When she received the mailed notice from Demetrius, regarding the upcoming Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, Kutone registered two thoughts. One, what a mouthful. Two, as usual when these bi-monthly festivals rolled around, she hesitated on her decision. She kept up with the Banks's restoration well enough to spare a night for festivities, but hanging out with Alex the other day had dredged up those unwanted memories, needling her from the niches of her mind's darkest, dustiest corners. This, she thought, frustrated, after she finally remembered real quiet. Enjoyed it. Was even about to return Sebastian's book and tell him, "The book was great, but I have to thank you even more."

Returning the Chronicles had to wait, and it patiently did so on Kutone's tea table. She tried distracting herself with summer's last harvest, and meticulously checked each of her crops before either hauling them to the shipment box, or setting them aside for Pierre. Oki, always her faithful companion, watched with his sad eyes, and as Kutone wordlessly picked berries and freed melons from their vines, he whimpered at her attitude.

She put down her basket of blueberries, and for the first time in hours, looked at Oki. "Sorry," she said. "I promise I'm not trying to ignore you."

Oki padded carefully between the plants, and sat down at Kutone's side. He accepted the gentle rub down his back.

"Been thinking too much, haven't I?"

Since the Banks had become a steady routine, Kutone's thoughts were no longer occupied by new things to learn. Rather,

Caramel, you're the best decision I ever made in this company.

She had thoughts about soaring, then about falling.

You made me your secretary. Don't I get my name back now?

You've always been "Kutone." But now you're also my Caramel.

She had thoughts about people becoming objects. About best friends poisoning said objects. About cracks gouging down the faces and seams of objects.

Rhei, Jaci says people are talking about us. That I slept my way up to this position.

She had thoughts about objects breaking, and baring its shriveled, naked core to the eyes of many.

Rhei, the "emergency personnel review"—that's about me, isn't it?

That ugly thing belonged nowhere in the world.

"Stop," she told herself, stabbing the dirt with her trowel. "That's why you came to the valley. You dropped from the grid. You killed yourself in their eyes."

Oki whimpered, alarmed, and squeezed himself between Kutone's arms and over her lap. Disregarding her surprise, he rolled on to his back, panting for belly rub.

"I didn't mean it literally, you silly thing." She acquiesced anyway, running her thick work gloves over Oki's tummy. Eventually, she slowed to a gentle pat. "Rhei must have thought me a dumb broad when I asked him that. Maybe that's how he realized I wasn't good enough, eh?"

Voicing his name quickly conjured his image, but before she summoned the desperation to blot him out, Mayor Lewis's voice salvaged her thoughts. "Mail for you, my dear!"

Thankful for the new distraction, Kutone rolled Oki off her lap, then stood up, shaking dirt off her jeans as the mayor approached her. "We really need a mailman around here," puffed Lewis. "My old bones can walk back and forth across this town only so many times, you know?" He handed Kutone two envelopes. "Those just came in for you. I figured I could tell you a little bit about the evening's festivities as I dropped them off."

She flipped the two envelopes in her hands. The creamish and squared envelope was Dad's envelope of choice. It felt thicker than usual—he must have included something other than his letter. The other envelope was long and white, enmeshed with blue inside—a security envelope. It had no return address, but she remembered, with cold sweat sweltering against her back, a certain chief merchandise executive who insisted on sending his personal letters in security envelopes. She stuffed both into her back pocket. "Right," she replied, "thanks, Lewis. Uh. The evening's festivities. What about them?"

Concern knitted Lewis's brow for a moment, but he thankfully asked a different question. "It is your first Moonlight Jelly viewing, yes?"

The mayor happily added to Demetrius's letter, describing Pelican Town's perfect beach location to view the migrating jellyfish up close. He explained the passage of the jellies as a signal to the end of summer, and while many saw their coming as melancholic, Lewis claimed, again and again, they were "absolutely beautiful." Clearly, the event was a personal favorite of his. Gus would not provide food or drink for the event, to lessen distraction. Furthermore, candles and Robin's candle boat would be the only sources of light on the beach, and the villagers would put out even those to witness the jellies' ethereal glow.

