't think it'd be impossible to retrace her steps to the Liandri's place, but it likely would have taken her awhile, and roaming like that could draw attention. If she could tug out the address - well. Therrye could show up and leave a message with that 'ganic concierge for her. Name, phone number, something like 'call me.'
Didn't mean she would, of course, but it was something. It was movement. Taking action felt far better than just sitting around with this weight inside of her.
Bringing up her contacts, she nudged the only one which was wholly encrypted, labeled with just a single visible number amidst a jumble of symbols - '9.'
Hey. Got some time? I have something I want decrypted.
Text swam back sooner than she expected.
Lorn - Conduit
tasty data noms have we?
Nothing Corpo. More... personal.
ooooo spicy. we like spicy.
Yeah.
A beat.
How much?
mmm depends. on the encryption.
Seems high-end exotic, but I don't know this stuff like you do.
will let u know. maybe sched3. sned it.
Alright. Thanks, E.
yeh
A data address followed for her to upload it, and once she'd made the transfer, the address and the messages all disappeared. This wasn't cause for concern - 9 never liked to leave traces behind her and she was thorough, something which Therrye certainly respected.
The bruiser exhaled, feeling a little lighter. Motion didn't always feet better than standing still, but it always felt better than being
forced to stand still.
While pushing through her feed of news and possible flagged updates, a brief couple seconds of autoplayed video made her stop in her tracks.
No fucking way. She opened it up and saw silent footage of edited and clilpped instances of wildly censored events unfolding. Glimpses of sword, suit and hair wrapped her attention.
"NCPD has asked us to show this footage of the culprit for anyone who has information on this attack -- unfortunately, we've had to blur it almost entirely due to censorship standards -- if you've seen anybody covered in this amount of viscera, all I can say is wow -- come on the show for an interview! We'd love to know how you're still breathing!"
It would have been too much of a coincidence for this to not be the dancer. But... what was this? And why? Feelings of bewilderment and intrigue wrestled beneath a growing seep of concern.
Bloodbath Brawlhalla, she mused silently, remembering the latest iteration of the 'institution' that kept running through an endless circuit of enslaved fighters. She'd hit an earlier incarnation of it with Bethsket and Tharaday, back when the euphoric high of kindred spirits in teamwork and vengeful justice had them in its grips. Then the fallout came, and Therrye had nearly seen Tharaday disemboweled. Even after the heat died down, she never had quite the same stomach for risk when it came to them again.
It seemed that Aolieon hadn't cared in the slightest what risks befell her.
A ragged exhale left the bruiser's lips as she ran a hand through her hair. She felt like she'd aged a few years in that span of minutes, anxiety on the dancer's behalf spiking.
I barely know her, she reminded herself, and yet. And yet. It wasn't all that different from seeing Bethsket and Tharaday in danger, was it?
Then the thought struck:
Did she do this... because of me?
The notion felt preposterous. But how else could she interpret the timing? And this, after ghosting her. Aolieon was a deluge of mixed signals and red flags, and it was still not even 24 hours since she'd met the woman. Therrye rubbed at her face, the roil of emotions fraying her nerves. In spite of everything, she couldn't feel herself disengaging from this
disaster in motion. The Centaur crushing her leg felt nicer, if she was being honest.
What the fuck am I doing?
"HEY!" Joi's shout made Therrye stop in her movement. A gonk was currently suspended by his jacket and belt above a table, flailing drunkenly in the bruiser's grip. She slowly turned, no longer trying to slam him hip-first into the furniture, to catch the woman's gaze.
"Outside. Now." Tightening her jaw, she gave a nod, and walked her 'cargo' out the front door, dropping him to pavement instead of yeeting him into asphalt.
"Keep your hands to yourself or I'm breaking both next time," she growled, giving a nudge with her foot to send him to the edge of the sidewalk before returning to the door.
Therrye could feel Joi's gaze burning up her back. She didn't turn around, instead keeping her senses attuned to the job. Sounds of distress, sights of trouble, smells of intoxication; everything a bouncer should be paying attention to.
During a stretch over the course of the long stint, she felt something unfamiliar poke at her chest. Reaching into her jacket and feeling around, she discovered the pin there. Carefully unpinning it, she looked it over in her palm. A blue skull with devil's horns and black wings. She knew she didn't put it there, and she could guess who might have. It seemed an odd choice, but she felt she was probably missing some context. Shrugging mildly, she slid the pin back into the pocket, saving that mystery for later.
At the end of the night, once she'd escorted out the last of the lingerers, she shut the door and flipped on the analog security system. When she turned around, Joi was back at the bar, pointing to a stool.
