The acid in Suzi’s throat burned like a betrayal, a hot, sour reminder of her own body's rebellion. Bent over the trash can, she vaguely registered Dr. Everett’s voice through the haze.

“Have you two made up?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral, but Suzi didn’t miss the edge of impatience.

Darcy’s laugh was a dry scrape. “We’re working on it.”

Suzi gave a weak thumbs-up, her face still over the can. God, this was humiliating. Her stomach clenched again, but nothing came up.

“Great,” Everett said, moving on without waiting for more. “Darcy, get with Bear and prep the cage.”

“Wait,” Suzi croaked, voice cracking like glass. “Can you… get me back to the restaurant? I’ve gotta check in. No clue what time it even is.”

Darcy’s grin was sharper than it needed to be. “Don’t want to stick around for the fun? And by the way, your phone’s been blowing up. You’ve been gone about 35 minutes,” she added, pointing at Suzi’s phone on the desk.

Thirty-five minutes? Felt like days at worst, a lifetime at best. Suzi staggered to grab her phone, wincing as she saw the notifications. Eight missed calls. Six texts. Jo was going to kill her.

Darcy’s voice cut through her mental triage. “For you, it’s been a day. For the rest of the world, not so much.”

“I want to stay,” Suzi said, meaning it more than she expected. Questions clawed at her insides, begging to be asked. But work—and Jo—had to come first. “But I can’t. Not right now. Just… send me the address or something. I’ll come back after my shift.”

Everett studied her, eyes heavy with something she couldn’t name. Pity? Regret? “Some of us forget what normal life feels like. We disrupted yours, and I’m sorry. We’ll get you the information. See you tonight.” He glanced at Darcy. “Take her back.”

Darcy’s smirk softened slightly. “You got it.” She turned to Suzi. “Ready? This ride should be easier, but just in case, I’ll get you to the ladies room if you decide you need to hurl.”

“Thanks,” Suzi muttered, gripping Darcy’s hand like it was a lifeline. The sharp edges of her starstruck awe had dulled, replaced by something raw and fragile. Maybe trust. Maybe something else entirely.

A single step and the room blurred, twisted, then snapped into place. The sharp scent of disinfectant hit Suzi’s nose before her vision cleared. The Mexican-themed restroom, with its garish sombrero-wearing cacti and sugar skull murals, was oddly comforting.

No lurching stomach this time. Progress. She turned to Darcy to say thanks, but the words died in her throat. Her gut heaved instead. She barely made it to a stall before dry-heaving into the toilet.

Darcy’s laugh was more a huff of amusement. “You’ll get used to it. Later, DR.” And then she was gone, her departure marked by nothing more than silence.

Suzi slumped onto the closed toilet lid, pulling out her phone. Missed calls. Texts. Most were from Jo. One from Nick. And a single text, just received, from an unknown number. Coordinates.

She pressed the call button for Jo, bracing herself.

“Ohmigod, Suzi!” Jo’s voice was high-pitched, frantic. “Are you okay? Where are you? What happened?”

“Jo, calm down,” Suzi said, keeping her voice steady even though her hands trembled. “I’m fine. Still at the restaurant. Got sick, that’s all. Are you still here?”

Jo’s voice softened. “No. I called Doyle, and he picked me up. Said you’d probably come back soon.”

Doyle. Suzi’s stomach churned again, and it had nothing to do with teleportation. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with him. I’ll be there soon.”

When Suzi finally reached the funeral home, Jo was in the front room with Doyle. Gracie Lynn staffed the front desk. Lynn looked like she was about to cry. Doyle nodded to Suzi and walked away. Jo ran to her and stopped before hugging her.

“Oh, Suzi! You don’t look like you feel good. You’ve got a little something on your shirt.” Jo mimicked the location on her chest.

Suzi looked down and saw what remained of a bit of orange-colored food, unknown if it happened going in or coming out, on her white blouse.

“Fuck,” Suzi muttered as she used her thumbnail to try to scrub it free.

“Suzi,” Nick called from his office, voice clipped. Controlled.

“Fuck,” Suzi muttered again, flashing Jo a tight smile before heading toward the storm.

Nick was waiting, the door held open. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were tired. He gestured for her to sit as he rounded the desk. The weight of the room settled heavily on Suzi’s shoulders.

“Does your apartment have a fireplace?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“No. Why?”

“You smell like smoke. Like a bonfire or open fireplace or something.” His fingers tapped the desk, each motion deliberate, like he was weighing her answer.

Suzi sniffed her sleeve, buying time. “Weird. No clue.”

His gaze sharpened. “I have a problem. Several, actually.”

“How can I help?” she offered, eager to fix something. Anything.

“My son wants money for a risky investment. I said no. He went to my father. Now my father’s trying to move the money. Luckily, I have a partnership with my father, so he can’t move that much without my say, but it has created a rift. My daughter, angel of my eye, informed me last night that she no longer wants to be in the funeral industry but would like to be a doctor or surgeon instead.”

Suzi smiled and nodded, “I think Lynn would be a great doctor.”

