"The Federal Investigation Bureau has continued to refuse comment on all questions regarding the Rallsburg Diaries. While Pro Paradigm only made the existence public a day before, rumors are swirling that the FBI was already well-aware of the situation. In particular, Jeremy Ashe's sudden and unexpected removal from the case, as well as the testimony of more than a dozen officers of the Tacoma Police Department from Friday, October 26th, are now believed to be further evidence of a startling coverup. We've brought our chief federal correspondent Penelope Ramirez on, as well as Ted Winters, the Tacoma News anchor responsible for breaking the story. Ted, thanks again for joining us today."

"It's a pleasure to be here, Frank."

"Now, as I understand it Ted, you're one of the very few people to have actually seen the real copy of the Rallsburg Diaries, as well as the survivor who brought it to our attention."

"That's correct."

"Who are they?"

"Now, now, I'm sure you're all aware I'm under a strict non-disclosure agreement. I can't reveal that information."

"Naturally."

"Suffice to say, it wasn't anyone we expected. Nor is it the author of the Diaries, as I think we've made clear."

"Yes. The mysterious author. Cinza, correct?"

"Yes. Portuguese for 'grey', I'm told."

"Penelope, was this 'Cinza' ever a part of the FBI investigation?"

"No, Frank. As far as we're aware, no one has ever heard of her, nor anyone even resembling her from the description in the first excerpt."

"Ted, did she really write such a detailed description of herself, but fail to include even the slightest identifying information? No name, no nationality, nothing at all?"

"She's an odd one, from the pieces I've read. I haven't gotten a chance to read the whole book, but let me tell you: she's going to surprise you."

"If she's even real."

"Our survivor confirms every word of the story."

"Penelope, you think there's doubt?"

"It's a written account from one perspective, Frank, not a report. There's going to be bias. If this diary is even accurate."

"Hang on, are you suggesting it's a fake?"

"I'm just stating my perspective, Ted. Someone shows up out of nowhere, claiming to survive the Rallsburg incident from months before, and with a nice and detailed written account of everything that happened? It's a bit too convenient."

"We've heard about other survivors though. Jerry Hauserman, who survived the same amount of time before being murdered in Olympic Forest. Or Boris Morozov and Dan Rhodes in Canada. Plus there were rumors about Ryan Walker in Redmond, and of course the ongoing sightings of Hailey Winscombe. It's not like it's unheard of."

"It's a fair point, Penelope. Why isn't this survivor believable?"

"Well, until they show their face, I'm taking everything with a grain of salt, and you should too. Plus, all these ridiculous claims about magic. Magic, Frank. Ted, are you really suggesting magic is real?"

"If you'd seen what I saw, Penelope, you'd believe it too."

"So what did you see?"

"Like I said, non-disclosure agreement. It'll be on the air soon."

"Oh, come on, quit fu—"

"Thank you, Penelope Ramirez and Ted Winters. We'll be back after a short break with more from these two, as we dig deeper into the so-called 'magic' that destroyed Rallsburg, as well as the three other excerpts that have been released from the Rallsburg Diaries. Stay tuned."

"Come on, you fucker," she called, pushing open the door to the motel room. She kicked off her shoes before dragging him over the threshold. "Get in here."

"I'm coming."

"Not yet you aren't." She clicked the lights off as she crossed the room, falling on the bed. He was close behind, closing the door behind him. He clicked the lights back on as he did. "I turned them off for a reason."

"Why, embarrassed to see yourself?"

"More like ashamed." She rolled over and looked up at him. "Well come on then. I'm waiting."

He grinned wolfishly. Without warning, he fell on top of her, and his mouth found hers. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him closer, as if she were trying to swallow him.

"Jesus, that feels incredible," he murmured.

"What?"

"We haven't done this since, you know—"

"Oh, fuck, I forgot." She started to let go of the spell, but he pressed closer. "It's okay?"

"You have no fuckin' idea."

With that, he was kissing her again. Her hands scrambled along his back, practically tearing his shirt off. In seconds he was doing the same, grabbing at her jacket and throwing it aside. His hands ran across the tattoos on her arms, slowing down for a minute as he traced them with his finger. Every second he was touching her, she could feel the current pulsing through her, racing through her skin and traveling through his as well before coming back around again.

"God you're sexy."

"Less talking, more fucking," she growled.

"Whatever you say, Maria," he said, smirking.

He stripped off the rest of his clothes while she laid back on the bed, breathing heavily. She felt torn between watching his face and looking anywhere else. She hated him, but at the same time, he was so unbearably attractive that she couldn't resist. Her eyes kept darting to the ceiling or the walls around him, but never failed to drift back to his well-muscled body.

