“She’s inside,” Rain answered. “I don’t know if she saw you show up and told people, but she’d probably say hi if she did, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll let them know,” Moonsong said. She paused. “Thanks for your patience, Tristan.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

She headed up the stairs. Tristan turned to Rain, eyebrows going up.

“Damn it,” Rain said.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry By,” Rain added.

“She’s pretty shaken up by what happened to her and her team,” Tristan said. “Re-evaluating. I won’t say anything more. Byron signaled he wanted to think for a bit.”

“But she’ll be here today?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Tristan said.

Sveta stepped out of the doors, though step was the wrong word. I was used to her moving with a bit of a stumble, rarely smooth or fluid, her mechanical body a constant balancing act, where every correction to reassert balance was a half-second to a second later than it might otherwise be. Not here. When she moved, it was more fluid than walking, with no bob of the head, only a natural flow forward. She wore her long gray patchwork coat, and a layered dress that just barely traced the ground. Her hands were ones that had been made by Rain, painted, and her hair was as styled as I’d seen it, with two thin braids looped around to the back of her head.

She beckoned for everyone to go inside.

I elbowed Rain, as everyone started forward.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s you. You were being down on yourself, about how you always need help but never give it. But that’s the product of your and her efforts.”

“Yeah, maybe. More her than me,” he said.

“Punch him in the arm, will you, Tristan?” I asked.

I didn’t wait to see if he obeyed. I quickened my pace in heading over in Sveta’s direction. I floated and flew the last few steps, and gave her a hug.

“You look better rested than yesterday,” she said.

“A bit. I think Ashley felt bad for me, she made me breakfast.”

“Jealous. Weld tries, but I hate asking things of him, especially lately, when I don’t even have my body.”

Beneath her dress and coat, her body was unrestrained, not bound within a doll-like shell, and not bound by rings or loops. She was keeping it under control enough that the tendrils didn’t reach out, snap, or strike at the inside of the coat.

“You’re comfortable like this? Around people?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “No, I’m terrified. But that doesn’t have anything to do with ‘like this’. I could have a normal flesh and blood body, two arms, two legs, and be my old self again, and I’d be terrified every other minute that I’d accidentally kill someone.”

“I get that.”