When she woke up, Zoë was pleasantly aware of the warm body draped over half of her skin. Even more than that, her mind was full of very distinct memories from the night before. After the display was over, Melody had practically dragged her back to the tent. Sometimes, her girlfriend was completely insatiable.

Last night, Zoë was sure the neighbors must have heard them.

"Awake?" asked Melody, her soft, sweet voice a perfect companion to the faint chirping of birds outside.

"Depends," murmured Zoë.

A hand tiptoed up her skin.

"Mmmm."

"Welcome to the new year," said Melody, and her lips planted a kiss on the back of Zoë's neck.

As her eyes fluttered open, Zoë noticed Melody's head was pointed away, looking across the tent toward their small pile of belongings—and more specifically, at the object half-visible near the bottom, a plain-looking wooden box. It would seem totally ordinary, except that it was nearly impossible to open unless one knew the exact sequence of spells to cast.

Inside, it contained something more precious to Melody than all the world, no matter how worthless it had suddenly become.

"You okay?" asked Zoë quietly.

"Huh?" Melody started. Her head instantly shifted around to look at Zoë. Though she tried to hide it, Zoë could see the faint melancholy which hid just behind her pupils.

...God, I must really be in love now, huh. Her pain hurts me more than my own.

"It's me and you. What are you thinking?"

"That you're really good at sex," said Melody with a faint smile.

"You've only been with one person. You don't know, I could be terrible."

"I can't imagine anybody making me happier."

"Same," said Zoë, and to her surprise, she found it to be true.

Melody smiled wide. "See, there you go! You can be romantic!"

"Shut up," she muttered. Zoë sat up and pulled on a t-shirt. Melody didn't bother—the portable heater they'd been supplied by the Greycloaks kept their tent nice and warm all night, so long as Zoë fed it enough magic before they went to sleep.

Zoë leaned back, and Melody's strong arms held her steady. Wrapped in her grip—her totally naked grip… God, now she's got me stuck on sex too—Zoë reached forward with her essence. Magic filled the little space in front of her.

"What are you going to make?" asked Melody.

"Not sure yet." Zoë frowned. "Any ideas?"

"What about the project you were working on?"

"...Which project?"

"Back at Linfield. Your assignment from October."

Zoë laughed. "The one that's way overdue now?"

"It had 3D stuff in it. Make one of those."

She shrugged—and her shoulders brushed against Melody's long black hair. Zoë focused, pushing energy out into the open space, shaping it. It felt like she were pushing, but there wasn't actually anything to push—or rather, what she was pushing didn't exist yet.

Slowly, the little doll emerged. It was smooth and plain, a simple doll that almost seemed to be made of porcelain. The material definitely wasn't porcelain though. It wasn't anything Zoë could really properly describe… except that it matched the material which the golems had been made from.

For that reason, only Melody knew what Zoë could cast. They didn't want to set off a panic outside in the camp at large.

"That looks way better!" said Melody excitedly.

Zoë was already starting to feel the strain, but it wasn't too bad yet. Steadily, she formed the doll completely. It quivered in place for a few seconds, as she steadied the creation and made sure the interior was actually physically complete. It was easier to hold together something that made physical sense and could support some of its own weight.

Once she had the little doll solid, she made it dance.

"Oh!" Melody leaned forward, and the sudden movement behind her nearly threw off Zoë's concentration. "That's amazing!"

Zoë grinned as she kept the dance going, trying to remember a routine from her childhood ballet class. She'd hated ballet, despite the awards she'd won. It was too rigid, too structured. Zoë just wanted to do nothing most of the time. She'd coasted through college—and most of her life—like that, avoiding things that took real effort.

Not that most things took much effort. Magic was the hardest yet, but in just a single month, she was already managing spells she'd never heard of. Sure, it was in her affinity—and how hard it had been to try and figure that out, with the sensations she'd felt while awakening—but Zoë really hadn't been doing this for very long.

