On impulse, starting the action and then feeling there was no option except to follow through, she put her hand out.

Jessica didn’t hesitate.

Jessica’s hand was cool to the touch. With the skin contact, Amy became instantly aware of every cell in Jessica’s body, every process, every measure and composition of hormone, protein, and lipid chain. Of bacteria cultures, of viruses trying to assail the greater structure and losing that battle. She could feel the warmth of the body’s interior, the electricity of nerves firing, from the ones in the brain and what those suggested to the micro-firings that Jessica wasn’t even consciously aware of, that shifted her position by small fractions to keep her balance.

They shook hands. Amy broke the contact.

“Sorry,” Amy said, looking away and down. Two women in business wear were talking while looking at the contents of the same file folder, one holding it, the other pointing at a graphic. Their upper arms touched.

Amy wasn’t looking directly at Jessica, but she didn’t miss that Jessica looked down at her hand, palm turning upward, before asking, “For what?”

“That was a very Marquis thing to do, offering the handshake, putting you on the spot,” Amy said. “A part of me wanted to see if you were scared. If you’d flinch before taking my hand, or if you wouldn’t shake it at all.”

“Should I have?” Jessica asked.

“No. I didn’t do anything, either, if you’re worrying about that.”

Jessica shook her head, walking over to the railing to pick up her coffee. She leaned against the railing, her back to it.

Amy remained where she was. Leaning against the same railing seemed too casual, and she didn’t feel casual. She didn’t have any pockets to slip her hands into, but she didn’t want to clasp her hands or anything. She focused on adjusting her hair by her ear instead. It only gave her a few seconds of not looking like she didn’t know how to be human, standing unnaturally in place.

“Can I ask how James and Riley are?” Jessica asked.

“They’re fine, I think. Usual. James might be a little bit depressed but I don’t really ever see him, they keep us separated. Riley is… hard to interpret. But you didn’t ask to meet me so you could talk about them.”

“I didn’t,” Jessica said. “But I’m trying not to treat you like a patient, and I thought I might approach you as a colleague. I am interested, and I thought I’d ask.”

“Okay,” Amy said. Jessica had walked back a few steps to retrieve her coffee, and Amy wondered if the five or so feet of distance that separated them had been calculated. It was the kind of chessmaster type move her father might have done. Having an excuse to retreat. Which—