"Sit." She may not have been in the mood, but she wasn't going to delta on her fixer like a gonk. Joi was pretty close to choom status anyhow, and that would have doubled the guilt. Rolling her shoulders, Therrye nodded and took the seat. Joi tapped one of two shot glasses, but the bruiser held up her hand, so she poured just one for herself and drank half.
Neither said anything for a long beat; Therrye wasn't going to break the silence.
"What's eating you?" She rapped a knuckle against the bar twice. None of the words felt right, and trying to grasp through the tangles left more openings than endings. Her silence dragged on. Concern crept into Joi's voice, overriding some of the usual firmness.
"That bad?" Therrye gave a twisted frown and held up an empty hand, her frustration writ more openly. She exhaled, shook her head, then drew fingers beckoningly against the bar, earning a raised eyebrow. Still, Joi filled up the empty shot glass and slid it over. The Liandri gave it a long stare before downing it, and focused on the burn in her throat while her fixer gave her the space of silence.
"Ever have a night that made you doubt your sense of self?" Worry inched up in the bartender's expression. If Therrye had shared what else was agitating her, well, she suspected that worry would inch a lot higher. But... she didn't feel like she could get into that yet, and definitely not with Joi.
"Get up to something you regret that much?" She shook her head.
"No, not - not really. It's more the how than the what." "Not making it any clearer there, 'Rye." An exhale and another pause.
"I felt like a stranger in my own body. Except not, either. I know, it sounds gonk, it's... hard to put into words."
Joi regarded her quietly for a little while to let her gather some thoughts before poking back in.
"So you did something, felt something, that's off range from familiar territory." Her hand drew down her face before gesturing.
"That's the thing. It didn't feel unfamiliar. More like a birthmark you've always had on your back, and only just now noticed it's always been there." "And you weren't skezzing?" Therrye snorted and pointed at the shot glass.
"I barely even touch Dorph anymore, and you know I don't drink that much." Joi shrugged after a bit.
"Sounds like some personal revelation, then." "Yeah." "Must have been one hell of a night." The woman laughed and swept a hand through her hair.
"Yeah." "No regrets, though?" "...." "Mmm?" "I'm not sure yet." "That doesn't sound like your usual self." "It isn't. S'part of the point." "Life getting so dull you're picking up a little noir to spice things up?" "Joi."
Joi chuffed and refilled Therrye's glass without prompting.
"Maybe you should tap some relaxation and stop thinking so hard." "I'm not in the mood for that." "There are other ways to relax, you know." A wry half-smile met the mildly concerned one.
"Yeah. Alright." "Yeah?" "Punching hasn't really helped, so." "Now you're actually worrying me." Therrye drank the second shot and pushed the glass over, getting off the stool.
"I'll be fine." "... you know you can open up a little more if you ever want to. I'm not just your boss." "Can't have you passing me up on the good runs because you think I'm soft." "I already know you're a big softie, 'Rye. Half the joytoys in the district know that."
"Yeah." She rolled the words in her mouth before finishing the thought; they tasted sour.
"They don't see me when I'm on jobs." Therrye offered a not unfriendly gesture as she walked toward the back exit.
"Thanks for the drinks." Joi exhaled through her nose.
"See you tomorrow."
After she was out, Joi briefly checked her Syndicate communiques and saw a new hit had come in... for a 'nondescript Liandri female'.
Therrye? Scanning for more details, she soon ruled her bouncer out, but that didn't exactly exonerate all of the concern. She punched in a text.
Watch your six the next few days.
Giving Joi's message a third read, and still finding its meaning unclear, Therrye shot back a reply before entering her next destination.
What am I watching out for? She wouldn't see the reply until later, and its accompanying spike in blood pressure.
Anyone who might want to claim a bounty on a Liandri woman.
"She finally returns to let me finish the job." "Guess I can't keep away from you for too long." At least this feels easy. Not too close, not too distant - these sorts of relationships never felt hard for her.
Kara was at another Doc Ryder's this night (morning), but her hours were the same as they usually were. Therrye already had her jacket off and was pulling her shirt over her head.
"'ey, chica, this isn't that kind of establishment." "You know how many people get a free show like this?" "Somewhere in the hundreds, I suspect." She gave a mock look of offense at the dry call out before hopping up onto the chair.
"Kara, are you calling me a slut?" "I'm not the one showing off all those love bites right now." "Felt pretty nova getting them." Another round of tongue clucking received from the ripperdoc; at least she wasn't bringing actual wounds this time.
"A lady can have a good time without sharing it with the entire neighborhood." She conceded the point. Not everyone was, or could afford to be, so cavalier about their relations.
Kara spun up the systems while glancing over Therrye's body with her scoping augments.
"No new deep wounds, at least." "I leave the blades and bullets to my working hours." "Mmm. So what's the buy?" The bruiser gestured at her chest.
