Cole wasn’t really aware of being awake or not awake, but she guessed she must have been not-awake because she was woken up by Aiden whispering to her: “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we’ll be landing soon.” She whimpered. “Do we have to? Can’t we live here forever?” “On the plane?” “Yes.” She curled into him stubbornly. “We can spend all our time having sex and cuddling.” “We can also do those things on the ground. And with a smaller carbon footprint.” It should have been reassuring—well, it was reassuring, since she hadn’t seriously expected they’d become joint founders of a flying and fucking commune—but she was feeling fragile. In a way that was completely unlike the raw vulnerability of writhing naked and sobbing over Aiden’s knee, and a lot less fun. “Cole? What’s the matter? You haven’t…haven’t changed your mind, have you?” He sounded so genuinely anxious that she came in immediately with a “No.” And, anyway, it was true.Well. Mostly.

There was a car waiting for them at Heathrow—a proper billionaire car this time, with a driver—to take them to One Hyde Park. It felt odd coming back. Cole couldn’t have called it a homecoming because she was pretty sure that shining glass monster would never feel like home, but she was in a way more comfortable than she had been the first time she’d stepped into its gold and marble maw. Now it was a familiar gold and marble maw. Put it that way.Unfortunately, Aiden couldn’t stay. Cole hadn’t expected him to, but it didn’t stop the swell of disappointment from whichever organ generated the stuff. The balked duct. He was, however, very nice about leaving. No vanishing abruptly into the night like the hero-villain from a gothic novel. There was only genuine reluctance, an apology, and a kiss on her nose before he left. Which was something he seemed to be making rather a habit of. Not that she was complaining. It was just unexpected.Even—hah—romantic.

Cole only woke up because she could smell smoke. Not house-burning-down type smoke. The lightly-toasted skunk-flavored smoke that meant someone had weed nearby. She rolled over with a muffled moan, which was followed by an entirely unmuffled yell. Ellery was sitting right there, back against the footrest, spliff in her hand. Ellery took a nonchalant toke. “So you're here.” “Um, you’re in my bedroom,” Cole said. “What is this—a be-more-obvious contest?” “No, it’s a…” Cole was way too nonconsensually naked for banter. “What are you doing here?” Ellery shrugged and kept on smoking. For all her half-closed eyes and general stoner air, anyone didn’t have to be Jean Grey to notice she didn’t seem entirely happy. She was wearing New Rocks, suspender tights, and a barely there T-shirt dress with the Rolling Stones Sticky Fingers tongue on it. From the smudged glitter on her eyelids, she’d probably been out all night. Cole guessed she was lucky

Cole spent the next day glued to her email. Just in case Milieu were all “we loved your article so much we got in touch with you straight away even though that literally never happens.” It hadn’t happened. So she dedicated herself to being moderately productive, which mainly involved restocking her food supplies and writing, and only fretting about Milieu/daydreaming about Caspian a little bit. Nik woke up hungover in the middle of her afternoon and they long-distance buddy-watched an episode of Supergirl, Cole curled on the sofa, Nik apparently still in bed and not consistently conscious. She was back in the study and back at work—go her—when Ellery said, “Come on, we’re leaving.” “Oh my God.” Cole finished having a minor heart attack. “Are you ever going to like knock or warn me before turning up?” Ellery thought about it for a moment. “No.” “But what if you get here and I’m bonking your brother?” “Then I’ll be psychologically tr

What had started out as the worst queuing experience of her life gradually became one of the best for Cole. Not that, in all honesty, there was that much competition. The evening got a flood of last-minute warmth, like a guilty start from the sun just as it was slipping away. She lay with her head on Ellery’s lap and Ellery fed her the rest of the strawberries—at least the ones she could wrest from Unasked for Queue Lady. Cole couldn’t help but notice that lots of other people were drinking wine but Ellery had gone all ascetic on her and only brought water. Probably it was the right call—she wasn’t sure whether her capacity to appreciate classical music would be improved or diminished if she was wankered. And, besides, she was slightly floaty anyway—on the balmy evening air and the brush of heat across her skin and the strange liberation of having nothing to do but wait. They were briefly interrupted by the click-whir-flash of a camera. And Cole startled out of a not-quite-dayd