It was on Sunday, November the twenty-fifth. Only the day before, Hailey Winscombe had attacked Cornelius Malton's estate and nearly blown up the city of London in the aftermath, with a display of magic even Zoë the eternal skeptic couldn't totally deny. After such a show, she'd finally agreed to go with Melody to find one of the so-called "Scraps".

They hadn't wanted to go to the pilgrim camp originally though. Zoë had a bad feeling about it. Instead, two days later, they found someone willing to sell one, communicated through one of Zoë's old friends back in the Tacoma area. Melody drove them up, Zoë paid for it—she came from a rich family of lawyers, after all—and together, they read from the Scrap.

Well… not exactly.

Zoë's concentration slipped at the painful memory. The doll faltered.

"Zoë?" asked Melody, tapping her on the hand. "You need a break?"

"Nah," she replied, redoubling her efforts. "I haven't finished the routine yet."

Even as Zoë forced the doll to keep moving by sheer effort, the memory of that Tuesday in Tacoma barreled back into her brain.

Melody had been nervous, in the end. Melody, the endless sunshine ray of support and confidence, had been ever so hesitant to even look at it. She'd insisted Zoë go first. Zoë was still skeptical, despite all the evidence, and so she took the little ratty piece of white paper, and she started to read.

And she didn't stop. She couldn't stop, of course. That's how the process worked. Sure, it was her choice… but there was no going back.

Zoë felt the world building up around her, tiny pieces of nothing which somehow coalesced to form solid matter. She didn't understand it at the time, of course, but she'd been feeling her affinity. According to Cinza's published work, the Creation affinity was a particularly rare one. Only four were known: Julian Black, the entrepreneur and founder of the pilgrim camp; Kendra Thomas Laushire (and possibly her twin sister Lily, though none were certain), multi-billionaire and one of the true awakened; and, of course Omega himself.

She'd heard rumors of a fifth—that the disgraced FBI Agent Makaio, currently on trial for treason, was also her affinity. Zoë didn't know for sure, and wasn't sure it mattered anyway.

What did matter was the girl who'd appeared, the girl with grey eyes who seemed barely older than either of them, but carried so much melancholy and pain that Melody nearly burst into tears at the sight of her. Grey-eyes had saved Zoë, just like she always did. She'd explained what had just happened, then turned to Melody… only to find that the Scrap they'd purchased was dust. A so-called "second-generation" copy, which only worked once.

To call Melody heartbroken was seriously underselling it.

From that moment forward, Zoë knew what to do. Melody needed to awaken. Magic was wasted on a lazy girl like Zoë. Melody was the real magic of the world, and a power like this belonged in her hands. Problem was, by the time they reached the pilgrim camp, they only had a single day before the guns started to fire.

Zoë finished her routine. The doll took a short bow, then crumbled into dust. She let out a huge breath, feeling like she'd just run a marathon.

Melody burst into applause. "That was incredible!"

"...Thanks," Zoë coughed.

"You're getting so good at that!"

"What time is it?" she asked, feeling around for her phone. It took her a second to remember how stupid that was—even four weeks after the Ritual, sometimes she totally forgot electricity didn't work anymore.

Melody, in her kind nature, didn't comment. "I think it's almost eight?"

"When's group?"

"Nine." She glanced out the tent flap. "Guess I should check again."

"You probably want to get dressed first," said Zoë, smirking.

"Aww… do I have to?" asked Melody playfully.

Zoë, with great reluctance, pushed her back. "We can't miss group."

"Yeah… I know."

Melody started to get dressed. Zoë gathered up their valuables—despite Cinza's calls for unity and the general in-it-against-the-world attitude held by most of the camp, she didn't trust anyone quite yet.

Her bag held the Scrap for Melody (acquired for much cheaper than usual a few weeks after the Ritual, when it became clear Grey-eyes wasn't going to start awakenings again any time soon), their gemstone collection, Melody's photographs of her family, Zoë's sketchbook, their IDs, dead phones, plus a few other odds and ends. It was everything they truly needed.

Nobody had ever stolen from them, but Zoë wasn't about to let that stop her paranoia.

"Ready to go?" she asked, as Melody tightened her gloves.