"Upgrade. I want the Militech Mark IIIs." "Oooh, getting a little draga tonight, are we?" "Can't risk another puncture over the vitals." "Hey, I'm not complaining 'bout you taking care of yourself. Going full body?" "Just the torso." "Alright. It'll be awhile, of course." "Yeah, I remember." "Lose the bra while I grab the plates." "I thought you weren't interested." "Nothing I haven't already seen a half dozen times from you." "This only makes five by my count." "I will pinch you, chica."
Therrye enjoyed a good chuckle before she'd have to let some of the banter dry up. Laughing while chrome was being extracted from muscle fiber and tissue layer couldn't be described as
wise. All of the back and forth helped her cope with the procedure, though. Even if the chems dulled her nerves beneath any notice but pressure, the process disquieted her, and her cells remembered. Surgery was trauma, and surgery like this far more traumatic than most, in spite of it not removing any bits of her.
The soreness afterward would be well worth it, at least, even with the price tag. She refused to let flatlining be in her cards, and if this was the cost, so be it.
Entering her apartment, Therrye almost didn't bother with the locks as she kicked off shoes and shed layers. The local anesthetics hadn't fully dissipated yet, but she felt
off. Nothing about augment surgery at this scale was easy on the body. A chunk of memory swam up and fused itself into a new image: instead of swimming through an ocean of oil, the oil was flooding through her.
Disgust lanced through her in a shudder.
Exhaling and shaking away the visceral displeasure, she padded toward her bed, then paused, murmuring with annoyance. She went to the sink, filled a cup of water, downed it greedily, and then filled it again. Kara had left her with a parting lecture on hydration and nutrition following each of the three operations she'd had there, and Therrye couldn't argue that she had a point. Taking the glass with her to bed, she made a mental note to get a couple Citrus Nutriblasts whenever she got back up. They tended to go down well on a queasy stomach and leave her feeling better than most other drinks, plus they didn't add anything to her anxiety, which had been left in uncertainly high places after she'd read Joi's response to her message.
It was all the worse that she couldn't even ask her about any of it.
Flopping down on her back, a text notification came up in her feed while she was pulling off her pants and socks. Once again she caught a whiff of the novel smell on her sheets, and though it was faint this time, it still wrapped heavy ribbons around her heart. She really should have made time to change her sheets, but at this point she was exhausted, and she yearned for unconsciousness.
Not that the new notification was helping any there.
Down to her underwear, she loosed a ragged exhale, ran fingers through her hair, and opened it up.
So excited for Friday!!!! 
Are you still down to pick me up?? 
Therrye blinked at the words, the striker sparking but failing to ignite. Then the memory connected, making her groan quietly.
The concert. Fuck. She'd forgotten all about it with everything that'd happened the past few days. Really, if she was being honest with herself, with everything that happened
that night (morning).
Between her murky emotional state and now recovering from major surgery, she wanted nothing more in this moment than to sleep for the next three days. Rest and reset hadn't even been working for her this week, though, so even that fantasy was currently out of synch with her.
An impulse to cancel on Sid welled up in her drained body. She'd asked Therrye to see Sparrow Rust with her at Fifth Flaw nearly two months ago; the date was well and truly marked off in her calendar, which would make ghosting her super scoppy. Choosing to upgrade her plates tonight was leadheaded decision making and there was no evading that.
Fucking hell, girl. Feeling so unbalanced was hitting her in unexpected ways.
She typed back.
Of course. Won't be doing much dancing though. Still sore from Monday.
Oh shit everything okay?? 
Yeah, Kara sewed me up. Things just got a little messy.
You needed to see Kara??? Noooo 
Hey hey it's okay. I'm okay. Just tired.
Get lots of rest then?? 
I will.
Therrye flicked the screen away then, rolling over onto her side.
When was the last time I felt like this? Currents of it reminded her of Mirri, and a few edges vibed with the sunrise days, but neither really lined up. This was all new, and that was part of why it was getting to her so much. At least, that's what she thought the score was.
Closing her eyes, the Liandri focused on her breath to let thinking fade into the background. As long as her attention was on how it filled out her core and fled in the exhale, it couldn't be anywhere else. Several cycles later, she was feeling more ready for sleep.
A last thought was tugging at her, though. She brought up her contacts again and picked out Bethsket's info. The sentiment was simple, at least.
Hey, want to throw some fists, shoot the shit and get burgers?
The reply came hours later, long after she'd slipped into sleep.
Preem girl when?
The Acid - Basic Instinct
Standing with her helmet on and bike between her thighs, Therrye was near oblivious to everything around her while she stared at the string of numbers. 9 had sent it with the adjoining text of
phone number? Then,
exotic was right, btw. will sned teh bill when i finish. Once she'd opened and read the text, the messages disappeared, but the string of numbers was copied into a file created in her local storage. Having worked with 9 before, she wasn't surprised at the casual invasion, though she kind of doubted 9 would be the type to really snoop into any personal files without cause. What still surprised her was the ease with which the netrunner pulled each of the strings and levers that let her do such things.
