The spell breaks. Maeve turns away—arch and extend, lift, arch—she pours forward at a run, spins, starts again.

Sim paces along the wall now, back and forth, watching her. Why the fuck doesn’t someone tell him to sit down? Her foot flexed and lifting high, out, down, back, a compass turn, the leg coming in sharply and propelling her around. She falls and pushes up. For a minute, she gets lost in herself again and it feels good—he’s gone from her line of sight.

Then, as she’s springing up into a leap, she catches him, up on the open staircase now—looking down at her from above.

Maeve lands hard and stumbles, then falls for real, the same hip and shoulder slamming the ground, and she swears out loud. When she gets up again, she curves over, hands resting on knees. She is panting. Overhead, Sim stares down at her, the beginning of a smile.

From the other side of the room, a slow clap starts up. Justin rises to his feet.

“Oh, fuck off,” Maeve says.

“A tremendous effort,” Justin says. “I’ll file my review in the morning.”

She feels flushed and drops into a low squat, hugging herself, eyes shut, while she catches her breath. She opens them when someone touches her arm. Anna. Offering water.

Back in her chair, Sadie has picked up Justin’s camera again and hunches over it, the camera cradled in her arms. Something about it tugs at Maeve, but she’s light-headed and only squints vaguely in her direction, trying to figure out what. Dan gestures solemnly to Anna to rejoin the group, but she turns away and gets down on her haunches instead.

“You don’t look well,” Anna says.

Maeve takes the mug and drinks, then hands it back.

“I want to go to bed.”

Sim comes down the stairs. Anna cracks a new bottle of bourbon and pours a few shots into the mug. She glances at Dan before turning back to Maeve.

“I’ll walk you,” she says.

Upstairs, Maeve pauses at her door.

“What do you think happens next?” she says.

“We go home,” Anna says.

“Are you sure?”

Maeve glances down the hall in each direction. An odd feeling they aren’t alone, but maybe she’s just spooked by the shadows; it’s always so dark in the halls now. She brings her phone up a little higher, shining the flashlight first one way, then the other.

Maybe it’s just the leftover effect of their eyes on her, all of them, when she was working to focus on herself.

“Your kids,” Anna says. “They’re with your parents? What about Dad?”

“He’s gone.”

Anna thinks on that.