"I can see you're not in good spirits, Kutone," said the mayor, "but I do hope you decide to join us this evening. The first viewing is always unforgettable."

Lewis's enthusiasm was contagious. Though the corner of the security envelope dug into her back, reminding her of its presence—Rhei's presence—Kutone promised to show.

Dad's letter was straightforward enough, thanking Kutone for a summer care package she'd sent prior. So happy to see such beautiful crops, Mom had, apparently, finally come around to her daughter's decision. A small wad of bills made up part of the extra padding in Dad's envelope. "Don't send it back," wrote Dad, "because you deserve every cent of this and more. Mom made some killer lemon-blueberry pancakes with those blueberries you sent. I didn't save you any. Sorry."

A letter from Mom built the other part of the padding. "I see the fruits and vegetables you send us," Mom wrote in her blocky clean Eastern calligraphy, "and I see you so alive, like you've finally found something [or someone?] to live for. I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Kutone, and I promise, when you're ready, Daddy and I will visit. We both are so looking forward to seeing how you restored Pa-Pa's old farm."

Having both parents' blessings felt so good, like she'd finally done good by them. Like their lifelong investment in her was finally paying off. She knew they still worried—Mom especially—but hopefully this slackened their burden.

But Mom's "someone" comment had snagged her. Someone to live for? As if.

She pulled out the other envelope. Turned it over in her hands again, hoping a return address would materialize so she could send it right back, or into the trash. But curiosity enjoyed beating her. Repeatedly. She slid her finger underneath the corner and ripped the envelope open.

Please, she hoped, let it just be Joja 401k telling me they terminated my account…

Instead of the white document she wanted, however, a neatly folded sheet of legal pad paper, yellow with blue college-ruled lines, greeted her. She groaned. Pulled it out. Unfolded it.

Kutone,

I know you left because of what happened. I'm sorry. I know I can't apologize enough to you.

It took me a while, but I went through that entire stack of applications you left me that night. And I personally turned down every single one of them, in case you decided we can work together again.

I know it's too late to take my words back, but, there's no one as good as you. If not to me, then please, at least come back to the company. I know our spark is still there.

Rhei.

He was a businessman stranded at the bar. A kingfisher that shot up through the office's turbulent floors, but never took a moment to see the people he blasted past. He saw only his goal, his dream, shining bright up above him, on a precipice he could barely reach. But real life, that dream-killer, buffeted him off course, leaving him stuck at that bar while he searched, futilely, for relief. So when he saw her, an eye of quiet and calm in the midst of the storm of humanity, across the dance floor that fateful evening, he stopped. He rested his wings. He stared at her, realizing for the first time he needed a shadow.

But there always came a point when the sun shined so brilliantly, the shadow faded into nonexistence. Instead of stopping to pull her up with him, he broke her wings and dropped her through the floors. Because that's what the company told him to do. For the image. Clean out the scandals. Their halcyon days ended, swallowed by their flawed humanity.

She crumpled both envelope and legal paper into a dense ball, and smashed it so hard into the fireplace, embers scattered into her face. Biting her lip against the hot sears on her skin, she watched her crackling fireplace with consternation. If only the same could happen to his perfect suit and office, his face, his body, his voice, his everything, she thought, but there in her mind he stayed, smoldering like the embers in her ashen hearth.

Oki fell asleep in front of the fireplace, leaving Kutone without distraction to freshen up for the evening. After a hot at-home shower, she decided to leave her hair down, allowing the last warmth of summer to dry it into long, loose waves. Then, throwing her soiled work clothes into the hamper, she puzzled through her closet.

Like hell she'd let her old baggage get in the way of her new experiences. Moonlight Jellies, she told herself, re-orienting her attention.

Sifting past her flannels and jeans, she realized for the first time, since coming out to the valley, how little she had in expressive clothes. Emily and Haley, Kutone thought, would be aghast at her selection, screaming all work and no play. Yet at the very back, hidden behind coats her parents had preemptively sent for the winter, she spotted the few dresses she hadn't donated at the end of her Joja term.