She opened the file and read the number forwards and back.
Hers? came the lone thought, roots of feeling lashed to it despite its short length. Other than the scent of her on her sheets and the marks on her body, of which the former was only barely detectable now, the 'malware' package Aolieon had casually infected her with was the only lingering proof left that they'd even spent that night together.
Now she'd drawn something more tangible out of it. A pertinent something? Assuming it was her number... Thoughts curled around themselves in an attempt to consider what she would even say to Aolieon. Being at a loss for words was something that rarely struck since she'd gotten some actual socialization, and now it was cropping up throughout her days and nights. Though the night's shift at
went better than the last, she was still exhausted, and between those and worrying about Aolieon, she was making minor mistakes left and right.
Despite all of that, this moment was the first where her deteriorating social skills had really bothered her. Talking to lovers should be easy,
was easy, and yet she now found herself grasping through shadows of ribbons trying to summon the words she wanted. Even with Mirri, she'd never struggled like this. Of course, she'd never given her much reason to fear for her life.
Scowling to herself in a complex tangle of emotions, she closed the file and turned on the bike's engine.
I'll message the number tomorrow. For now, she just wanted more rest.
She woke up a little earlier than she wanted to, but couldn't get back to sleep, so she dragged herself out of bed. It felt early for a Nutriblast, so she got a !TTEA! from the vending machine in the hall and was sipping on it while looking out her window. Therrye's body felt both better and worse, and she suspected the worse was only going to get stronger before it went away. She'd at least managed to get some laundry started and wouldn't have to do it the day after to wear what she wanted to for the concert, leaving her with nothing else but free time for the stretch of the day.
Her gaze shifted off the sun-glazed plasteel and concrete of towers outside to the reflection of her face in the window. Somehow it felt like she was staring back at herself, daring her to meet her eyes unflinchingly. She swallowed the feeling rising up and narrowed her expression. This was what she'd been putting off since that night (morning), and little had made a dent in what she knew she had to face. Exhaling steadily through her nose, she inclined her head and turned back to her room.
Fine, she thought, a little petulantly, mostly resolutely.
Before she'd started filling her skin with ink, she used to use her own body as a canvas, putting markers to skin to sketch out what designs bubbled up inside her. Sometimes she did sketches on a whim, but they usually came out of particular feelings she was working out. This would be no different.
Booting up her vid screen and turning on some music, she picked up the stylus and started. The visuals that came out were much more abstract than concrete (yet another irregularity among the stack of so many irregularities). Curves near the top suggested sinuous movement; lines further down ran sharp and thick; whorls invoked the shape of storms. She found herself starting to draw chains, but soon erased them. Instead, two of the whorls were made more distinct, becoming coils of flowing ribbon. Half moons twisted upside down were added beneath the sharp lines, which then got shadows and depth. Impulse pushed her to shade over the half moons, suppressing them beneath a layer, but not hiding them completely. Shorter curves sprouted out from the those at the top, small circles placed in chaotic strings beneath them. Turning the whole thing 180 degrees, a cracked crescent was drawn below the curves now at the bottom. More sharp and thick lines were added in the center band, again with varying depth and shadowing.
Over an hour had passed. She put down the stylus and left to take care of her laundry.
When she got back to the screen, Therrye played a little with adding darkness and brightness to different areas, but soon gave up on that and cleared the alterations. Making a copy, she layer-shifted most everything in the center band so she could move the disparate elements of drawing around to see if it felt more 'right'. Eventually she pulled most of them nearly on top of each other in the center; it resembled something like a stormy set of eyes, surrounded by gouges. It wasn't "it" but she saved it anyway before switching back to the original.
Therrye stared it down for awhile, trying to extract the snap of epiphany or relief. It was eluding her, and it really couldn't be brute forced. She manipulated the perspective more; still, nothing.
Leaning back and sighing, she flopped her arms behind her head, hands pressing into the back of the chair to keep that pose. She turned the chair back and forth, tapped her foot some, and started making noises with her mouth. After a bit of that, she shook her head at herself and drew back to regular sitting, resigned.
I guess I'll come back to it later.
Bringing back her laundry, she put away clothes, then returned to her bed to lie down and rest some more. Staring up at her globe lights, she pulled up a leg after a couple minutes and used it to turn herself until her feet were facing the headboard. Unfamiliar, yet etched into memory, and now tinged with edges of worry.
Several heartbeats later, she opened her stream and copied the number 9 had given her into a new message. She couldn't wait any longer.
Aolieon?
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