The Last Dance

It was late and the nursing home was quiet. Ximena’s mother, Isabella, lay in bed where she mumbled incoherent sentences and stared transfixed at the wall. She had been like this for months. The doctors had explained to Ximena that her mother was suffering from a severe case of dementia, alzheimers and other un-diagnosed medical conditions and was not going to recover. The best they could do was provide her a comfortable existence even if she had lost too much of her mind to enjoy it.

Ximena pressed play on her phone. At first Isabella continued to stare off into space but when the chorus of the song kicked in she blinked her eyes and sat up in the bed. Her headphones nearly fell and Ximena moved to readjust them. By the time the first song had finished Isabella was humming along and waving two fingers in air as if she was conducting an orchestra. The music brought her back to the world. The second song came on. It had been one of Isabella’s favorites. And when Ximena had her quinceañera, she had waltzed to it with her father in honor of her mother.

The song played and Isabella looked around the room like it was the reception hall. She saw Ximena next to her. “Mija! Everyone has arrived. The music,” Isabella said, “is starting. Where is your chambelan? Frankie? Are you ready for the waltz? The guest! The food” She smiled and sat back and looked at Ximena with a bright smile. “My hija. So beautiful and finally a woman. We’re so proud of you, mija. We love you so much.” Isabella squeezed Ximena’s hand and her eyes glowed.

Ximena said, “I love you too, mom.”

The glow in Isabella’s eyes dissipated when the song ended. She pulled her hand from Ximena’s and stared at her daughter as if she were a stranger. “Who are you?” She asked.

It was always like this. “I’m Ximena. Your daughter.” she said.

“Oh that’s good,”

“Do you want to listen to your music again, mom?”

“Yes, dear.”

And Ximena pressed play again.

Songs of Joy
By TheAssassin

Within the din of men grim, sat one man alone who sang. His song reminisced of sweet times past, long ago, before the wars. In the gloomy tavern none smiled at his melody, they rather scorned him with vulgarities and insults. Happiness for these men seemed so distant a dream, even a song could not restore it.

A man spoke from the crowd, his anger flaring. “Quiet yourself boy, this is no time for merrymaking; war is upon us! Everything your song speaks of burns!” The jolly songster skipped not a beat and carried on with a heartfelt crescendo. His song spoke of verdant glades and the children who played therein.

“Yea, I sing of times old, of goodness left behind, but my verse comes not from delusion or disdain. I wish only to bring that shred of goodness song provides to your hearts. God knows we need it these dark days.” The songster smiled, looking every man in the eyes. “We are not without happiness, so let us celebrate in that little we yet have.”

“Bah, you’re an idealistic fool,” spoke a gruff man from the corner. “Happiness has not existed for four long years of battle! How dare you say it can come as our sons die in the fields.” The insulted man scoffed.

“Aye, a fool I may be,” whispered the songster. “But happiness is not so distant a thing. It is not gone or left behind. What is art but fragments of emotion given form? I sing not to remember or delude myself in revery, I sing to share that last vestige of emotion we can yet muster. Our enemies may take our lands, slaughter our children, and burn our wives, but they cannot take from us our song or our smile. Those things shall not be left behind so long as we draw breath. Sing with me and you’ll see. My friends, be happy once more!”

The songster began to sing again, but this time his voice was not alone, for in that tavern men embraced their joy, and merrily sang long into the night.

(Reposted from Private)

On the Horizon
By PixieWings

The sea is Cordelia’s greatest love.

It was her greatest love when she had legs to walk the shore. It was her greatest love when those legs were replaced with a glittering tail. It’s her greatest love now, the sunset splashing gold across its surface and painting her ship in shadows.

The air likes to remind her it has its delights, currently in the form of a man with bird wings.

She’d invited him. He’d dropped from the sky to land on the deck above. He may as well have fallen from her memory. The same royal purple feathers along his arms, bits of silver dangling from his ears.

He’d found her and his grin put the sun to shame.

A flutter of his fingers.

A swish of her tail.

“Ahoy Seagull.”

“Permission to come aboard, Angelfish?”

He’d hopped gingerly onto the waiting perch of her fin, and they’d shared the moment, her scales just above the water, his talons just below.

“It’s good to see you, Castor.”

“Good to see you, Cordi. Before you go. Think you’re easier on the eyes between us, personally.”

