“Huh,” Erin said. “That’s really cool. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“It’s likely,” I said.

“You guys have a good night.”

“You too,” Kenzie said. She held up her phone, like she was trying to get a signal. “Drive safe.”

“We good to go?” Erin asked.

“Yep,” Rain said. “You want a ride somewhere convenient, Kenz?”

“Sure!”

Kenzie climbed in behind Rain, giving us a wave before the door was closed.

Just Sveta and me left.

We watched as the van pulled away.

“I have a lot of sympathy for Rain,” Sveta said.

“Are you talking about the attempt on his life or the long car trip with the girl he very clearly likes?”

“Oh, yeah, the dangerous thing too,” Sveta said. “Mostly the long trip.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“But that’s all negative. We’re going in the same direction, right? We can catch up?”

“We can definitely catch up. I want to hear more about that vacation.”

“And you can come over for dinner, right? Sometime? You’re not far. I can’t promise a good dinner, because I’m still trying to find food that Weld can really taste that won’t make the neighbors evacuate their apartments, but there’s takeout! Or delivery. I’m sure there’s something we can do.”

“You couldn’t keep me away,” I said.

⊙

Sleep eluded me. I stood on the balcony, I stared out at a city without nearly enough lights or light in it, a jagged and incomplete skyline, and I tried to shake a persistent melancholy I couldn’t put my finger on.

The day had been a good one. My friendship with Sveta rekindled, with Sveta doing as well as I could hope for, possibilities for the future, interesting puzzles to work out, and I’d been able to do favors for people I cared about.

A part of it was the therapy. It was strange, to be in a place mentally and emotionally where therapy had a cost to it, in a way. The voice of Mrs. Yamada and the tone of the conversations reminded me of the darkest period in my life. Those reminders were probably responsible for the nightmares that had torn me from sleep.

Maybe it would be good if I called the new therapist, a new voice.

It wasn’t the nightmares that kept me from getting back to sleep, but a restless nagging feeling. I liked problems I could decisively solve, things I could tell myself I had an answer for, something I could handle in the dawn, and then I could go back to sleep. The feeling that had settled with me wasn’t that sort of answerable question.

It was the restless nagging that had me carefully and slowly open the sliding door of the balcony, step into the living room, and gather some things. A bag with my wallet and things, fresher clothes, the mask I’d worn for the broken trigger incident.