The amber closed.
And the world rearranged itself.
Water.
Everywhere. Hot, steaming, the specific displaced surge of a large body of water receiving two additional bodies at velocity — and Thalia hit the surface with a splash that sent a wave over both sides of the tub simultaneously, soaking the tile floor in one clean sheet.
She surfaced, gasping.
"What the—"
She pushed the wet green hair from her face with both hands and looked around.
Large bathroom. Not the car. Not the office. A bathroom she recognised in the specific way you recognise rooms from childhood — every tile, every fitting, the overhead light with its slightly yellow cast that had never been replaced.
Home.
He had brought her home.
She was sitting in the bathtub, in his lap, water sloshing around both of them, her soaked blouse now entirely transparent against her skin, both breasts fully outlined through the wet fabric, nipples pressing through the cotton.
She turned.
