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“I don’t know. It feels retiree-adjacent.”

“It does,” she concedes.

Baryn looks between them. “This is fascinating, but neither of you was invited.”

There is a brief silence.

Tamsin’s expression changes. “Oh.”

Her eyes move from Baryn to me, then back again. “Oh.”

“Don’t,” I tell her.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re about to.”

The smile she gives me is intolerable.

Simon, uninterested in whatever social revelation has just occurred, has already returned to his laptop.

My attention catches on his earlier complaint. “You said you were cleaning the audio. Did you find something?”

“No.” Simon looks up. “Which is why I was still working on it.”

“What exactly are you cleaning?”

“Mostly background noise. Wind, handling noise, whatever cheap microphone was built into that camera.” He shrugs. “I’m not promising anything. But if there’s something underneath it, I’d rather know before we decide it isn’t there.”

I look at Baryn, a slow realization dawning on me. "You didn't choose this because you like painting, did you?"

Baryn doesn't even have the grace to look guilty. He just flashes that shark-like grin—the one that makes me remember exactly why I let him into my personal perimeters in the first place.

“Of course not,” he whispers, leaning in so the others can’t hear. “I chose it because there was no fucking chance either of them would want to come. Tamsin would rather remove her own appendix than participate in organized whimsy, and Simon considers mandatory fun a human rights violation. It was perfect.” He waggles his eyebrows. “A solid plan to have you alone.”

He pulls back, his eyes searching mine, waiting for the no that isn't coming. “You manipulative mother fucker.” This is said with an amount of affection the sentence itself does not support.

“It’s called planning ahead, Serena.” He looks unbearably pleased with himself. “You should try being impressed.”

I look at the femur on the table. Then at Baryn.

Against my better judgment, I am.

“Fine.” I strip off my gloves with a snap that makes Simon flinch. “But whatever we’re painting, I’m adding a partially decomposed body. Advanced bloating, abdominal skin slippage, marbling across the extremities, significant insect activity around the eyes and mouth. Possibly some scavenger modification to the exposed hand.”

Baryn stares at me.

I reconsider. “Actually, if there’s enough room near the tree line, I could do scattered remains.”

His mouth twitches.

“Fox activity would give me more interesting dispersal. Plus, foxes are so cute.”

“There she is,” he says. His hand finds the back of my neck, thumb brushing once beneath my hairline as his grin widens. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He gives my neck a final squeeze before letting me go, then reaches past me for my clipboard and slides it firmly out of reach. “We have a reservation.”

“I was using that.”