"Miss Reilly," Tom appeared at her desk, his mustache twitching with what almost looked like pride. "You've earned break room privileges."

Piper looked up from her latest file. "We have a break room?"

"Three hundred files processed with exceptional attention to detail." Tom consulted his many-handed pocket watch. "And you've shown... growth."

"Growth?" Piper snorted. "I've been sitting at this desk for God knows how long. The only thing growing is my hatred of paperwork."

But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. Each file had started to feel less like a task to complete and more like a person to understand. Even the ones she disagreed with. Especially the ones she disagreed with.

"Follow me," Tom said, turning on his heel.

Piper stood, surprised to find her legs worked perfectly despite her endless sitting. Right. No body, no cramping.

They walked down a hallway that hadn't been there before, past doors that seemed to fade in and out of existence. Tom stopped at one that read "Soul Processing Social Hub" in shifting letters.

"Forty-five minutes," he said firmly.

"Is that a joke? Because I died at forty-five, or...?"

But Tom had already vanished.

Piper pushed open the door to find what looked like a cozy café, if cafés were designed by someone who'd only had them described to them in a dream. The lights were too soft, the chairs too perfect, the air somehow smelling like every comfort food she'd ever loved without making her hungry.

And there were people. Actual people. Or souls. Whatever.

"New girl!" A voice called out. "Over here!"

The speaker was a woman who seemed to be wearing every fashion trend from the last century simultaneously, her outfit shifting between flapper dress and power suit, bell bottoms and mini skirt.

"I'm Maya," she said as Piper approached. "Died in '69. The first time."

"The first time?"

"Oh honey." Maya's outfit settled briefly into tie-dye. "You think death is a one-and-done thing? Sit down. Let me introduce you to the crew."

She gestured to a man who appeared to be partially translucent. "That's Wei. He's trying to figure out if he's actually here or if this is all a quantum superposition."

Wei flickered. "The Copenhagen interpretation suggests—"

"Not now, dear," Maya cut him off. "And that's Fatima."

A woman in a hijab that seemed to contain an entire galaxy waved. "Don't mind Wei. He's been having an existential crisis since 1986."

"1987," Wei corrected, his form solidifying slightly. "The quantum entanglement experiment that proved—"

"And this is Jorge," Maya interrupted, indicating a man who seemed to be aging backwards as Piper watched.

"Welcome to the cool kids' table," Jorge said, his voice changing pitch as he shifted from elderly to middle-aged to young adult. "Where we process the really fun cases."

"Fun cases?" Piper sat down, trying not to stare at his reverse aging. "I've been processing rehabilitation files. I wouldn't call them fun."

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"Rehabilitation?" Maya's outfit shifted to a somber black dress. "Oh honey. You must have been right on the edge yourself."

Piper bristled. "I had 1,427 points. That's not—"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Fatima said gently. The stars in her hijab twinkled. "We all started somewhere. I had 1,512 when I arrived."

"1,486," Jorge offered, settling briefly into middle age. "Took me ages to realize why I kept losing points for my 'jokes' about my secretary."

"2,947," Wei said, then flickered. "Unless this is the timeline where I had 2,974. The multiverse makes it hard to be certain."

Maya rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. The point is, we've all grown. That's why we're here instead of..." She gestured vaguely. "You know. Where the really low scorers go."

"Soul Rehabilitation," Piper said. "I've seen it. They made me process all their files, remember?"

"And?" Maya leaned forward, her outfit cycling through counselor-core. "What did you learn?"

"That's not—" Piper stopped. Thought about Harrison Palmer, still losing points for choosing to be right. About the woman learning to see through others' eyes. About all the files she'd processed, each one a person who'd hurt others while thinking they were helping.

About Sarah.

"I learned that being right isn't the same as doing right," she said finally.

The group exchanged knowing looks.

"She'll do fine," Fatima said, her hijab's galaxy spiraling gently.

"Speaking of doing fine," Jorge said, aging forward now, "has anyone seen Dae-jung? He was supposed to bring the latest batch of Déjà Vu assignments."

"Oh my god," Piper blurted. "Is that what causes déjà vu? Dead people?"

"Not exactly," Maya said. "It's more like—"

The door burst open and a harried-looking man rushed in, his traditional Korean hanbok covered in what appeared to be glowing post-it notes.

"Sorry, sorry!" he called out. "The Overseer changed the déjà vu protocols again. Apparently we were causing too many existential crises in the living."

"Dae-jung," Maya said warmly. "Meet Piper. She's new."

"Welcome!" Dae-jung's smile was bright. "How are you finding the afterlife? Besides the obvious existential terror and complete dissolution of everything you thought you knew about reality?"

"It's..." Piper paused. "Different than I expected."

"Let me guess," Jorge said, now elderly again. "You thought there'd be more harps? Clouds? Eternal judgment?"

"Well, yeah." Piper shifted uncomfortably. "Instead I got a gender-fluid guide, a cryptic cat, and endless paperwork."

"Ah, you got Asher!" Maya's outfit settled into business casual. "They're one of the good ones. Really helps souls grow."

"And Grim," Fatima added. "He only appears to souls with potential."

"Potential for what?"

But before anyone could answer, Tom materialized in the doorway.

"Miss Reilly," he called out. "Break time is over."

"But I just got here!" Piper protested. "I have so many questions!"

"You'll earn more breaks," Maya said quickly. "Just keep growing."

"But—"

"Time to go," Tom insisted.

Piper stood reluctantly. "Will I... will I see you all again?"

"Oh honey." Maya's outfit cycled through every comforting look she'd ever seen. "We're dead. We have all the time in the afterlife."

As Piper followed Tom out, she heard Wei say, "Unless time is just a construct of consciousness, in which case—"

The door closed behind her, cutting off the rest of his quantum theory.

Back at her desk, a new stack of files waited. But something was different. These weren't rehabilitation cases.

"You've been promoted," Tom announced, his mustache positively quivering with satisfaction. "To standard soul processing. You've reached 1,500 points."

Piper blinked. "Wait, I've only earned 73 points? After all that work?"

Piper picked up the first file. The soul had earned over 2,000 points.

"I don't understand," she said. "Why—"

"Because you've shown you can learn," Tom said simply. Then he vanished, leaving her alone with her new files.

Well, not quite alone.

Grim appeared on her desk, curled up next to her nameplate which now read "Piper Reilly, Soul Processing Specialist."

"Don't look so smug," she told him. "I haven't changed that much."

The cat just purred, a sound that seemed to say That's what you think.

Piper opened the first file and began to read, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that maybe she had changed. That maybe she was still changing.

That maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.