As he reached for the straps of her tank top, she pressed a hand to his strong chest. He winced visibly at the sudden additional burst of electricity before grinning. "What, got something else in mind?"

"No, I just need some background noise. So I can think about something other than your fucking face."

"I'll give you something else to think about."

Immediately, her nose pinched up, as if she were about to sneeze. "Stop."

"What?"

"I'm allergic, asshole. Remember?"

To her relief, the sniffling went away. She reached over and grabbed the remote from the bedside table, clicking on the TV. It wasn't very loud, but just enough that she could make out the words. The corner of the screen said it was a rerun from the evening news.

"—Federal Investigation Bureau has continued to refuse comment on all questions—"

"There we go," she said. She tossed the remote aside, then grabbed his shoulders. In one quick movement, she flipped him over, slamming him onto the bed and straddling his legs. His eyes widened. She grinned, then she pulled her top off over her head herself. "Only I get to do that, motherfucker."

"Fuck you too, Rika."

"Shut up and enjoy it, before I decide to find someone else to fuck."

Why the fuck am I doing this? Her hands kept moving, stripping away the final layers, grabbing at him, taking him, but her mind was completely elsewhere. I always hated him. Yeah he's sexy as fuck but I've had better. What am I doing?

"Rika?" he asked.

"Just shut up," she said again. "Enjoy the fucking ride."

It's me. I'm a fucking addict. That's it. I'm addicted to sex, I'm addicted to stabbing people in the back. Sometimes sexually. Sometimes literally. This is just another moment in my stupid shitty life.

"Hey, Rika."

Just another moment. I'll forget about it tomorrow. Back to the fucking store. Make a little more money, do a little more research, follow another shitty lead. Hit another fucking dead end. I'm in a fucking while loop and someone forgot to include an end condition.

"Rika, wake the fuck up!"

She looked down at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"You're getting what you want, aren't you?"

He shook his head, but another movement and a surge of energy had him too breathless to speak.

She could still feel the electricity pumping through both of them, a constant pulsing circuit buzzing through every point their skin touched. She wondered what it felt like on the other side, what he was feeling, given their position.

"Tell me this isn't the best fucking sex you've ever had."

"...Not by a long shot."

"You liar. You feel that?" She let the electricity build up a little stronger, release a little more energy. It was always there, and she was always suppressing it. If she didn't, she was liable to overload circuits, hurt people with just a fingertip. But every so often, either by neglect or by choice, she let it go. Because she could.

A small surge traveled down through her core and into him. His eyes rolled back slightly in his skull, and his face visibly pinched up a bit, right as she let the current free. Yeah, he liked that.

"Uh huh," she added. "So don't lie to me, bitch. You know what you're getting here."

"You know what's the worst?"

"You?"

"When the girl isn't into it." Without warning, he shoved her back. The circuit broke, and the current of electricity dimmed. She felt like he'd just torn away something vital, a part of her she didn't recognize until it was gone.

"What the fuck, Ryan?" she snapped.

Ryan Walker sat up against the wall, pulling the nearest sheet over his legs. "You need to deal with your shit, and you need to do it soon."

"Fuck you."

"Rika, you were fucking me, and you hate my guts. So there's something seriously wrong with you."

"When the fuck did you become the sensitive type?"

"When you became the bitchy slut. You're an asshole, Rika, but this? This isn't you."

She rolled off the bed and grabbed up her tank top. "The hell do you know about my life now?"

"Not a goddamn thing. Just how you like it." Ryan shrugged. "I'm down to fuck, but next time, leave your fucking baggage at the door." He held up his hand and gestured across the room with his index finger. His laptop hovered off the desk and floated across the room to land in his lap.

Rika started picking up her clothes. Motherfucker. She looked around for her wallet, which had fallen out of her pants at some point between the door at the bed, finally locating it under the pile of blankets they'd shoved to the side. She gathered everything up, expecting some kind of mocking aside from the gallery, but Ryan was surprisingly quiet. He was staring at the TV with a blank expression.

"What?"

"They just said my name," he murmured.

"So?"

"So they just said my name on national fucking TV."

It took her a moment to remember that other people weren't used to being in the news. Sure, she wasn't there frequently, but being the rich rebellious daughter of a famous software nerd millionaire got her a fair share of crappy tabloid drama — especially when she was the one calling in the tips. God, I was stupid back then… I doubt any of those stories did a thing to hurt Dad.

"About what?"

He picked up the remote and mashed the buttons. "Shitty ass DVR. One sec."

They watched the segment again, from the beginning.

"...Shit," Rika murmured. She was sitting on the side of the bed, her clothes totally forgotten. The same familiar blindsided feeling as when she'd gone back into Rallsburg, only to find out the whole town suddenly knew about magic. Ryan still looked dumbfounded.