"I could use a scarf…" Melody peered into the mirror and adjusted the tip of her hat. They'd run out of makeup, and fresh supplies were a hard commodity to come by way out in the camp, but Zoë liked how she looked anyway. Still, Melody was obsessed with her appearance. Well, she can't be totally perfect…

"Ready!"

Together, they emerged from the tent into the morning sunlight. The camp was already bustling, with the sun peeking over the horizon. A small crowd was exiting the covered area where they'd just served breakfast—Melody and Zoë had eaten alone in their tent, munching through leftovers from the night before. Arm-in-arm, they joined the tail of the group, which was headed for the structure in the center of the camp.

Originally, it had been a run-down, half-built log cabin owned by Julian Black. As the camp coalesced into a real community following Brian's attack, it was built out into a real structure—one of the few proper buildings in the whole camp. Its construction was conducted by magic, and it showed in the foundations and supports, perfectly merged wood that simply wasn't possible with normal tools.

Julian had generously—or so he claimed—donated the building to act as a gathering place for the camp. It could hold up to a hundred or so now in its expanded state, which didn't cover the whole population, but was enough to get the word out on anything important.

For the rest of the camp, there were the overgrown RVs, which some had cleaned out and moved into, as well as the medical and command tents from the National Guard. Captain Hoskins stayed with a squad of twenty or so, including two medics. The Guard had left behind a skeleton crew of volunteers to keep watch, but most of the detachment had long since vacated the area, leaving them to govern themselves.

And govern they did, more or less. Zoë and Melody were on their way to "group", which could really be called more of a town hall, if they were being honest. Originally, it had been a support group for survivors of the attack. Melody had needed it, and if Zoë was being honest, she'd needed it even worse. Being shot at wasn't on either of their bucket lists.

As the weeks passed, though, and more people showed up, it became a place to hear the news as well as vent and get support. Finally, it made the full transition, and while new support groups were set up for those who still needed it without any distractions, "group" was the common term for the News and Mail meeting held every morning. It still had a support role, but they'd merged the two completely.

"Hey, cuties," said Ryan Walker as they walked into the building. There weren't too many people at group that morning, but Ryan was always there pretty early.

Melody waved back, the picture of innocence. "Hi, Ryan!"

"You two looked like you were enjoying the show last night."

Zoë rolled her eyes. "Could've used more pizazz. Why weren't you up there dancing?"

He snorted. "Good to see you too."

"Don't mind Zoë, she's grumpy from waking up early," said Melody. "We're not late, are we?"

"Right on time, actually," said Ryan with a shrug. They took their seats. Ryan glanced at the window, which was conveniently placed so they could see the clocktower, which read nine fifty-nine. "So where the hell is everybody else?"

"Probably sleeping in," said Zoë irritably.

"Did we get any mail?" asked Melody excitedly, ignoring her girlfriend.

"Hasn't come in yet. Sheriff's still out there." Ryan leaned forward in his chair, glancing around the gathered circle of people. Since it was a smaller group than usual, he seemed to be running it as an actual group again instead of a town hall meeting. "Anybody want to start?"

"I will," said Melody. She sat up straight, hand clasped tight with Zoë's. "Hi everyone. My name is Melody Alana Rogelia Savana."

"Hi Melody," echoed the group, even Zoë.

She'd dismissed the practice initially, but Melody had explained it to her—how even though Zoë might not care, it meant everyone else would feel a little less inclined to participate. By showing she was involved, she encouraged people who needed it more to feel welcome and safe. It mattered, since a lot of the camp still didn't know each other's names, and a name was the first step toward proper connection.

"It's been… umm, well, about two days since my last nightmare," said Melody. "I'm sleeping a lot better lately, most of the time, but it's still there."

"What was your last nightmare about?" asked Ryan.

"I was… I was running through the forest, and one of the—" Melody took a breath. Zoë held up her water bottle, and Melody took a grateful sip. "One of the golems was chasing me. It was so fast. I couldn't… I couldn't get away. It grabbed me and started to pull, and then I woke up."