“You’re an awful flirt.”

“Eh. I like my women the way I like my coffee.”

“Oh?”

“Strong enough to pick me up in the morning.”

Her laugh punctures the air.

Castor winks.

“Gotcha.”

Cordelia dips him closer to her face.

“Do you?”

The noise he makes is more squawk than laugh.

There’s relief it can still be this way.

Warm and easy, like a good summer breeze off the coast.

Well, she thinks, why not?

Might as well unfurl the sail.

“You’re welcome aboard tomorrow.”

Castor blinks.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Cordelia cups his face, turns him to the ship.

“My crow’s nest could use a Seagull.”

His eyes grow slowly wide, and she watches at him as he takes it in.

Her ship and the sea.

Then his gaze slides sideways, where the shadow of the Roost is just visible in the dying light.

“Tempting, Cordi.”

Castor’s hand slips into hers.

Cordelia considers the land with him.

But there’s nothing there for her.

Concrete Jungle
By Mr. Jingo

Miles down upon miles down.

In the Seacoast hotel lobby, Brünson sat patiently. His mechanical body was more rust than metal; the aquamarine lights that emanated from below his exoskeleton had long since dimmed to a neigh-imperceptible glow. The last time he’d moved, it was to put the chess pieces back onto the board in front of him after they were knocked off. His job was to entertain the guests, and nothing would prevent him from doing so. He awaited his opponent’s move.

***

It had been just shy of a month since Vaughn left SHELL, yet already, he needed to return soon to drop off his findings and resupply. It was a lonely job, yet to him, spending months in sub-zero temperatures beat staying underground his entire life. Through the snow-coated pavement, he continued his unstable trek downward beneath the surface. He traversed the broken highways layered atop one another, the result of decades of earthquakes. It created a labyrinthine path to his goal – one of the countless cities the world swallowed millennia ago when the catastrophes hit.

He reached the city twenty-seven hours after he began his descent.

***

Vaughn entered the hotel through the window. The main entrance was submerged in water. In that sloped lobby, the automaton was what Vaughn noticed first. Brünson was a classic model, though not of much use to anyone back in SHELL. The parts were antiquated and cumbersome. But then, he realized Brünson was still functioning.

Vaughn stood there some time after noticing, just staring at him. He took the seat opposite, pushing aside some old bones.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, old fella,” Vaughn said. He moved: black bishop to G8.

“It was no trouble at all,” Brünson tried to say, though his voice box broke thousands of years ago.

It was Brünson’s turn. His hand could barely move. The metal joints near collapsing, Vaughn took hold of his opponent’s wrist and helped him guide the queen to G8. Checkmate.

“Thank you…” Brünson bowed his head, his lights shutting down, “…for a great game.”

The Abyss
By Trinity Knight

A pocket watch fell through a pitch-black darkness. Tick, tick, tick. The ticking seconds resounded in the belly of the deep unfathomable. Tick, tick, tick. It counted the moments it tumbled freely through the abyss. There was nothing to be seen outside the ticking watch. No light for its brass body to capture. No time to really keep track of, save the seconds that passed as it fell towards nothing.

To call it a void would be a mistake. A deep unfathomable darkness such as this could not be categorized by such concepts. No, this place was full of things. Dead things. Lost things. Found things. Things that tick, click, clasp, clap, snatch. Things that hiss, whistle, and wail. Things that tumble, fall, and never reach the bottom.

Those things were left behind, forgotten and discarded. The great shadow swallowed them whole. Now they live here in silent harmony, never to escape back into the eyes of their former beholders. The toys we once lost to the hidden crevices of the world. The keys, the eyeglasses, the wallets and phones we lose to those same crevices as grownups. The loved ones fading from the fringes of our memories. Their voices all but words on the wind, devoid of sound.

You could dive into it if you’d like. You may attempt to swim through its depths, but you would never reach the bottom. You could search for something you’ve forgotten down there in the deep unfathomable. You might even retrieve that special something. You might even make to the surface. But something will always, always take the place of what was rescued. All things find their way there some day. Into the mouth of the deep unfathomable. The abyss.