"What the fuck happened today?" he muttered.

She glanced over at him. "They didn't say you were alive for sure."

"Yeah, but this is it, right? Magic's in the open."

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"Fuck," Rika echoed. She clicked the TV off, pressing the button on the remote with a flick of her mind.

"Where's Rachel?" asked Ryan, leaning back on the bed. "Shouldn't she be showing up with trumpets 'n shit now?"

"Fuck if I know," Rika shrugged. Her brain was on overdrive as she tried to consider the huge shift in the world. To her surprise… she didn't really feel much at all. Relief, mostly. "Well, this makes things easier."

"How so?"

"I'm done hiding, for one."

"But—"

She shrugged. "I'm only out here because I figured either Omega was gonna hunt me down, or they were gonna pin me with all those dead people from electrical burns. If the true story's coming out from Cinza, I'm in the clear."

"I'm not. I'm supposed to be dead."

"...You think she did it, then?" Rika asked. "You think Rachel got him?"

"Who else?"

"Anyone else." Rika shook her head. "I don't think Rachel could kill someone. Fuck, I don't want her to have killed someone."

"She could have," he muttered. "You should've seen her with Will. I've never seen someone that pissed."

Rika laid back down. To her surprise, Ryan's motel room had soft, comfortable sheets — way nicer than she expected for such a cheap-looking place, and she'd been in a lot of cheap motels in her life. "Why didn't you ever go home?" she asked, looking up at him at the head of the bed.

"You're interested in my life now?"

"I'm stuck here for the night, motherfucker."

"What?"

She pointed at the clock. "Buses already stopped running."

"Call a cab or something. Rideshares. Whatever."

"You want to get rid of me that badly?"

"You don't?"

"...I don't hate your guts." It surprised them both. Ryan glanced over at her, eyes a little wide. She smirked, trying to reclaim some dignity. "Yeah, drink it in asshole. I was nice to you for a second."

"I should call you Maria more often."

"Whatever."

"But seriously." His leg stretched out under the sheets, and his toe poked her in the arm near the kanji tattoo she'd done herself. "What the fuck's up with you lately?"

"Besides the whole 'we're both pretending to be other people and hiding from the world in fucking Redmond' thing?"

"Hey, I'm actually supposed to be dead. You weren't on any of those lists." He poked her again. "Who's Maria?"

She rolled her eyes. "My mother's name. Didn't you remember anything I told you when we were dating?"

"'Course not. I only cared about the sex."

"Asshole."

Ryan grinned. "She was an artist, liked to write books for you when you were little. Died of a brain tumor. Your dad's a horrible fucking monster who treated her like shit and left her to die alone. How am I doin'?"

"...Shit." This isn't Ryan. Who the fuck is this guy?

"Try being nice to people for a change, maybe you'll make more friends."

There's the patronizing asshole I remember. "Fuck that. I'm busy."

"Busy working a dead-end retail job, pretending you don't want to throttle half your coworkers, and calling yourself Maria?" He rolled his eyes. "I might be dead, but at least I'm honest about how much I'm just fucking around."

"Fucking around, eh?" She glanced at him suggestively. "Anyone I should know about?"

"A girl like you wouldn't believe." He shook his head. "Don't worry, I've got time for you."

"I'm ditching you, fucker. I want to see this other girl who meets Ryan Walker's impossible standards."

"So you can get some tips?"

"So I can give her a way better ride."

He laughed. "Stick around and you might meet her."

Rika sat up, looking at him oddly. "Isn't she gonna care you were with me?"

"Do you?"

"I'm fucked up. I don't count."

Ryan shrugged. "You aren't the only one that doesn't care who sleeps with who. She and I spelled it out from day one. She's just actually sane, unlike me and you." He sat up more, setting the laptop aside. "Seriously, Rika. You aren't fucked up, you just need to figure out what you really want."

"I know exactly what I want." I just don't have any clue where to go next, and I'm stuck. I have no idea where he is. I went to Rallsburg to try and get some answers, and ended up in a fucking warzone instead.

"What's that?"

"A good fuck, a good night's sleep, and a goddamn clue."

Ryan grinned. "I can do one and two, but unless you're gonna tell me what you're up to, you're on your own for three."

She grabbed the laptop with her mind, floating it back over to the bedside table. A moment later, she flung the remote after it — a bit less carefully, as it cracked against the table edge and clattered to the floor.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, lips curling into a smirk.

Fuck it. I need some relief from this mess. I'll figure it out in the morning.

With one final flourish, she flung the sheets he'd gathered up back off the bed again.

"Get back over here," she growled.