Kutone chided herself. She had no one to impress with a dress, and the evening air and sea breeze would freeze the beachside. Back to the usual, then. At least she still had casual sneakers to complement the nicer jeans she pulled from her closet. "And at least I make casual look good."

She left the farmhouse, rolling up the sleeves on her warmest flannel. Tucked the hem of her turtleneck undershirt into her jeans, and adjusted her belt accordingly. Not bad, she thought, examining herself in the moonlight. Again, no one to impress but herself, and given her limited selection, she was satisfied.

Then shoving thoughts of Rhei far away, she followed the path south, toward Marnie's ranch, then east into town. Villagers were already trickling toward the beachfront, and chattered excitedly about the upcoming event. From what Kutone overhead, there was no actual dance—thank goodness—and simply consisted of a quiet evening watching jellyfish float by.

Down at the beachfront, villagers were already crowding the docks. Most clustered in front of Willy's fish house, where Robin lowered a large unlit candle into the cradle of a small boat. Still others continued their low conversation along the sand, waiting for Lewis's announcement to begin the viewing. Smaller candles lit the edges of the docks, and along the tideline.

Above the rush and pull of the sea, she dimly heard someone call her name. Following the general direction to the western docks, Kutone soon found herself meeting Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian at what they considered their usual viewing spot: the end of the pier out by Lonely Rock.

"We were just talking about you!" said Sam as Kutone approached. "We need a city person's input on this."

Kutone raised her brow. "Don't you count? You said you used to live out there."

"Sure, when I was barely talking. I'm a full-on country boy now."

Abigail snorted her laughter. "Get back to us when you're born and raised in the valley," she said. "Then you'll get your country boy cred."

So they needed input from a recent city dweller. "I'm about six months dated on city going-ons since moving out here," Kutone said, "but I might remember something."

Even in the encroaching night, Sam remained vibrant. "Just your opinion," he said. "You see, the three of us have our own band, but we don't have a genre. We can do basically anything, given our triple gold-star, grade-S ranked keyboard wizardry, kudos to this guy here." He elbowed Sebastian in the side.

So he did music too. "Guess I have to hear you play now."

"It's nothing to write home about," Sebastian sheepishly replied.

Abigail chimed in. "But I bet he'd be happy to do a solo for you, Kutone!" It earned her a hard punch in her shoulder. "Ow, you jerk!"

For the first time that day, Kutone laughed, even forgetting the shadows creeping in her thoughts. Sam tried to get things back in order. "Come on, guys, or I swear I'm gonna push both of you into the jellies—this is gonna determine our future!"

They had four ideas for genres. Pop, for the sake of familiarity. Bluegrass, for their valley upbringing. Metal, for Sam's expertise on the guitar. And electronic, for Sebastian's skill on the keyboard.

"She's gonna say electronic," said Abigail, "just to hear you play."

This time, Sebastian said nothing, instead nervously rubbing the back of his neck. While he tried keeping his eyes down on the pier, his sneaking, admiring glances betrayed him.

"That might be part of it," Kutone replied, returning a knowing smirk. Sebastian averted his gaze, choosing instead to fixate on the shimmering surface of the sea. "But it takes me back to my college days, before I started full-time work at the company. The clubs were fun, and that beat helped me concentrate on studying."

Sam and Abigail pounced with their exclamations (You went clubbing?!), begging Kutone to fill in the details. She skipped the part about meeting Rhei at her favorite club, and carefully expunged her road from business major to high-rise secretary, then back down to administrator grunt. They didn't ask for that information, after all, and she wanted to give them the good parts only. Positivity, she hoped, would inspire their debut. Only Sebastian seemed doubtful of her story, given their prior conversation over books and coffee. So to set him at ease, she tried smiling. "Really," she said. "It was all good fun."

With an apologetic nod, he tuned back in to Sam's and Abigail's conversation about possible topics for their new genre. Deeming her participation in the conversation no longer necessary, Kutone, heaving a sigh, walked away. Picking apart and piecing together a story without Rhei in it had exhausted her, opening the cavernous hollow in her chest again.

