#or even a subpar transition
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leiawritesstories · 6 months ago
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PART ELEVEN: NOVEMBER
Word count: 10.1k
Warnings: Oof, this one's a doozy. Swearing, prison, police presence, shitloads of scheming, graphic violence, minor character d3@th, and angst
enjoy ;)
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Read on AO3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Endovier Prison, as it turned out, really wasn’t all that awful of a place to live. 
To be fair, the food quality was subpar and the communal bathrooms reminded Aelin of being in the college dorms again, but all told, it wasn’t a terrible place, except for the silence. She had been placed in solitary confinement based on her “history of conspiring with others to evade containment,” but she was allowed to take her meals in the common dining room and have her recreation time along with the other inmates. She was always monitored by at least one guard, and for the most part, her guards were stolid, silent presences in her periphery. 
And then there was Remelle. 
Technically an officer of the Orynth Police Department, Remelle was assigned to Aelin’s prison guard rotation three days per week as an additional security measure. Orynth PD had requested to assign a police officer to her guard rotation to ensure that she wasn’t trying anything suspicious, and the guards at Endovier had agreed after some deliberation. Apparently, Remelle had volunteered to be the PD guard so fast the job wasn’t even available to anyone else. 
She had first shown up in the guard rotation about five days into Aelin’s sentence, and jealousy practically oozed from her pores. It had taken Aelin only half an hour to figure out that Remelle had a completely unrequited crush on Rowan, and it took her only a little bit longer to casually mention his name within Remelle’s hearing. The sneer on the cop’s face and the steam that could have poured out of her ears confirmed what Aelin already hypothesized—Remelle was viciously jealous of Aelin and Rowan’s relationship, no matter that it was over. 
Which made her the perfect linchpin to Aelin’s escape plan. 
Two weeks into November, her first month at Endovier, Aelin had demonstrated nothing but good behavior, and she was allowed to have supervised computer time each day. Part of that was necessary, since she was still working with Elide to finalize the transition of power in her company, and Aelin had shown no resistance to having one of her guards watching her while she worked for her allotted hour of computer time. She was so cooperative, in fact, that her guards had become complacent after a week of supervising her and begun to just sit outside the door to the computer room, glancing in every few minutes to make sure she was still there. 
As soon as the guards were out of the room, Aelin began adding an extra task to the handful of things she was wrapping up as her company transitioned into Elide’s capable hands. During her computer time, she casually started to peruse the computer’s data logs and trace its network paths, and she eventually discovered that all the prison’s computers ran on a central network, even the secured ones that only the guards and other staff used. 
Including the security staff. 
A few clever digs into the system’s backbrain got her into the logs for the security system itself, cameras and all, and she had slowly begun to map out where the relevant cameras were located and what mechanisms she could possibly trigger to get them on a temporary loop. 
She couldn’t risk working too quickly, though, so she only did a little bit more each day, slowly working her way into familiarity with the prison’s computer network. Interestingly, she had also found the log that tracked all the visits to the prison, and she noticed that she had two visitors waiting to see her. The yellow flag by her name was a warning—she was not yet cleared for visitors—but given her good behavior, she was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before she could have visitors. 
Endovier Prison wasn’t going to know what hit it when they allowed Aelin Galathynius to have visitors. 
~
In the weeks she had been there, Aelin had managed to make some acquaintances with other inmates during communal mealtimes or rec time. The most interesting one was a woman about ten years older than she was who had been in Endovier for six years, a timeline that she tracked by marking the days on her cell wall with charcoal. Her name was Petrah, and she had been a licensed cosmetologist with no intent or interest in the criminal life until she discovered that her ex-husband was involved with a major drug smuggling operation. When she confronted him, he denied it and threatened to forcibly silence her if she told anyone else about it. 
So she murdered him. 
Petrah had been found guilty of manslaughter but had successfully managed to prove that it was in self-defense, and her sentence was only ten years. She was up for parole the next year, and she was constantly asking Aelin questions about Orynth to prepare herself for a potential return to the city. Aelin was happy to answer her questions; she had even said she would provide a reference if Petrah ever wanted to look for work at Galathynius, Inc. Elide would be renaming the company, but the leadership team had yet to decide on a new name. Grateful, Petrah had thanked Aelin but said she didn’t think she would pursue that kind of employment. 
