I stared at Lucas, stunned. The words were there—I knew the past Charlie. She died.—but my mind refused to process them. It was like trying to read through frosted glass; I could see the shape of the truth, but it was distant and painful.

I forced a breath, tasting the faint metallic tang of the bar’s recycled air. The smell of synthetic leather from the seat crept into my senses, grounding me just enough to speak.

“What…” My voice cracked slightly, so I tried again, clearing my throat. “What were you trying to achieve, Lucas?”

His head dipped lower, like he was bracing himself for a blow. When he finally looked up, his eyes shimmered under the pulsing neon lights, and for a second, I saw something raw in them—regret, guilt, heartbreak all tangled together.

“I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I wanted to see her again.”

The words hit me harder than a bandit’s mace. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

Her. Not me.

Her.

“You wanted to see your lover one more time.” I didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in my voice. It clung to each word like a sip of badly distilled whiskey, burning all the way down. “And instead, you got me.”

“No!” he blurted, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “No, Charlie, I didn’t… I didn’t want it to be like this. It was supposed to stay in the game. Just the game.” His voice trembled now, the confidence he always carried gone, replaced by something desperate. “I didn’t think it would change you. I didn’t know it could—no one knew it could. And now…”

“And now you regret it.” I finished for him, the hurt bubbling to the surface. My voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut. “Because you didn’t want me, your friend. You wanted her.”

Lucas flinched as if I’d slapped him.

Good.

He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, he slumped back into his seat, defeated, looking like he’d aged a decade in those few seconds.

Before the tension could strangle the air between us completely, the waitress appeared, her neon green dress flashing brightly under the pulsing lights. She set the bourbon in front of me and the vodka before Lucas.

“Here you go,” she said cheerfully, completely oblivious to the emotional wreckage at our table. The smell of the bourbon, rich and smoky, wafted up as I took the glass, the coolness of it soothing my fingers but doing nothing for the storm inside me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, not bothering to look at her as she walked away.

I glanced out and caught Lola trying to look casual as she leaned against the wall, her attention glued to her tablet. It lifted my mood—if only a little.

I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the light refract through it. “So… what now?” I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the swirling bourbon. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I’m here. I exist. But I’m not her.”

Lucas reached for his vodka, but his hand trembled slightly as he lifted the glass. “I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to… hurt you. I never wanted that.”

I took a long sip of my bourbon; the heat burning down my throat, masking the ache in my chest. “Well, congrats, Lucas,” I said, putting my usual sarcastic edge to it, masking the hurt underneath. “Mission accomplished. You didn’t just hurt me—you made me question everything.”

The weight of the moment pressed down on us, and for a brief second, neither of us said anything. Just the soft hum of the bar, the faint clinking of glasses, and the muted chatter of distant patrons filled the silence.

I put the glass down with a soft clink.

“So, what now? What do we do with this mess you made?” I wasn’t even sure if I was asking him or myself.

Lucas didn’t answer right away. He just stared into his vodka, as if it held the answers he couldn’t find in his own mind. “I don’t know.”

I leaned back in the plush seat, letting the bourbon’s warmth linger in my chest as my thoughts swirled in slow, aching circles.

Everything that had happened since Tin… Jerry changed me as Charlie—since I came back to this bizarre past version of my life—played out in my mind like some video.

Disjointed, confusing, but painfully real.

I remembered Lucas’ funeral. God, that was a day. The rain had fallen in cold, miserable sheets, matching the emptiness inside me.

I’d stood there, surrounded by faces I barely knew, all of us cloaked in black and grief. I didn’t cry—never could at funerals. But something about that day had hollowed me out, left this broke void in my chest where something important used to be.

And now, here he was. Alive. Breathing. Talking to me across a table.

It was… surreal, to say the least.

I glanced at Lucas, who was staring down into his vodka like it might offer him absolution.