The time for the jellies slowly approached. Kutone found an isolated pier, almost totally hidden from the rest of the villagers at the docks, and sat down at the edge. She considered dangling her legs over the water, but then promptly crossed them beneath her. They were jellyfish for a reason, after all.

"A wise decision, young adept."

Kutone whirled around in her seat, but found no signs of the voice's owner. She remembered the echoing in her head, along with the foul earthy taste of "forest essence."

"I prefer to remain hidden. My observation of the Lunaloos requires some amount of discretion."

"Lunaloos?"

"The Moonlight Jellies, as you call them. An impressive species of aquatic life, for its unusually powerful magical aura."

"Demetrius called it phosphorescence."

"Within the physical plane, yes. But what the scientist deems physical, we versed in the immaterial call it magic. My theory is that the Lunaloos are much like you or I, in that they are imbued with multiple essences, possibly obtained on their migration route."

She wasn't sure she much liked being called "young adept." True, she used to fantasize about becoming an apprentice, but after forcing down that gag-worthy potion, she no longer wanted to risk further detachment from reality. She already was so distant, and she needed no more reasons to stretch out that distance any further.

The wizard's voice suddenly fell into a grave, warning tone. "Kutone. We once determined you were naturally born with the essences of Void and Sea, and I noted their expansiveness in the realm of human personality. Given certain fluctuations of your energy as of late, I must tell you: beware the Void that swallows you from within."

Void swallowing from within… Kutone pressed her face into her hands, sighing. "Is this the part you tell me, if this 'void' goes out of control, it'll affect everyone else around me? Irreparable consequences that I must remain vigilant about or something?"

"Nothing so dramatic, but I fear you may be lost to us should your Void consume you. Perhaps the collateral effects will impact the townspeople, but nothing so direct or long-lasting."

So whatever happened to her, at least it would only be a disconcerting blip in the townspeople's lives. The reassurance left a familiar bitterness, yet relieved sweetness, in her throat. "Right. Thanks for the warning."

The wizard's voice went quiet, and with it, a swell of activity emerged from the central docks. Faintly, she heard Lewis announcing the event's opening. Something about sending off the candle boat, and the jellies would follow the current and the light, and come visit. He asked for everyone to blow out their candles, and pushed off the boat.

As the light faded around the beach, and plunged everyone into darkness save for starlight, moonlight, and the candle boat's glow, someone, shoes scuffing against the worn wood, stopped on the pier behind her. "Hey."

"Hey." Since when did this exchange become so familiar? She didn't need to look over her shoulder, or ask, to know Sebastian stood behind her. "I thought you were with Sam and Abigail."

He nudged Kutone aside and sat down next to her. "I'm with them all the time," he said. "Plus, you found a quiet spot here."

"It's nice."

She was too tired to talk, but with the jellyfish's glow filling the void of the black sea before them, Sebastian didn't seem to mind. Bobbing along the surface of the water, the jellies coasted toward the beach. Blue and white lights sparkled with the moonlight, and by the undulating sea, danced like twinkling starlight.

Or city lights and neons blinking within a drunken haze along Market Street, clubs and restaurants and hotels and high-rise offices alight with sin and disappointment. Kutone heaved another sigh.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He said it so casually, she couldn't believe this was the same Sebastian who had avoided her in the early spring. But she shook her head.

"Okay."

She noticed then, the villagers had melted into awed silence, so much that their presences disappeared like dwindling candlelight. Only Sebastian was clear to her, and not just because the sea breeze tousled his dark hair and the drawstrings of his sweater, and not just because the jellies' glows illuminated the slight, content smile at the corner of his lips.

Something thrummed in the hollowness of her body. "Why did you come here? I mean—I don't mean I don't appreciate it—I just—I'm a little surprised."

Sebastian leaned back, perplexed for a moment. Then, he had that content expression again, as he met Kutone's eye. "You do this thing sometimes," he started, "where you seem totally happy, bubbly even. Then you're not. Like something's constantly eating you and—I dunno—you can't seem to forget it's there."