The two of them had a casual friendship, little more than the shared bond of fellow inmates in a high-security prison, but Aelin trusted Petrah enough to ask her a favor. In the middle of November, Aelin was moved from solitary confinement to a cell block in a different sector, and while she was still alone in her cell, she had neighbors along the hallway. One of them was Petrah. 
“Morning, Sardothien. How does the slop look today?” Petrah’s raspy voice greeted Aelin as she set down her tray on the long metal cafeteria table. 
With a scoff, Aelin pushed her spoon around the grayish mass that was supposedly oatmeal. “No better than yesterday,” she drawled. “Seems like the supplies are getting a little thin.” 
Petrah chuckled. “It happens every few weeks. What it usually means is that the delivery comes at the end of the week, and they’ve got to get rid of as much stuff as possible.” 
“Fair enough.” Aelin managed to force down about half her portion, chasing it with multiple cups of bitter drip coffee. “Hey, do you still have any of your stuff from the salon?” 
“Yeah, I brought a box when they sent me here.” Petrah raised a brow. “Why?” 
Aelin shrugged, aware that the guards were probably watching and listening to her. “I feel like a little bit of a change. Got any bleach?” 
“Hmm.” Petrah tipped her head sideways, thinking. “I might.” 
When rec time rolled around that day, Aelin went over to the small, sparsely stocked library, and she was slowly browsing through the handful of books that looked interesting when Petrah tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ve got bleach.” 
“Perfect.” Aelin left the books alone and went down to the bathrooms with the stylist. “I was thinking I wanted to go platinum, or as close to that as you could get.” 
The older woman nodded, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Ever bleached your hair before?” 
“I’ve had highlights, but not for years.” 
“Okay.” Petrah lined up a few bottles on the shelf under the small mirror in front of one of the sinks. “Damn, this brings back college.” 
“Tell me about it,” Aelin chuckled. “Looks just like the dorm bathrooms.” 
“Yeah.” Petrah tugged Aelin’s hair out of the braid she usually kept it in and glanced quickly towards the door. The bathrooms were about the only part of Endovier that didn’t have security cameras, and Aelin was half convinced there were hidden microphones somewhere. “We’re safe here,” Petrah said softly, keeping her tone low. “So tell me, Shadow Assassin. Is there any other reason you had this desire for a change?” 
Aelin met the stylist’s eyes in the mirror. 
And smirked. 
~
It had been twenty-five minutes since her visit began, and Elide was still sneaking astonished glances at Aelin’s hair. Aelin smothered her laughter and kept her face neutral as she chatted aimlessly with her dear friend. She’d finally been cleared for visitors two days ago, and Elide was the first one to arrive, bringing a stack of paperwork with her. Despite the no-touching and no-exchanges rule, she’d strolled right into the visitors’ room and plopped the stack of paper right down in front of Aelin. 
“No passing, ma’am,” the guard on duty interrupted, his eyes darting awkwardly between the current CEO of Galathynius, Inc. and the Shadow Assassin. 
Elide’s polite smile could have cut glass. “Would you like to sort through this paperwork yourself, Officer…” She glanced at his name tag. “Officer Owen?”
The man gulped nervously, stepped forward, and picked up the stack of papers. He flipped through it and set it back down. “A-all clear.” 
“Good.” Elide sat across from Aelin and handed a pen to the guard, who managed to give it to Aelin without dropping it. “These need your signatures, Aelin. It’s backlog from before the transfer.” 
“Couldn’t be bothered to use digital paperwork, I guess.” Aelin picked up the pen and started working through the paperwork, scratching her signature onto the blank lines. Elide updated her on the company business as she worked, and it was only a few minutes before the guard’s eyes began to glaze over and he retreated to the opposite corner of the room. Aelin stifled a chuckle. 
Nox Owen put on the second-best performance she’d seen in an undercover agent. Only Ren Allsbrook had been better. 
As Elide stole another glance at Aelin’s new, icy-toned hair, she caught the blonde’s gaze and sighed, shaking her head. “Didn’t take long for the boredom to kick in, did it?” 
Aelin shrugged. “When I got moved out of solitary, I found out that one of the nearby inmates is a cosmetologist. She’s nice. I felt like having a little fun.” 
Elide laughed softly. “I suppose you have to find those moments when you can, given that you’re never seeing the outside of this place.” 
“I see a few yards of the walls once a day,” Aelin joked. “Don’t worry about me, Ells. I’m okay.” 
“Really?” 
