“He’s doing better, huh?” I asked, my eyebrows still raised.

Vista stuck her head out the door, shoulders bare. “It’s not a walk of shame if we didn’t do anything!”

How had she not pulled something on by now? Was she just sitting on her bed, face in her hands or something?

Tristan laughed more. Vista slammed the sliding door in response.

The neighbor banged on the wall yet again.

“You’re okay with this?” I asked.

“They didn’t do anything,” Tristan said. “She made a pass at my brother that was awkward but forward enough to get through his thick skull. They negotiated it with me.”

“He’s doing better then?” I asked.

“Yeah. If he was a one before, he’s a three or four now. Not very mobile, but… last night helped.”

I glanced at the door.

“Rain’s dream,” Tristan said, smiling. “The world beyond it. And we’ve got cheerleaders encouraging him to put in the effort…”

He pulled out his phone. Showing me messages from Kenzie, that included input from Darlene, Chicken Little, and Candy.

‘Go get her ice cream’ was the latest message.

I smiled.

“Can I talk to him?” I asked. “Is he okay to sit or stand or…?”

“Probably,” Tristan said. He leaned back against the wall, then blurred.

Byron replaced him, slumping down a bit, in part because the strength and coordination weren’t all there. In part because he’d been caught.

“You good?” I asked him, keeping my voice down for those who were sleeping.

“Mm,” he grunted. He was naturally quiet, to the extent he didn’t have to change much to account for the sleeping patrolers. “There’s no answer to that question that doesn’t sound wrong. If I say ‘better’ it sounds like I’m being clever, and I’m worried you’d hit me. If I say I’m not feeling good, I’d be lying…”

He trailed off.

“She good?”

“Not right this second, but yeah,” Byron said. “In general I think… good.”

“Good,” I said, stern. “You realize she’s a friend of mine, she deserves all the good things? You hurt her, you and I aren’t going to be on good terms.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t want anything else.”

He looked so weary. I almost felt bad.

“These things the Chicken Tenders are telling you to do? These things, at a glance, seem good. Teasing and obviously weird stuff aside, do them.”

“Vista doesn’t seem like the type to go ga-ga over flowers,” Byron said.

“Would you want flowers?” I asked him.

“I suppose. I’d be touched.”

“There you go,” I told him.

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Okay. Sorry, by the way.”

“No apologies, provided everything’s good. But if it’s not, you’re going to need big apologies, because I’m going to be pissed.”