“Awakening”

By Arith_Winterfell

Kebran felt the mild discomfort of the doctor shining light into his eye, before releasing his eyelids and allowing him to fall back into darkness. His body felt dull, tingly, but mostly numb. What was going on? Slowly he remembered. He had been flying that drone, he had died. No, he was safe here, just the drone died. He had been telepathically linked. He remembered the burning feedback. The terrible pain of the drone’s death.

He tried to move his legs.

Nothing.

He tried to move his hands.

Still nothing.

“No.” he thought. Panic was rising in his chest.

He tried to move his fingers.

Open his eyes.

Open his mouth to speak.

Nothing.

“No!” he struggled inside.

He was . . . paralyzed, but still breathing. “Is this what it’s like in a coma?” he thought.
He struggled to reach out somehow to his doctor, but nothing happened.

The panic was rising again. “This. This is worse than death,” he thought. He was a vegetable. Trapped in his own body.

“My family. She always did beg me to take a less risky job.” He always rejected her on that. He had needed that feeling of freedom. To seek out danger and face it. How could she understand.

Now he understood. Deep down, he thought he’d always win. “Now. Now I’m going to live like this for the rest of my life! Till she gives up and leaves me. Till everyone forgets me.”

There were new sounds. The sounds of scraping, then the hum of the drill. “What is it now!” he thought. They were drilling. Drilling into his skull. His thoughts faded.
He awoke again in darkness. He felt a strange sensation, like itching, no like something else. His finger twitched.

Kiksee
by: Perserves Roses

In the thin light of dawn as the edge of the sun was just clearing the horizon, a misshapen creature slunk out of the undergrowth and onto the now empty campsite. It was wearing a faded child’s cloak and used a wide belt, with tarnished silver buckle, to hold it in around his waist. The little creature scampered about sometimes on four limbs, often just on it’s back limbs as it poked it’s sharp nose here and there. Nattering to it’s self in a squeaky voice.

“Oh these big ones left quickly,” it squeaked, “Kiksee will find treasures.”

Near the garbage pile the hunched little creature searched carefully. Pouncing when, what looked to be a partly burnt crust of bread rolled out.

“Oh a feast for Kiksee! Kiksee likes these big ones.” He chittered happily gnawing with his sharp teeth on the bread.

He ate slowly as he wandered towards the fire pit. His eyes lit up when they spied something laying on a stone. Tucking his bread into a hidden pocket he gingerly picked up a well used pipe, and gently sniffed the bowl. His sensitive nose picked up the rich smell of unburnt tobacco.

Stepping closer to the fire, he picked up a stick from the ground and poked at the ashes. To his delight, a few dying embers were stirred to life, which allowed him to light the pipe. Sitting back on his haunches, his tattered ears drooping. He puffed with contentment, enjoying the bit of warmth coming from the embers.

A sharp crack came from the unseen trail and Kiksee sprang to sudden action. He clamped the pipe between sharp teeth, and shot across the clearing on all fours, disappearing into the bushes.

Moments later two men on horses arrived.
“What is it you absolutely had to come back for?” Asked the first man as he circled around the fire pit.

“My father’s pipe.” The second man said as he unmounted and began looking around. “I’m sure I left it here somewhere.”

“Huh, good thing we did come back the fire wasn’t doused properly.”

The Ties That Bind Us (Based in Lunabear’s Universe: The Council – Katherine and Marcus)
By MasaCur

Marcus pointed the handgun at the door, his hand shaking as the doorknob turned.

“Get it together!” he hissed at himself. Marcus took a deep breath, and steadied his aim as the door swung open.

As soon as he saw Katherine’s face, he pulled the trigger.

The hammer fell on an empty chamber, causing Katherine to flinch.

Marcus felt his jaw drop. He desperately pulled the trigger again. Another click.

Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Really Marcus? Again?”

“How are you still alive?” he shouted, his voice quavering.

Katherine sighed. “You probably shouldn’t have tried to hire Carlisle to execute me. He’s more loyal to me than he is to you. My guess is he’s also the one that took the bullets out of your gun there.”

Marcus whimpered and threw the gun at her, causing her to dodge. She lunged forward and grabbed his hand.

As soon as her hand touched his, Marcus was filled with terror. It was the most intense fear he had ever felt in his life. He curled up on the bed, whimpering. This was her power.

Katherine withdrew her hand. “You wanted this, Marcus. You wanted this life, and now you have it. You’re stuck with me now.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Marcus whimpered.