A shrug. “It’s not my apartment by any means, but it’s not awful.” 
“Hmm.” Elide pulled the finished stack of paperwork back over to her side of the table. “Officer?” 
At the sound of his title, Nox jerked and came to stand a few feet away from Elide. “Yes?” 
Elide turned a warm, charming smile onto the man. “Officer, is it possible for inmates here to receive care packages from outside?” 
“Well, I, um…” Nox cleared his throat, perfectly acting as a nervous wreck of a new prison guard. “All incoming mail must be thoroughly inspected by prison security.” 
“So that’s a yes?” 
“Yes, ma’am. You can put the inmate’s name and the prison’s address, and as long as the package passes inspection, the inmate will receive it.” 
“Wonderful!” Elide beamed. “I’d just like to make sure Aelin gets some real food, since she’s said that the food quality here isn’t all that great.” 
“If you could include extra for my cell-block neighbors, that would be great,” Aelin added. 
Elide nodded crisply. “Of course.” She made eye contact with Aelin, and the pair exchanged the slightest nod. “Is there anything specific you’d want besides food?” 
“Hmm…probably toothpaste and maybe some tampons. The ones in the communal bathrooms fall apart too fast. Oh!” Aelin grinned. “And if you happen to throw a few pieces of hazelnut dark chocolate in there, I’d be a happy woman.” 
“You and your chocolate,” Elide laughed. “Okay.” 
“Um, visit time is up, ma’am,” Nox interrupted, voice quavering. 
“I know.” Elide tucked the paperwork into her folder. “Would you be so kind as to show me the way out, Officer Owen?” She gave Aelin one last glance before she walked out the door, following Nox Owen in his prison guard’s disguise back out of Endovier. 
Another guard came into the visitors’ room. “Computer time, Galathynius,” he said curtly. Aelin followed him out and down the hallways to the computer room, mentally memorizing her steps. Although she could probably just follow another guard when she eventually made her break, it would go better if she didn’t. Besides, the cover she planned to use knew her way around Endovier. 
Or at least she should, after several weeks of being Aelin’s personal police guard. 
“You have thirty minutes.” The guard opened the door, checked the room, and sat down in the chair right outside the computer room. Not very talkative, this one. 
Aelin sat down at the computer and went to her email, where she answered some of the queries that still came to her and redirected others back to Elide. The camera in this room faced the chair, not the screen, and she kept her face and posture casual and neutral as she opened up another window and navigated herself easily into the prison’s computer system. Since everything was centralized, it had been laughably easy to clear her file’s hold, making it appear that the superintendent had cleared Prisoner Galathynius for visitors. The central system also made it much easier to track and locate the camera system, and in just over four weeks, Aelin had managed to map out the locations of every security camera in Endovier. 
The next step was figuring out how to run a certain sector of the cameras on a loop. She’d started with the one directly opposite her cell a week ago. A few typed commands, and that camera had blinked and gone dark for a few seconds, then rebooted. Aelin tried a few different methods, and eventually, she discovered how to make that camera replay a previously recorded segment of footage. She then moved on and started trying to sync up more cameras, a task that had proved more challenging. 
But after two weeks of work, she finally had it down. 
A handful of commands and a couple of passwords swiped from a database—really, this whole centralized system was just such a peach—and all twenty cameras in the sector Aelin had targeted were running a section of footage from a week ago. 
Beautiful. 
Aelin set the cameras back on their normal track, cleared all evidence of her meddling, and was closing out of her email when the guard opened the door again. 
“Time’s up.” He walked over and watched as she calmly exited the computer. 
She followed him back to her cell, and once his footsteps had receded, she sat down on her bed and picked up a journal from the shelf built into the wall. She knew the guards probably searched her books every once in a while, so she was careful to keep every piece of her plans in a code that only she knew. The words were ostensibly normal, set up as an ordinary journal entry, and the cute little drawings in the margins and on some of the pages were also apparently mindless scribbles. 
In Aelin’s eyes, the words and the sketches turned into her plan to get out of Endovier and finish Maeve Bitchface once and for all. 
And if she died in the process, then so fucking be it.
~
Nox Owens was having the time of his fucking life. 
When Elide had contacted him in the middle of Aelin’s trial, he’d been expecting another ordinary request for a tech job, which was his usual role. But she had surprised him—of course she had. If he knew anything about the Boss, it was that she always had another plan up that infinite sleeve of hers. Instead of a tech job, she wanted him to get into Endovier. As a guard. 
