People would die as the weather got colder. But that would be then. The future was in the future, and that future had an Amy-shaped shadow somewhere across it. The past was misery.

The present? Today? I could focus on today. We would consolidate.

All together. Strength and knowledge.

They’d already departed the train when we arrived. I’d figured the talk with my parents would be intense and problematic, but I hadn’t expected it to be long.

It was Byron with a guy with shaggy black hair and scraggly facial hair, and Erin, all sitting on the railings at the top of the stairwell. Erin gave me a wave.

Kenzie was bundled up, with pink earmuffs, hair not done up in buns, but parted, the vast majority of her hair at one side of her face, along her temple and cheek. She had a black coat, with a nice looking flannel scarf, pink and black—more bundling than was necessary for the weather.

Behind her, two women were talking—thin, both in feminine clothing. One had tan skin and light clothes, with a pixie cut, and the other had long black hair, matching clothes, and pale skin.

She spotted us, and she sprinted, running down icy steps, barely touching the railing.

“Careful!” Sveta called out.

Kenzie reached the bottom stair and threw herself at us, arms wide so one arm caught me and the other caught Sveta. Sveta slipped and, despite my efforts, ended up on the ground.

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay. I’m glad to see you too,” Sveta said. She made her way back to her feet, then parted ways with me, seizing the railing and heading up toward Erin.

“See my work? I thought we’d need to protect identities,” Kenzie said, looking up at me, her chin touching my stomach. “So I made people projection things. It keeps your body type so you can still see what clothes look like, without it getting wonky.”

“That sounds work intensive.”

The guy with shaggy black hair would be Rain then. The two girls would be Ashley and Damsel.

“It was. It is. But I couldn’t sleep anyhow, and I thought I’d do something productive while I lay in bed. And then it became a habit, I’d work until I fell asleep at my desk or until I got tired. Now working on this project makes me tired. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Tough conversation with my parents. My mom, specifically.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She broke the hug. “I’m so happy everyone’s here.”

“Speaking of,” I said. I lowered my voice a bit. “Was there a rule you told me about hugging?”

“Oh. Um…”

“Listen,” I said, and I lowered my voice even more. “I don’t want to be the bad guy—”

“You aren’t.”