“I told you. I’m keeping this marriage. For better or worse. And so are you. So find a way to make it work.”

Tears trickled from Marcus’s eyes. “Are you going to tell The Council?”

“I may not have that choice,” Katherine replied. “Carlisle may have already told them. And even if he didn’t, this isn’t something we can keep from The Council forever.” She looked down at him, a look of contemptuous pity in her eyes. “I’m going to tell them. And heavens help me, I’m going to tell them that everything is fine now.”

“Why would you do that?”

Katherine glared. “Because I loved you, you fucking idiot. Part of me still does. Even if the rest of me knows you cannot be trusted.”

Pariah
By Mango Gravy

Oshun sat in a corner, curled up and trying to hide the markings on his face. They started as simple scars, easily explained away, but lately they had begun to fluoresce, giving off a pale blue light. It would soon be clear to see. He had to make a choice before then.

“Leave,” said a voice, though somehow it seemed he didn’t hear it, but felt it resonate from within him. “Before the sun rises, part with these fools before they find you out.”

Oshun looked up so see a towering skeletal form, hunched low beneath the ceiling. Somehow he knew what it was and why it was here, and its presence was further damnation. Confirmation of his curse.

Oshun shook his head, “They’re my family. My friends. I would hurt them if I left them behind.”

“They will hurt you if you stay. Once they see the glow they’ll look on you with disdain, pity or fear. If you’re lucky they’ll exile you anyway. If not, they will either kill you, or try to fix you. Gods know which is worse, but your life with them is at an end regardless.”

“They’ll understand,” Oshun said, but he curled up tighter knowing it was little more than a fleeting hope. He knew their love was conditional, but still he whispered to himself, “They have to understand.”

“They already hate you, Oshun!” The voice rang loud as it yelled the painful truth he already knew. “They just don’t know it yet. They only care for a façade, and the instant they see the reality, you will be at their mercy. They will have none to spare.”

The apparition shuffled closer and placed its massive hand on Oshun’s shoulder. This time its voice was gentle as it whispered in his mind, “You must go, for your own sake.”

He sat in silence for a long moment. When he stood, the apparition was gone, and the glow had reached his eyes, casting the world in cold, blue clarity.

Oshun set his frigid sights on the vermillion horizon, and whatever lay beyond.

Days Spent A-Sailing
By Karl Aegnor

Three years. Joshua had been fourteen when he left. A boy.

A boy making illicit fun with the other boys, sneaking drinks under the barkeep’s nose at a New Bedford inn. A boy living for the moment, waiting for the next exciting adventure to come ’round. He shipped off that same night. A cabin boy.

The cook taught him how to make something out of disparate scraps, how to keep up morale, and how to scrub a plate clean. Joshua smiled. He remembered going to bed those first few weeks, arms sore, wanting nothing more than a bed and a fireplace. A homesick child.

The older whalers saw him as an apprentice. They showed him the ropes, the knots, let him hold a harpoon. Thaddeus had stood by him, taught him more than anyone else. Many of the sailors had voyaged with Thaddeus before, he drew people to himself. Together on this ship, they had built a comradery. The fiddle playing at night as the grog flowed and the gruel slopped into bowls, some of the men would dance, Thaddeus would strike up a shanty. Joshua learned to almost enjoy the gruel, as he became part of something. A crewmate.

In New Bedford, he had slept, schooled, played, all things to be expected of a boy. At sea, he worked. Scrubbing dishes and floors, yes. But with time, tying knots, lowering boats, hauling casks of oil. His hands grew callouses, whiskers began to peek from his chin, he had seen two boats swamp. Thaddeus had been inside the second. Burials at sea were an ignoble thing, but that was life, the others said. The life of a seaman. A sailor.

Joshua remembered the boy, standing at edge of the ship, watching the dock shrink into the horizon. That horizon had held nothing but sea for the next three years. To return now, to see the buildings grow larger in the distance, was surreal. He remembered the boy and laughed. Now, he could not remember what sleeping in a warm bed felt like. Now, he was something different. A man.

Things Left Behind
By: VeryBoringName

In a far-away, ice-bound land, in a tavern there sit two people, a young man, that came of age this year, and an old, weeping man.