"That—that sounds about right."

"It's hard to leave you alone when you do that. I'm not sure why."

The thrumming leapt up, slapping against the ceiling of her chest. "You sound like you care about me," she said, forcing a derisive snort.

Sebastian seemed to ponder the statement, then replied, "You said my work was impressive."

And he watched her with such an even gaze, that as Kutone stared back, she found herself babbling. "Has anyone ever raised you so high," she started, "and given you the entire world, promised you the best of everything they had and what life had to offer, and then, with just one offhand rumor from someone you thought was your best friend, everything just—disappeared?" She remembered a scenario like this, except it was at a dance club, with tequila cocktails, and the man looking at her with careful intrigue wore a perfect suit and mussed his hair to the perfect level of casual.

She turned back to the glowing sea. "He took everything he ever promised away from you, and he made you start at the bottom for the second fucking time. Climb your way back up, says the company, but that man knows the truth." She was, she realized, talking to herself more than Sebastian. Remembering made her choke. Made her nauseous. But Sebastian, absently curling the ends of her hair around his fingers, listened so goddamn closely.

His touch and his listening ear had strange ways of making her spill. "He knows the truth," she repeated, her voice weak, "but he won't tell anyone what happened, because his starling job's on the line. You've become the company joke. You end up owning it. Yes, I'm nothing but this contrived scandal. Nothing else! Not even my own person, the person I used to be! Not good enough—!" She choked on tears. Fought them back. Refused to cry in front of him. "Sorry."

Sebastian, pausing with Kutone's hair still between his fingertips, turned his stare toward the sea, the same way Rhei had toward the dance floor when Kutone, back then, talked about effective communication and team dysfunctionality. Back then, Rhei, in his tequila-dazed spell, outlined a secret plan, then ended their transaction with an I wish I could kiss you. He didn't do so until about two and a half years after, but at that time promised, if she stuck with him, he'd do her right.

But Sebastian watched the jellyfish rise and fall with the ebb and flow, and replied, in his usual saturnine tone, "Don't be."

Silence again filled the space between them, bridged by another absentminded play between her hair and his delicate touch. Not even the "thank you" Kutone so wanted to pay him had the courage to fall out of her mouth.

Then, as the tide slowly reclaimed the glowing jellyfish, like stars fading from the sky, Sebastian spoke again. "I think I get it," he said. "Not completely. But, I hear you." When cast an inquisitive look, he considered his words, but nodded and repeated, "I hear you, Kutone."

I hear you. I'm listening. I know you're hurt and there's nothing I can do about it, but I hear you.

His words were so perfect.

The jellies were gone. Only moonlight and starlight, reflecting from the sea, illuminated the beach. The townspeople, save for Kutone and Sebastian, began trickling back up the trail.

He stared up at the night sky, allowing the breeze to caress him again. "Real quiet now," he whispered. "The jellies are nice, but I think I like this more."

She wanted to stand and leave him to his reverie, but the thrumming, that pervasive heartbeat, in her body had yet to subside. Sebastian would hear, if he hadn't felt it already, and he would know what that pulse meant, if she stood then. And he was so relaxed and peaceful and quiet, she didn't want him to break out of it, ever, if possible.

So she had to agree. The jellies were nice, but she liked this even more.

This: night casting a pale highlight across the fringes of Sebastian's hair, and moonlight illuminating a glow in his eyes, colored deep, deep gray, like the sea at cloudy morning, or a smoky fog at night, and not simply dark. The chill of oncoming autumn nipped a hint of color into his pallor, and as he closed his eyes against the breeze, Kutone carefully, cautiously, caressed him with her gaze. Across the corner his brow, around the ridge of his ear, a moment's linger at the piercing on his lobe, then down his jawline, not quite angular like a man's, but not quite rounded like a boy's, either. Up his chin, a feather's moment at the content upturn at the corner of his lips, against his cheek, and then—

Then he opened his eyes and met the brush of her gaze with his own. Unwound her hair from his fingers and left behind a curl: the imprint of his touch.

God, Kutone thought, you're such a beautiful man.