"Tom?" Piper called out, her voice echoing in the endless space of identical desks. "TOM?"

Her supervisor materialized, mustache already twitching with irritation. "Miss Reilly, we've discussed appropriate volume levels—"

"How long have I been here?"

Tom pulled out his many-handed pocket watch. "Time is—"

"—meaningless in the afterlife, yes, I know." Piper rubbed her temples. "But I need a break."

"A break?" Tom's mustache practically vibrated with disapproval. "From what, precisely? You don't get tired. You don't need to eat. You don't—"

"I need to not look at these files for... however long." She gestured at her desk. "My brain is... actually, wait." She paused, realizing something. "My brain is working. Like, really working. I haven't gotten distracted once. Not even when Grim knocked over that tower of files I'd sorted by point total."

The cat in question appeared on her desk, as if summoned by his name, and began methodically pushing her pencil toward the edge.

"Don't you dare," she warned him. He maintained eye contact as he knocked it off.

Tom sighed. "Miss Reilly—"

"No, seriously. In life, I couldn't focus for more than ten minutes without spiraling into seventeen different tasks. But here..." She looked down at her hands. "Is this what normal people felt like all the time?"

"The afterlife removes certain... mortal limitations," Tom said stiffly. "Now, about those files—"

"I still need a break," she insisted. "I've processed..." She checked her points. "Two hundred and twelve files. That's got to earn me something."

Tom's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "Two hundred and twelve? That's... unusually efficient."

"I told you. No ADHD in the afterlife." She smiled grimly. "Turns out I'm actually good at my job when my brain cooperates. But right now? I need to not look at another file about people who—" She stopped, her throat tight. "Who made the same mistakes I did."

She opened the next file, a 68 year old named Harrison Palmer, and was instantly there - in his childhood bedroom plastered with American flags, in high school where he learned to fear difference, at his son's birth where he'd promised to protect him from everything. The points voice remained constant:

Minus 50 points. Choosing fear over understanding. Minus 75 points. Spreading misinformation from fear. Plus 25 points. Moment of doubt about his certainties.

She felt his conviction that he was protecting his family, his country, his values. Felt the fear beneath his anger. Felt his heart break when his son came out, and the way he'd transformed that pain into righteous fury.

Choice point, the voice whispered. Moment of potential.

But Harrison had chosen certainty over love, again and again, his point total dropping with each refused opportunity for growth.

"They're not mistakes if you learn from them," came a familiar voice. Asher materialized beside her desk, their form shifting like smoke.

"Oh great," Piper muttered. "The pronoun puzzle is back."

But there was less bite in her words than usual. After two hundred and twelve files of people who'd hurt others with their certainty, her jabs at Asher felt... childish.

"You've earned a field trip," Asher announced.

Piper barked out a laugh. "What is this, kindergarten? I process enough files and I get a gold star and a trip to the zoo?"

"Not quite." Asher's form rippled with what might have been amusement. "How would you like to see where these files actually go?"

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Piper glanced at the stack of rehabilitation paperwork. "You mean...?"

"The Soul Empathy Program." Asher nodded. "Where you would have been assigned if you hadn't earned those extra points helping the single mother with her insurance claim."

"I told you, that was a clerical error," Piper muttered, but her protest sounded weak even to her.

Tom cleared his throat. "I'm not sure this is—"

"Approved by the Overseer themselves," Asher cut in smoothly.

Tom's mustache deflated slightly. "Ah. Well then."

Piper stood up so quickly she almost knocked over her chair. "Anything to get out of here. Where are we—"

But Asher had already waved their hand, and the endless rows of desks dissolved around them.

They reappeared in what looked like a cozy living room, except... everything was slightly wrong. The couch was too perfect, the lighting too soft, the walls a color that Piper's brain couldn't quite process.

And sitting on the couch was Harrison Palmer. She was seeing him now, already in rehabilitation, even though she'd just processed his intake file moments ago. Time truly was meaningless here - decisions and their consequences existed simultaneously.

"What—" Piper started, but Asher held up a hand.

Harrison wasn't alone. Across from him sat what appeared to be his son – but not as he'd last seen him. This was his son as a child, as a teenager, as a young adult, all somehow existing simultaneously. The image shifted and flowed, like trying to remember someone's face in a dream.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Harrison was saying, his voice thick. "I was protecting you. Protecting our values. Our way of life."

The son-image flickered. "By denying who I am?"

"By refusing to let them corrupt you with their agenda!" Harrison's fists clenched. "I was right. I know I was right."

"Notice his point total," Asher murmured.

Piper looked. Floating above Harrison's head was the number 826. As she watched, it ticked down to 825.

"Why did it go down?" she whispered.

"Because he's still choosing certainty over truth," Asher said. "Still choosing to be right over being kind."

Piper swallowed hard. "How long has he been here?"

"Time is—"

"Yeah, yeah, meaningless. But how many sessions?"

"This is his first." Asher's form rippled. "Would you like to see someone further along in the program?"

Before Piper could answer, the scene shifted. Now they were watching a middle-aged woman facing a wall of mirrors, each reflecting a different version of herself.

"Points aren't awarded based on what you think is right," the woman was saying, her voice shaking. "They're awarded based on the actual impact of your actions on others."

Piper startled. They were the exact words Asher had said to her.

"Is she... quoting you?"

"She's quoting herself," Asher said. "She's learning to see her actions through others' eyes. Watch her point total."

The number above the woman's head ticked up slowly: 1,427... 1,428... 1,429...

Piper's chest felt tight. "That's what I started with. 1,427."

"Yes."

"And she's... she's earning points by..."

"By understanding," Asher said simply. "By choosing empathy over certainty."

Piper watched the woman's point total climb higher. "How many points does it take? To get out of here?"

"Out of rehabilitation?" Asher's form shifted thoughtfully. "Or out of the afterlife entirely?"

"Both."

"It's not about the number." Asher gestured at the woman, whose total had now reached 1,435. "It's about the understanding. Some souls earn thousands of points but never leave rehabilitation because they're earning them for the wrong reasons. Others earn just a few but graduate quickly because they truly understand."

"Understand what?"

But Asher was already waving their hand again, and they were back in the endless room of filing cabinets and desks.

"That's it?" Piper demanded. "That's my whole field trip? I just got started! I have so many questions—"

"Process another hundred files," Asher said. "Really read them. Then we'll talk about another field trip."

They vanished before Piper could protest.

Grim appeared on her desk, purring. For once, she didn't shoo him away.

"You knew, didn't you?" she asked him. "That's why you followed me out that day. You knew I needed..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

The cat just blinked at her slowly, then settled down on top of her next file.

Piper reached out and scratched behind his ears. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But at least let me read that file you're sitting on."

Grim shifted just enough for her to see the next file in her stack. The soul's story was familiar - someone who'd rejected their child for being different, who'd chosen dogma over love. Someone who'd thought they were protecting their family by tearing it apart.

Piper's hand froze over the file. "I get it, okay?" she muttered to the cat. "You don't have to keep showing me these."

The cat gave her a look that seemed to say Don't you? before vanishing.

Piper stared at the space where he'd been, Sarah's face floating unbidden in her mind. Then she pulled the file closer and began to read, really read, looking for the human behind the points.

For the first time since arriving, she didn't check how many points she was earning.