Why do you cry? –

The young one asks, the old one looks up from his mug of beer in which he drowned his tears

What interests you in my story? –
Nothing, but I am wondering why are you crying alone in here –
This is the 30th anniversary of my arrival here, and I am looking back at what brought me here –

The young man looks puzzled

What did then? –
I was once the Kings of old favored scientist, they needed expertise they would turn to me, I was rich and powerful, and then I started playing God –
And by that you mean? –
Have you ever gazed down into a dark well, knowing for sure something is watching you? I was pulling that thing into light, by every fiber of it’s body, by every godless string of muscle, in my quest for knowledge to be sold for profit to multiply my riches further, in my wanton greed that squandered the very concept of ethics, I have created horrors unimaginable, slithering leeches the size of dogs, worms walking on fingerless human hands, ancient dead skulls shrieking in their pain of un-death, and more, I was chased out, before I could destroy my work –

The young man looked like he couldn’t decide if he should burst out laughing or to be terrified, but ultimately he never heard of such a man and half-mockingly said.

And you came here? You’ve gained a chance to start a new and yet you bring sorrow to this place of joy –
You are young incredibly then, you can not simply escape, whatever I had created, I am sure has come crawling and slithering for vengeance after me, forever I can run, and forever will my mistakes drag behind me –

The old man then stood, but the young man could not help but hear an indistinct howling and gurgling in the distance as the old man exited the tavern.

The things we shouldn’t leave behind
[Asgaroth universe used with permission of TwangyFlame0]
By: Larissa (Lari B. Haven)

He checked his bag over again. “Please don’t say I left it!”

“Need some help to search?” The ferryman replied, giving the poor merchant a lantern.

“Thank you, but it’s no use.” The shaken man was literally ripping the hairs from his head. “I’m already dead!”

The ferryman didn’t understand why he was so nervous. If he had forgotten something, they could just return to the island while it was still in sight.

“We still have some time to come back before it goes dark. You can recover what you lost.” He replied calmly, as to comfort the wreck of a man in his boat.

“NO!” The merchant screamed. “I will not go back!”

“Why? I know only a few negotiate with the vampires, but they’re usually very level-headed.” The ferryman was curious. “Unless you have stolen something.”

“I would never do such a thing! They are my best clients!” The merchant puffed his chest to say that, proud of his past record. “Well, they were…”

“So why are you so scared?” The boat rider asked.

“What I left, it would be the same thing asking for death!” He replied looking at all directions, dreading an inevitable demise if he spoke a little louder. “Think of the most offensive thing you could ever tell a vampire in a book form.”

The boat rider choked on the smoke of his pipe. “Oh! No, don’t tell me…”

“YES!” He buried his face in his hands and sobbed again. “A leather-bound and jeweled encrusted copy of ‘Vampiric history’ The most offensive book ever written about the vampire kind.”

“And why would you walk with such a book in here? It says that all vampires are evil warlords!”

“It was a package I was bringing to a lord!” The merchant told in the grasp of voice, about to pass out.

“We need to leave and fast! Or else you and I, we’re screwed! Screwed!” The ferryman yelled, hoping for any winds that could take them away

“Gifts from the Dead” (Sword Isles)
By Connor A.

Nadia made sure the frame was secure and stepped back. Her husband’s image had the same playful smirk as he did in life, as if there was some secret that no one had figured out quite yet.

“It has been two years, yes?”

Nadia did not turn away from the image. She heard the telltale clacking of bones until she could make out a cloaked figure next to her.

“The frame looks nice.”

“Is there something you need?” There was no malice in Nadia’s voice, but it was enough for Death to stop attempting small talk.

“I was just making sure you were alright. I know far too well how humans can be when they lose loved ones.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

“I would never think to do so.”

The two fell into a mutual silence, staring up at the image for what felt like an eternity.

“He would be proud of what the guild became.”

“Would he? The Isles are about to have an authoritarian king in control and we haven’t done anything to stop it.”

“Not yet.” Death looked at the fireplace under the portrait. “He believed Aiza could help.”

“She doesn’t have a proper focus yet.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Before Nadia could ask, Death walked up to the fireplace and felt the stones. He stopped on one and wiggled it out. From the crevice, he pulled out a box that was about the size of a forearm, give or take a few inches. He walked back to Nadia and gave it to her.

Without any other option, Nadia opened the box. She covered her mouth with one hand as she looked at the humble wand with a paper tag that read, “For Aiza.”

