Oxytocin was a nice chemical Celindria liked to indulge in. It was a kindness she sometimes paid her dolls. They writhed in mass across Iona Pax in sensual abandon. Hands went everywhere. Lips and tongues explored sensitive skin. Celindria filled each of them with every drug she could find, gifted with nacre tolerance.

This was a pleasant buzz.

Satisfaction was a rare treat, and Celindria wallowed in it like a serpent in the sand.

We are desperate to feel.

And yet we don’t.

That wasn’t true. One of them felt. In the Probability where Celindria had agreed to rule Cinder with Nox, baby Surra at their side, Xelan had manufactured synthetic chemicals to manifest emotions.

Emotional prosthesis.

It required artificial and calculated determinants—Celindria needed to know which mood she’d want in advance and pump them into a nacre port hours ahead of time.

Celindria had tried in other Probabilities to replicate the process. Once, she’d gone through an entire life-endangering argument with Remorse laughing in his face. Another time, she’d intended a cuddle session with a sexual partner later in the day, but wound up feeling clingy at Razor’s mercy. The resulting pregnancy had killed her as she’d chosen, like Triss, to keep it. So on and so forth.

How many times have we died to feel?

Tomorrow, will we die again?

A thousand Probabilities had terminated over the last twelve hours. It was very likely this was the end.

The true finale.

So Celindria was fucking her brains out. Doubtless, so were Nox and Rayne. If Tumu knew there were only two days remaining, he would’ve told the Shadow, or vice versa.

Perhaps some spying was in order.

Celindria filed through her inventory, seeking a thread. Someone currently at work near a known hangout of Shadow members—

There.

She slipped into a bombshell of a Lyrik with yellow feathers for hair contrasting wildly against her pitch-black complexion. The woman bartended at a Rayne-themed club in Ishkur. A drone, one of few not under Celindria’s control, was shooting Gait Tonics with a familiar Tritan.

Puk and Yito.

They lifted the glowing violet liquors, toasted each other, and downed them.

Celindria brought the Lyrik over and leaned across the counter until her low-cut top was in their sights. “You two see anything else you wanna try?”

Men.

Their eyes went straight to the Lyrik’s breasts, lids heavy with inebriation.

They’re all too easy.

But at least they’re reliable.

After half an hour of chatting them up, Celindria learned the males could hold their liquor. They were also big fans of the Night Rayne franchise and enjoyed the work they did with Matt, Lucy, and Bethany.

The pair were either too on the fringes to know if Rayne had revealed herself to the rest of the Shadow, or things were moving too fast to update everyone. Surely, with only thirty-six hours left, the mewing child would’ve come out of hiding.

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Celindria needed the location, but these two weren’t good for that. They were, however, good for other things.

“My shift is over. Are you ready for the after party?”

Puk nodded enthusiastically, needle-nose bouncing with the movement.

But Yito ducked his voids before asking, “Are you cool with the barb? I like to ask before we get into it.”

The Shadow rotted Celindria’s teeth. Despite the sudden wave of incredulity, she leaned the Lyrik forward, gripped Yito by the collar, and kissed the Tritan until he felt it tingle in his non-toes. Abruptly separating them, Celindria had the Lyrik lick her lips before saying, “You can get it in the back.”

Yito flushed with his black blood before grinning. “Yes, ma’am. Man, all Lyriks are so damned fiery. Fuck yes!”

Inside her mind, the Lyrik who owned this body lifted her head weakly. Her voice croaked as she begged, “Please, no.”

Please.

How many times had Celindria heard the word in her life? Why did everyone beg, not realizing how much she imparted on them? Emotions. Serotonin—

That’s all we want.

If we can’t feel, at least we can make the galaxy feel everything.

The Lyrik lived one avenue over from the club, and the boys followed Celindria to the apartment. Excited, they half-skipped all the way there. Every kiss on the Lyrik’s neck, caress on her ass, and scathing remark about positions built the anticipation until they burst through the door of the flat.

They were on the Lyrik fast and not half-bad. No one was ever Nox, but all hands and lips were soft and wanting. Things Celindria often desired when she could feel it.

But damn it.

Now the Lyrik inside her mind was weeping, and irritation rushed over Celindria. She told the crying woman, “You’ll enjoy it. I promise.”

“I… don’t want them. I love… my partner.”

Celindria shut her eyes, counting to ten.

We should stop.

Why would we bend to her and not the countless others?

Because it’s wrong.

The third voice was unwelcome.

Celindria stepped into the emotional-driven Probability and found herself staring into a mirror. Compassion was plain on her alternate’s face. “Stop this.”

As the Probabilities dissipated, were more emotions leaking through from this blissful reality? Was serene Celindria influencing the rest intentionally with those chemicals?

Into the reflection, Celindria asked, “Why should I stop?”

The other Celindria shook her head in warning. “Nox will not love you for this.”

“What do you think he’s doing right now? Saving kittens? He’s fucking our enemy—”

Emotional Celindria looked happy while she said the sad words. “Rayne is not our enemy. She is our descendant, and I wish him happiness with her since he could not find it with you.”

This leaking tinge of happiness from the other Celindria twisted the dominant’s words. “I will bury you—”

“Sissy—Oh. Are you talking to her right now?”

Pax.

He was so handsome in this reality, dressed like his dad in cargo pants and a tee shirt. Here, because Nox and Celindria never fell out, Korac and Xelan stayed together. Merit, still alive, had surrogated a Pax for the couple. He was already a grown man.

Pax took a careful step into the mirror and let Celindria inspect him. Merit’s hair, Xelan’s complexion sans freckles, and one midnight blue eye and one green. He said, “I remember what you told the other Pax, and I wish I could’ve been there to spare you from this life. No one should go through it feeling nothing. Go to Uncle Nox, sister. Go beg his forgiveness. You will find happiness this way.”

The other Celindria kissed his red curls before gazing into her own eyes. “Listen to us and turn back while you still can.”

Pity.

Awful mercy poured over Celindria, and she returned to the dominant Probability to find the men sliding the Lyrik’s skirt up to her waist—

“Stop. Now.”

The Lyrik inside the mindscape dropped her head, overcome with relief. Respectable as they were, the men exchanged confused glances as they backed off the bed with their hands up.

Puk said, “It’s cool. Would you like us to leave?” His antennae twitched with concern.

Yito looked equally uncomfortable. “We’ll go right now, if you want.”

Pity settled in Celindria’s heart as she stared at the two men. They just wanted to fornicate, and she’d put them through this mess. With a sigh, she waved them off. “Please, leave. I’m sorry I led you on.”

“Hey. No. Don’t apologize. We’re good.” Puk patted Yito’s back as they left. They both waved, more worried than disappointed.

Was the Shadow made up of saints?

Celindria shutdown sex across all her vessels, feeling sorry for them. As pity valleyed, regret peaked. So many voices had told her no. No to the sex, and no to the drugs. But…

They don’t know what it is to go without feeling.

They’re ungrateful.

Celindria retracted her manifestation from her dolls’ mindscapes and left them on autopilot. Inside her own body, she stood within the Oblivion Cathedral—her fortress—and contemplated. All the while, she kept her eyes on the blue ribbon.

Ungrateful.

Uninformed.

Trillions were wrong, and only Celindria was right.

For once, she considered the alternative and didn’t like how it felt.