“As do I, so I must consider my businesses. I cannot leave them to my son as he is reckless with his finances, and now my daughter doesn’t want to be part of it. My wife cannot run it. I have this director, who is also a business partner, whom I love dearly but has become increasingly…” he struggled with the word, “…unreliable…in the last few weeks.”

The words stung, sharper than she expected. “I—”

“I’m not firing you,” he cut her off. “I know you have a lot going on with Aiden. And God knows your work in reconstruction is remarkable and is set to change the field. The Bowers saw to it that the JWF could help families with funeral costs for decades. All because of you, but Suzi—” his hands waved in the air, “—all of this, can you handle it? You left Jo without a word and ghosted her calls. Last week, you attacked a client, and Doyle said you threatened to kill him.”

“What? Wait…” Suzi began to protest.

“Don’t worry, I considered the source.” Nick stopped her protest with a raised hand. “Doyle is a good director, but I see how he is, and he probably deserved it. Still, was it professional? Maybe not. You are not my longest employee, but you are my favorite, and I think you have the most skill of any of the directors of any of my homes. But I need to know you can handle this. All of it. Because if you can’t, I need to make decisions. You’ve taken Jo under your wing, but she was upset thinking something had happened to you. I don’t know what to do with you”

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Her heart sank. The air thickened, squeezing her lungs. Damn it, Nick. Did he have to say it like that? She bit the inside of her cheek, her pulse quickening.

Finally, she found her voice, the words spilled out before she could stop them. “First off, sir, you don’t need to name a successor right now. You’ve got time, years, decades even. You’re not going anywhere soon.” Her voice wavered despite the confidence she tried to project. “And while I’m flattered, I don’t know if I’ll stay in Chicago after Aiden heals. We’re... trying to work things out.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed slightly, his silence a verdict. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to fidget, to do anything but stand there and take it. She inhaled deeply. “I love my job. I love the people I work with—well, most of them. Doyle…” She let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m still looking for his redeeming qualities.”

That got a faint smirk out of Nick, but his face hardened again. “That brings me to my other problem,” he said, voice low and deliberate.

Her gut twisted. Wasn’t this over yet? She raised an eyebrow, masking the nerves tightening every muscle in her body.

Nick took a long, deep breath, then dropped the bomb. “I had to see my oncologist this morning. Terminal brain cancer. Oligodendroglioma. Inoperable. They gave me less than six months. Maybe ten or twelve with treatment.”

The floor tilted beneath her. She grabbed the edge of the desk, her nails digging into the wood. Her vision blurred with hot tears as she choked out, “Oh god, Nick.”

He nodded solemnly, his expression resigned. “I’ve had a good life, Suzi. Two great kids, and a love I didn’t deserve for 37 years. I’ll be with her again soon.”

The raw emotion in his voice cracked something inside her. She wanted to scream, to smash something, to rail against the universe for this cruel joke. Instead, she blurted out, “How’s she gonna feel about you running around with a younger, white girl these last few years?”

The joke hung in the air, and for a second, she thought she’d gone too far. But then Nick pointed at her, his face breaking into a rare smile. “That was funny.”

She exhaled, relief washing over her like a tidal wave. They shared a small laugh, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the room lifted.

“I need an answer by next week,” Nick said, his tone serious again. “I want you to take over Eternal Springs.”

“I’ll think about it,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. She changed her shirt, checked on the skull printing for Mr. Conway, and tried to lose herself in the mundane tasks of her job. But Nick’s words played on a loop in her head, gnawing at her resolve.

Jo’s laughter rang out across the room, drawing her attention. Doyle stood too close, his posture predatory, his smile smug. Suzi’s fists clenched. She wanted to rip him apart, to protect Jo from whatever slimy game he was playing. But Nick’s voice echoed in her mind: professionalism. She’d wait, watch, and only act if Jo needed her. For now.

Suzi gathered the cases and envelope that held Mr. McGillicuddy’s medals and property and returned to the hospital excited to get to touch Aiden for the first time in over a week. Still, when she arrived, she was disappointed to find that they had not moved him to a new room yet.

Suzi texted Reed and Rio, her twins, and Ruth, Aiden’s mother, that Aiden would be moved to another ICU room the following day and removed from quarantine, but otherwise, his condition had not changed. She did not expect this minor status update to get much of a response, and it didn’t, other than a thumbs-up emoji from Reed.

She wanted to return to the Ether and ask for the favor to help Nick, but she wanted to talk to Nick about it first, and before she could do that, she had to devise a believable way to convince Nick that she could help him.

She returned home, taking the back stairs two at a time. This way was at least ten times faster than waiting on the ancient cargo elevator in the front. The only downfall was that she’d have to make an extra trip to the front for her mail, primarily consisting of junk mail and coupons.

“Fuck it. I’ll check it tomorrow.” She thought to herself. “Or maybe Friday.”

“You may as well wait until Saturday and get the whole week’s worth in one shot,” J encouraged.

“Fine day, Sunday. There’s no post on Sunday.” Annie portrayed her best English accent, quoting the first Harry Potter movie.