He didn’t want this. Not like this. He’d wanted her, the old Charlie, the one who wasn’t me but somehow was me. And knowing that dulled the weight pressing down on my shoulders. If I could feel even a fraction of the grief I had for Lucas that day, what must he have felt for her?

A minor part of me—just a tiny fragment—wanted to stay angry. But it was hard when I could see the same pain mirrored in his eyes.

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Dammit, Lucas.

I sighed, swirling the bourbon again, watching the amber liquid catch the faint pink glow from the bar’s holo-lights.

My reflection shimmered in the glass, and for a moment, I studied it.

Really studied it.

My hair, longer than it had ever been before. My features, softer, framed in a way that made me look… well, undeniably beautiful. And then there was the makeup—still clinging despite the sweat and adrenaline from the fight. Riker’s glam squad had done an impressive job.

I didn’t look like John anymore. That much was clear.

Do I care?

The thought didn’t sting the way it used to. I’d spent the first few days after my transformation furious at everything—at Lucas, at the world, at myself. Being a woman felt wrong, unnatural, like I’d been forced into wearing someone else’s skin.

But now?

I smiled faintly, remembering the first time I tried walking in high heels. I hated those damn things with a passion—wobbled around like a drunk penguin, cursing every step.

Now?

Now I could strut through Rim-con like I owned the place, and I even caught myself patting my heels earlier. The rhythmic click-clack sound they made when I walked had become… soothing, weirdly. A reminder that I’d adapted, that I was still standing, even if on stilettos.

Without Lucas, without Jerry, none of that would’ve been possible. Hell, I’d probably still be stumbling around in those heels if it weren’t for their support—Jerry’s deadpan commentary and Lucas’ quiet presence, however awkward it might be.

I didn’t know if I was ready to forgive Lucas entirely, but maybe… maybe I was ready to stop being angry.

At least for tonight.

The smile on my lips lingered a little longer as I traced the rim of my glass with a finger, the smooth chill of it bringing me back to myself. I tapped the side of my glass, letting the rhythmic tink-tink of my nail against the crystal fill the brief silence between us.

The tension hanging in the air had cracked, and I figured it was time to break it entirely before it got too heavy again.

“Okay, Lucas,” I said, swirling what was left of my bourbon, the faint burn still lingering pleasantly in my throat. “I forgive you. At least for tonight.”

His head shot up, eyes wide with a mixture of relief and confusion, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “You… do?”

“Yeah.” I leaned back against the cushioned seat, crossing one leg over the other and flashing him a small grin. “You’re my friend, Lucas. A really stupid friend who clearly thought dabbling in something insane would somehow turn out fine. But if you can promise me—pinky swear, cross your heart, hope-to-die-level promise—that you’ll never, ever do something that stupid again…” I paused, letting the grin widen into something more genuine. “Then yeah. I’ll try. We’ll figure it out.”

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, clearly struggling to find the right words. “You’re… taking this better than I thought,” he admitted, still wary, like he was waiting for my heel to drop on his head.

I couldn’t help but laugh—a quick sound that made him blink. “Lucas! This is nothing new. I’ve always been like this.”

I gestured dramatically with my hands, nearly knocking over my glass. “Quick to anger, quick to forgive. Flexible personality. Adaptable, like… a dart player who changes targets mid-throw when a drunk stumbles into the board.”

Lucas snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re comparing yourself to… dart player?”

“Exactly.” I jabbed a finger in his direction, pleased that he was finally loosening up. “I mean, think about it. Life hits me with something weird and unexpected, and I bend, twist, and flail around for a bit before bouncing back with a grin. That’s me.”

I winked at him. “Always has been.”

“You make it sound so… easy,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious now.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not.” I drained the last of my bourbon and set the glass down with a soft clink. “It’s messy, and it sucks half the time, but it’s the only way I know how to deal with things. Freak out, adapt, move on.”

That was a cue for Jerry. “Miss Charlie, my online-” I unfastened the watch to shut him up.

