They mapped it out systematically, seeing if varying angles or paths changed anything. Each time, Ramona pushed until she felt the pain, and each time, Zara was there with her phone, noting measurements with clinical precision. It should have felt invasive — being studied like a lab experiment, her discomfort quantified and recorded.
Instead, it felt like Zara was trying to understand. Trying to help.
Which was somehow worse.
They were in the hallway, testing the distance to the front door, when they heard footsteps on the stairs outside.
Zara’s expression shifted immediately, careful neutrality sliding into place like a mask. “Cammie.”
Ramona looked at Zara with a frown of confusion. “How do you?—”
The key turned in the lock. The door opened.
Cammie stepped inside, still in her café uniform, her hair pulled back, her face tired. She halted when she saw them standing in the hallway, Zara holding her phone, Ramona leaning against the wall like she’d just run a marathon.
“Hey,” Cammie said slowly. Her gaze moved between them, clearly trying to figure out what she’d just walked into.
“Hey,” Ramona said, too brightly. “How was work?”
“Long.” Cammie set her bag down by the door. “How was yours?”
Cammie looked at Zara. Zara looked back, her expression dark and guarded in a way that Ramona hadn’t seen with anyone else.
“Yeah, same.” Ramona said, anxious to break whatever awkward feeling had settled over them. “There’s a bit of leftover spaghetti on the stove if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks,” Cammie said. “I’ll eat it after I shower. Hey, Zara, do you watchLove Potion?””
“No,” Zara said flatly, then took a few steps, disappearing into Ramona’s bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Ramona stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door, then glanced back at Cammie. “Sorry. Jet lag is making her grumpy,” she said by way of excuse for Zara’s odd behavior.
Cammie shrugged. “No worries.” She disappeared into the bathroom.
Ramona took a breath, counted to five, and opened her bedroom door.
Zara was standing by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the alley below. She didn’t turn when Ramona entered.
“Are you okay?” Ramona asked, closing the door behind her.
Zara turned. Her expression was carefully blank. “It’s been a long day.” There was something in her voice — something Ramona couldn’t quite identify but couldfeelin her own body. Discomfort? Anxiety?
“Okay,” Ramona said slowly. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
They stood there in silence. The room felt smaller than usual, more crowded. Outside, Ramona could hear the shower running, the pipes groaning. The building settling into its evening routine.
“So,” Ramona said. “As far as the bed tonight?—”
Zara sat down in the creaking chair, the seat groaning in surrender as it slowly lowered. “This is fine.”
“You can’t sleep in that chair every night,” Ramona protested.
“I don’t require as much sleep as humans.” Zara made a show of stretching and settling her body. “I’ll be fine, Mortal.” She said the name slowly, emphasizing their difference in that moment.
“That’s—” Ramona began, then paused. Took a breath. “Look,Demon. That chair is terrible. You’re going to destroy your back.”
Zara sniffed in annoyance. “I don’t have a conventional spine.”
Ramona paused. “What holds up your… most of you, then?” She gestured toward Zara’s torso region.