Once in her apartment, she collapsed into her routine. Ygritte nuzzled her, and she lingered in the shower longer than necessary, letting the hot water scald away the day’s chaos, and scrubbing away the inexplicable smoky scent from her skin.

“I haven’t located him,” Miraleth’s voice echoed as she reabsorbed the device.

“It’s fine,” Suzi replied. “He found me.”

It was dark but still early. A light snow had begun to fall, adding to the inch or so that was already everywhere. Winter was her least favorite season. She craved heat and sunlight, and winter offered the least of both. She began the twenty-five-mile drive to the coordinates sent to her via text by the unknown number, who she assumed was Dr. Adamson/Everett, when her phone rang ‘Karma Chameleon’ by Boy George.

“Hey, Ricky. What’s going on?”

“Hey, kid. Not much. Wassup wit’chu?” Rick’s turn to street lingo was off-putting.

“I found Dr. Adamson. I’m on my way to see him now.”

“What!? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I—”

“Have you told Phin?”

“No, I—”

“He is still considered a missing person and a person of interest in that attack on you.”

“He was atta—”

“Damn it, Suzi. We don’t know what he is into. It’s not safe.”

“Richard? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah. I can.”

“Okay, please shut up and let me talk.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

“He is one of me. One of the celestials. He’s changed his looks, so he doesn’t look like the same man. And he’s changed his name.”

“I buy into that celestial stuff only slightly more than the others, but it's still dangerous. Still—that video—you said Adamson was with the guy that shot him. That is some sketchy company.”

“That guy is actually a woman—a girl, really—and she is also a celestial.”

“If they are on the same side, why did she shoot him then?”

“I’ve not had a chance to ask, but I will find out tonight.”

“Alright. Please be careful and turn on your location so we can find you if something goes wrong.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. They want me on their team, but thank you for your concern. I’ll send you the coordinates he sent me so you have them. Thanks for watching out for me.”

“I only met Aiden the one time, but I think he’d be upset with me if I let something happen to you while he was sleeping.”

“He might have a few words to say about it,” Suzi laughed.

“Be safe, we’ll talk later.”

“Hey, Rick. Why did you call me?”

“Oh, right. I’m opening a show at my gallery Friday night and wanted to extend an invitation. Tom and the guys and Ellie and the girls will all be there.”

“I’ll be there too, then.”

“You better be. Starts at six. See ya later.”

“Bye, Ricky.”

The drive to the coordinates felt endless, each mile steeped in doubt and tension. The abandoned factory loomed ahead, its broken windows like jagged teeth in the dim light, and creative graffiti decorating the walls. A tall chain link fence had once been erected around the property, but it, too, had long been neglected. Suzi drove through the gate that hung low on a single hinge that no longer barred entry as it once had. Suzi parked and stepped out, her boots crunching on the icy ground.

“Are we sure this is the place?” Suzanne’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Call for backup,” Annie whispered, fear lacing her tone.

“Who you gonna call?” James teased, and the others chimed in unison: “Ghostbusters!”

Suzi pushed the creaking door open, the sound echoing through the silent, cavernous space like a whispered warning. She flicked on the assistive light on her phone, the beam slicing through the oppressive darkness. The abandoned office building bore no resemblance to the place she’d met Dr. Everett, Bear, and Darcy earlier that day. What had once been functional and orderly was now a desolate wasteland.

The floor was a patchwork of broken asbestos tiles, some clinging stubbornly to their places while others lay scattered and overturned like casualties of time. Rusty desks and office chairs, relics of a bygone era, stood in awkward disarray, their once-stylish designs now reduced to jagged edges and flaking metal.

She moved cautiously, the sound of her footsteps muffled by layers of grime and decay. As her light swept across the room, a sudden flurry of motion burst from the shadows—a half-dozen birds, startled by her presence, erupted into the air. Their frantic wings sliced through the stillness, and Suzi flinched instinctively, her pulse spiking.

“I think I just peed our pants,” Annie blurted, her voice cutting through Suzi’s already-jittery nerves.

“Better than the other option,” Spike quipped dryly.

James added with a low groan, “Give me a minute, and that’ll happen too.”

“Hey, peanut gallery,” Suzi hissed under her breath. “Quiet. And for the love of God, don’t shit my pants.”

Her inner selves retreated, grumbling, while she tried to shake off the lingering tension. The glow from her phone was just enough to guide her, illuminating a maze of discarded office equipment, upended file cabinets, and debris that cluttered the space. She followed the map app’s glowing blue dot as it led her closer to the coordinates.

“This can’t be right,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the creaks of the building and her own uncertain footsteps.

The app indicated she was only five feet from the target. Her light landed on a solid door at the end of the hallway, its chipped paint and corroded hinges a testament to decades of neglect.

The handle resisted when she tried to turn it, emitting a harsh metal-on-metal squeak that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. Rusted shut. Of course it was. She pushed against it, but it didn’t budge.

“Come on, you bastard,” she muttered, planting her feet and putting her shoulder into it. The door groaned, shifting slightly, just enough to give her hope.

She stepped back, took a deep breath, and threw her full weight into it.

Judas’s voice roared in her head just before impact, sharp and commanding, “STOP!”