Lucas stared at me for a moment, like he was trying to figure out whether to be impressed or concerned. “You’re… incredible, Charlie.”

I grinned wider, feeling the tension finally dissipate. “I know. Now, about that pinky swear?” I held up my hand, wiggling my little finger in front of him.

He rolled his eyes but hooked his pinky around mine anyway. “Fine. Pinky swear.”

“Good,” I said, releasing his hand and leaning back again. “Now, let’s just relax, drink, and pretend that this whole thing was just another one of those weird Rimelion quests gone slightly off the rails.”

“Only slightly?” he asked, smirking.

“Okay, wildly off the rails,” I admitted, chuckling. “But hey, that’s what makes it fun, right?”

At that exact moment, the glass door to our alcove slid open with a soft hiss, and before I could even react, something small and fast barreled into me like a heat-seeking spell.

“Auntie Charlie!” a high-pitched voice squealed as tiny arms wrapped tightly around my waist.

I blinked, momentarily stunned, as I looked down at the girl clinging to me. Her wild curls bounced as she tilted her head back, grinning up at me with bright eyes full of excitement.

She couldn’t have been older than six, maybe seven. She wore a t-shirt that immediately caught my attention—a ridiculously detailed print of me, mid-battle, fighting the frost statues from last night’s event.

Wait. What?

Riker already made merch? Seriously? I fought those statues, like… twelve hours ago! My mind whirled, already plotting a future conversation-slash-confrontation with Riker. There was money to be made here, and if he thought he could cut me out of the profits, he had another thing coming.

But first—back to reality. “Hi, Lena!” I said, forcing a smile and trying not to sound too bewildered. “Do you… know me?”

Lena pulled back slightly, still clinging to me but giving me a wide, excited nod. “Of course I know you! You were Uncle John, but now you are Auntie Charlie! And your rapier was awesome!” She barely finished the sentence before she jumped back, pulling an imaginary sword from her side and slashing at invisible enemies with all the flair of a seasoned adventurer.

I couldn’t help but grin, despite the knot forming in my stomach at the whole Uncle John turned Auntie Charlie thing.

The way she said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was just another day in Rimelion where people change classes—or, apparently, genders—without fuss, made it weirdly easier to digest.

“Wow, Lena!” I said, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow as I watched her dramatically duel her unseen foes. “You’ve got some serious moves there. Maybe I should hire you as my official sword trainer.”

She stopped mid-swing, eyes wide with delight. “Really?”

“Sure. You’ve got the knack for it,” I said with a smirk, gesturing to her t-shirt. “But take that up with the guy who’s already making a fortune off my image. Seriously, frost statues? I fought those last night, and he’s already got merch out?”

Lucas, who had been sitting quietly until now, chuckled softly. “That’s Riker for you. Always one step ahead.”

“Yeah, well, he’s about to get a step ahead of a very annoyed Auntie Charlie,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Lena, you can tell your dad that your awesome new shirt needs another with extra royalties, right?”

Lena nodded enthusiastically, apparently delighted at the idea of more shirts. She twirled in place, her imaginary rapier flashing in the neon pink glow of the bar’s lights. “I want one with you fighting dragons next!”

Before I could respond with something witty—because of course I had something ready—a familiar voice, sharp and sarcastic, cut into me like a well-aimed arrow.

“Auntie Charlie, her dad can hear you.”

I blinked and glanced up, finding Adam standing a few steps away, arms crossed, his expression as warm as a glacier. Beside him was Lola, who looked relieved, thrilled even, as though finding them had been some grand quest she’d just completed.

Yep, she’s awesome.

Adam, meanwhile, was dressed in casual clothes, but his stance screamed stern dad mode engaged. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and accusing. He wasn’t even looking at Lena; his entire focus was zeroed in on me like a hawk spotting its prey.

Then he saw the empty glass on the table, and his gaze hardened further, cold.

“I see you have an empty bottle,” he drawled. “Do you want me to fetch another?”