“He wanted to give this to her before she started college. Apologies for not telling you about it sooner.”

Nadia’s eyes welled up with tears. She wiped them away the moment she realized what was happening and said, “Thank you.”

A Flame Awoken From Ash (Worldswap: Froggyquest by Amy Trow)
By Calliope Rannis

“Mrrrrrrr…” Froggy stirred in the dust, before breathing some in. “A-ACK-GAH!” she coughed, sitting upright.

After a minute of coughing, she moved to brush off her face, flinching as her dry skin cracked. Rubbing her eyes, the frog looked around her with horror.

This place had been a forest, once. But now the ground was coated in ash, and only blackened pillars of wood remained.

“What…happened?” Everything was foggy, but…she remembered fighting. That she had been scared…angry…

She remembered fire. A lot of fire. And she remembered it surging from her body, burning enemies and plants alike.

Her tears left tracks on cracked skin. “Oh…oh no…I-”

“Mother’s roots!” An urgent voice cried out. “Are you okay over there little one?”

Froggy quickly turned to see a 6ft tall dark-furred animal running towards her, an array of sharp quills growing out of their back, and wearing a flowery apron. She tried to push herself upwards, but her dry legs wobbled and she collapsed.

In seconds, the porcupine was there. “Don’t strain yourself dear, you’ll feel better soon!” With some magical words, a cool sensation flowed through Froggy, healing her broken skin. Then the healer helped her upright.

“Th-Thank you…” Froggy stammered. “…how did you find me?”

“Oh! I was looking for anyone that needed help after that awful fire. And you, well, you’re the only green thing around for a mile at least.”

Froggy’s face fell. “It spread that far?”

“That far, and further. Dammed dragon…”

“D-Dr-Dragon??”

“Yes. You already know, don’t you? It’s been causing destruction all across this land…though never as bad.”

Froggy silently nodded. The healer gave her a careful hug.

“It’s okay…it’s okay…” She looked back at Froggy, with both kindness and burning determination in her eyes. “My name is Kali, and I swear on both my name and my mothers, that this dragon will never be allowed to hurt you, or anything else, ever again. I will make sure of it!”

Froggy gave a hollow smile, her guilt and shame clawing behind her eyes, and said “I hope you do.”

Shedding the Past
by Lunabear (Written with permission in Masacur’s Ridgecloud Universe)

Clay was reading his favorite poetry. He still marvelled at the lavish home every time he visited. It must have cost the Ridgecloud bunch a fortune.

Even if it WAS more than Clay was accustomed to, it had its benefits. He stretched his injured knee reflexively. He could barely feel the pain now thanks to Melissa’s healing.

Sheets of Clay’s own poetry covered the glass top table. Nothing relaxed him more than a good book or lines of poetry.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYONE?!”

Clay’s tranquility was shattered instantly. He growled while rubbing his forehead.

Ryan rounded the corner with a scowl. His eyes clouded when they fell on the scene before him.

“Great. The meathead.”

Clay’s eyes snapped. “Nice to see you, too, loudmouth.”

Ryan glared.

“As for where everyone is, we all agreed on some downtime. Given that things are quiet. And after what happened to your friend.”

Ryan’s expression softened, and he crashed down on one of the couches. He stared at nothing.

“How is he, by the way?”

Ryan heard a genuineness in Clay’s voice. Their gazes clashed. “Cris is stable. Going to need a lot of rest.”

“He’ll pull through. Melissa’s a magician.”

“Healer, actually.” Ryan turned away, picking up a sheet of paper. “Never pegged you for a poet.”

“I never thought you capable of talking at a normal volume, yet here we are.”

Ryan smiled, but it felt disingenuous. He returned the paper to the table.

A quietness passed, filled only by turning pages.

“I wasn’t always so loud. I used to be more timid.” Ryan swallowed heavily. “Guess I got tired of the punches and name calling.”

Clay set his book down. “I understand that weariness.”

Ryan expressed silent confusion.

Clay held up his hands. His brown skin stood out easily under the bright lights of the room. “Can’t leave your color behind, you know?”

“Oh. I see.”

“Working out helps me fight those echoes.”

“Nah. Machines are my thing. Mostly cars.”

“Fair enough. If you ever need another way to release tension, though, yoga might be good.”

Ryan laughed deeply.