Stenrik
Ten o’clock. The temperature plummets noticeably—ice spreads across the inside of the windows in intricate patterns that would be beautiful if they weren’t a sign of the barrier’s continued degradation.
Rianne doesn’t react to the cold at all. She’s wearing only a light sweater, but she seems completely comfortable.
“Why is it so much colder?” she asks, watching our breath fog in the air.
“The barrier is thinning more rapidly. The shadow realm’s influence is growing stronger.”
“How cold is the shadow realm?”
“Approximately negative three hundred twenty degrees. But the worlds are finding balance—it won’t reach that here.”
She stares at me, then looks at her hands. The light passes through them like they’re made of smoke given temporary shape.
“Are we adapting to it?” she asks.
“You are. Your body temperature has dropped to match mine, but you feel no discomfort.”
“That’s... not normal.”
“Nothing about this is normal.” I touch her hand—she’s exactly my temperature now. “You’re changing, but not dangerously. Just... differently.”
“We were more solid after we kissed,” Rianne says, examining her hands in the light. “But it’s fading. Look—I’m more see-through than I was an hour ago.”
I check my own hands. She’s right. The temporary substance from our connection is wearing off. She’s becoming gauzy again, insubstantial.
“Because it wasn’t the ceremony,” I realize. “Just... connection. Real connection. But not permanent.”
“So we need the actual ceremony to make it stick.”
“We need the ceremony,” I agree, watching as she fades further, as if the magic is reclaiming what it temporarily gave back.
Keith slides past, his form so solid now he’s almost opaque. “Keith’s mass has increased by thirty percent! Keith feels very substantial!”
“And I’m becoming less substantial,” Rianne observes, holding her hand up to the light. Her bones are clearly visible through her skin now, like looking at a shadow-thin X-ray.
“This is wrong,” she says suddenly. “We’re all becoming something we’re not.”
“Or we’re becoming what we’re meant to be,” Keith suggests. “Keith has a presentation about evolutionary adaptation—”
“Not now, Keith,” we say in unison.
Rianne looks at me. “I can feel it, you know. The change. It’s not just physical. My thoughts feel... different. Clearer but also more scattered. Like I’m spreading out.”
“That’s concerning.”
“Is it? Or is it just adaptation?” She examines her hands again, watching the light pass through them.
I pull her closer, needing to feel that she’s still solid, still here. She is—barely. “We need to complete the ceremony tonight.”
“Before this gets worse,” she agrees quietly.
The lights flicker. Keith has started his countdown presentation—I can hear him reaching slide ninety: “The Importance of Commitment in Transformation Scenarios.”
“He really does have a presentation for everything,” Rianne mutters.
“It’s how he processes fear.”
“And you?”
“Three hundred years of practice not showing it.”
She looks at me, then away. “I can see through my torso now.”
She’s right. Her entire body has taken on that quality—still solid, still her, but translucent enough that I can see the bookshelf behind her. Light passes through her like she’s made of mist given temporary form.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. It feels... like I’m becoming lighter. Less bound by physics.” She jumps experimentally and floats for a half-second longer than gravity should allow. “Okay, that’s new.”
From the basement, the stone booms: “THE TRANSFORMATION IS ACCELERATING! YOU HAVE MAYBE AN HOUR BEFORE IT’S IRREVERSIBLE!”
“What happens if it becomes irreversible?” Rianne calls down.
“THE STONE DOESN’T KNOW! BUT KEITH SEEMS HAPPY, SO MAYBE CORPORATE SHADOW EXISTENCE ISN’T TERRIBLE!”
“I don’t want to be a corporate shadow!” Rianne protests.
“Then complete the ceremony!” the stone replies. “WITH FEELING THIS TIME!”
I check the clock—ninety minutes until midnight. Rianne is becoming more translucent by the minute. The shadow creatures are becoming more solid. The temperature continues dropping, though neither of us feels it.
“We should prepare,” I say.
“We should.” But she doesn’t move. “Stenrik? I’m scared.”
“Of the transformation?”
“Of losing myself. Of becoming something that isn’t me anymore.”
I wrap my arms around her, and she’s cool to the touch, exactly my temperature. Through her back, I can feel the faint outline of her spine, the shadow of her ribs. She’s fading even as I hold her.
“You won’t lose yourself,” I tell her, though I’m not certain. “Even Keith is still Keith.”
“Corporate Keith.”
“Still Keith.”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “Your comfort skills need work.”
“Noted.”
She pulls back to look at me, and in the emergency lighting, she’s almost ghostly—there but not quite. “We’re really doing this. In ninety minutes.”
“We are.”
“And we’re going to hold on. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” I agree, even though something in my chest tightens at the words.
“Midnight,” I say.
“Midnight,” she agrees.
Ninety minutes to complete the ceremony before her transformation becomes irreversible. Ninety minutes to hold the connection steady, to be strong enough to anchor each other through whatever the magic throws at us.
The temperature drops another degree. Rianne’s form grows more spectral, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s focused, determined.
Ready to grip tight and not let go.
And I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something.
“Please no PowerPoints in whatever comes next,” Rianne mutters against my chest.
“Agreed. Anything but PowerPoints.”