Screaming, Zoë completed in her head. A few others in the group had winced at every mention of the word 'golem'. Melody was quiet again. Her hand trembled in Zoë's. Ryan nodded thoughtfully, his hands loose at his sides.

"Thanks for sharing, Melody." Ryan leaned forward a little. "Everybody in this room was there. We've all encountered a golem in the past. They're fucking scary, for sure. I've got two good pieces of news, though: one, they aren't that fast." He smiled. "Even a kid could probably outrun them. Every time I ran into a golem, I was able to get away by just going faster. They're like zombies from the movies."

"Older movies," put in Zoë.

"Hey, there are some good modern slow-zombie flicks," Ryan shot back. "Still, point is, golems aren't fast. Second, and even more important: they're gone. When they arrested Brian Hendricks, he lost the golem stick thing. Cinza and Hailey and Jeremy were able to destroy it."

"Just the first two," grumbled Deputy Jeremy Ashe as he wandered into the room, a heavy bag over his shoulder. "I didn't do shit."

"Sorry we're late," added Sheriff Jackie Nossinger, a step behind him with an equally heavy bag. "The mail cart had a flat tire." She glanced around. "Where's Neffie at?"

"Out with Preston doing the rounds," said Ryan. "She figured most people would skip today 'cause of the party last night. I didn't." He shrugged. "Guess I owe her a date now."

"You bet her a date?" asked Jeremy, raising an eyebrow. "Ain't she like twice your age?"

"For your edification, Mr. I've-got-a-country-accent-now," said Ryan, "Neffie's a very attractive woman, no matter her age. Also, she's twenty eight, asshole."

"I always talked like this."

"No, you didn't," said Jackie. "You pick up on whatever you're around. S'why they loved you for infiltrating those druggies." She took a seat next to Ryan, visibly winded. "Your turn to pass it out, I'm beat."

"All right," grumbled Jeremy, picking out the first package from the bag. "Got one for… fuck, Pril? Pill?"

"It's Phil," muttered a young man on the opposite side of the circle. Melody suppressed a giggle.

Jeremy passed out the rest of the mail to the group—a minor incentive to attend, since they were the first to receive their mail, straight from the hands of the sheriff or one of her deputies.

Not that she's elected anymore. I mean, we'd probably elect her, but all of this is totally unofficial. Even Cinza isn't legally in charge, since all this land supposedly belongs to Nate Price. If anybody's got real authority out here, it's Captain Hoskins.

"Ooh!" squealed Melody as Jeremy handed them a package. It was addressed to her in neat, flowing script, with a return address of her parents. She hugged it like it were a pillow, rather than a hard-edged cardboard box straight off the internet. "Thank you, Mr. Ashe."

"And you, Portman," added Jeremy, handing Zoë a plain envelope. From Dad. Huh. Probably a legal summons to come home or forfeit my college tuition. Mom'll talk him down. "That's everybody in here."

A few faces fell—not getting mail was a real impact, since they all lived in the dark ages again. They might have some modern comforts thanks to medicine deliveries, magical equivalents to electric tools, and a better understanding of physics… but communication with the outside world wasn't one of them. If someone didn't get mail, they'd only find out the news by listening to people at the bar or the food court.

"Also, just a heads up, but we've got some space on the wagon heading back," added Jeremy. "They said the horses can pull some more weight, so if anybody wants a ride home, it's first-come-first serve."

Nobody raised their hand, and clearly, Jeremy hadn't expected them to. If they wanted to leave, they would have by now. Everybody still in the camp was in it for the long haul.

He nodded. "All right. I'm out. Jackie, you comin'?"

"Nah." She shook her head. "Rest my legs for a bit."

"Well, here's the one piece of news for everybody," said Jeremy darkly. "Felix Wieczorek made bail. Motherfucker's going home."

"Of course he is," snorted Ryan. "That's the way the fucked up world works. Isn't that why you left?"

"Guess I forgot," said Jeremy with a shrug. He turned to leave. "Happy New Year, everyone."