Asher turned a few times, and stretched in his sleep, clutching the pillow, and going from fetal position to back and back to fetal. Someone was there, occasionally watching him toss, and knowing it was time again, at last. Twilight, and Asher was waking up. He felt her brushing past his leg hanging off the bed, touching his hair for a moment. Dusk, and he opened his eyes, he was the sole body in the room. And it was an ordinary room, ordinary sheets, with the cool air pouring in hard – the only way he can sleep – and the sound of the ceiling fan was like a metronome. But she hadn’t left. He’d have known that much, if he thought about it in the front of his brain. But she stayed in the softer parts of his mind, like a suggestion, and he flexed and felt strong. Dark, and the moon was half in shadow. He was himself, and he stood up and went out.