That was always Ren’s job. 
Nox had plenty of spy training and experience, but his primary strength was his tech savvy, and once Ren had joined the Boss’s team, he’d been content to take the tech jobs and leave the infiltrations to the most wanted spy in the world. But Ren was dead, and the Boss wanted Nox to work as her inside man. And it had been a hell of a long time since he’d had the chance to practice this skill set. 
It had been almost laughably easy to slip into Endovier’s database and add himself to the prison guard register, which rotated frequently enough that another new name didn’t catch any second glances. He barely even bothered to change his name, and his prison guard nameplate read “Nick Owen,” a bland, forgettable name to go with his bland, forgettable face. Just for fun, he swiped Ren’s fingerprints from the Boss’s archive and imprinted them onto the SecondSkin he applied to his hands—if he was ever printed, the staff would have such a fun time scratching their heads at the fact that this guard’s prints apparently matched those of a former inmate, one who was supposed to be dead. 
About a week after she visited, Elide Lochan sent a plain cardboard box by courier to Endovier Prison. As he passed by the shipping room on his rotation, Nox heard the gruff bark of the mail supervisor. 
“Owen! C’mere!” 
He strolled over, stopped a few paces away, and fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yes?” 
“Quit twitching,” grumbled the crotchety old man who’d been the mail supervisor at Endovier for twenty years and counting. “Damn newbies.” 
“S-sorry, sir,” Nox mumbled, masking his snicker with a wobbly voice. 
“Just stop shaking, newbie.” The man pulled a box across the table and tugged the small, flat white envelope off the top of the box. He tore it open, and Nox swore he saw an avaricious smile flicker across the supervisor’s face at the sight of the cash inside the envelope. “Here. This one’s for Sardothien.” 
Nox cleared his throat. “Aren’t we supposed to inspect every package that comes for an inmate?” 
The supervisor chuckled dryly. “I see someone memorized the handbook.” Carelessly, he took a box knife out of his pocket, slit through the tape, and gave a cursory sweep of his hand through the contents of the box, then slapped a stamp on top of the cardboard. “How’s that for inspection, Owen?” 
“I…uh…” Nox pretended to be lost for words. 
“Good lad.” The supervisor tucked a stack of cash into the inside pocket of his vest and passed Nox fifty dollars. “This is called an inspection fee.” 
“Really?” 
“Of course not!” A rattling cackle scraped out of the mail supervisor’s throat. “It’s called good business for me and some goddamn tampons for Prisoner Sardothien. Now quit shaking and take that box to Sardothien’s cell.” 
“Yes, sir!” Nox picked up the box, slapped a bit of tape on top to hold it together, and left the mailroom as fast as possible. He wove through the corridors, flashing his badge when necessary, and came to Aelin’s cell. The snide blonde policewoman was leaning on the wall beside the cell door, a sneer on her face like usual. She glanced sideways at Nox as he approached. 
“What do you want?” 
“Delivery for the inmate,” he said coolly, showing the cop the box. The red stamp indicating that it had passed inspection glared against the beige cardboard. 
The cop sniffed haughtily. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t contain any contraband.” 
“Whatever.” Nox set the box on the floor and folded his arms. He’d learned very quickly that the easiest way to deal with the snippy blonde cop was to go along with whatever her snide, bitchy voice said. 
“You could at least hold it,” she huffed. 
He shrugged. “It’s stable, and you can make sure anything you flag doesn’t get passed to the inmate.” 
She curled her lip, but knelt down, tore the tape off, and started sifting through the contents of the box. A plastic bag full of tampons was pushed aside, and she sorted a whole pile of electrolyte drink packets into stacks and shook the empty plastic water bottle. She went through the handful of food items too, exhaling in disgust when she didn’t find anything suspicious enough to confiscate. “Fine. The inmate can have the box.” 
“About time,” Aelin drawled from inside her cell, where she was sitting on her bed, watching the cop tear through the box. “Thank you for your excellent supervision, Remy.” 
“Don’t call me that,” the cop snapped, her icy-blue eyes narrowed into little slits. Once again, Nox was struck by how similar she looked to Aelin—with the exception of the eyes and the sneer. She unlocked the cell door, and Nox slid the box into the room. 
“So kind of you, Remy darling.” Aelin’s snicker floated over the sound of the cop slamming the cell door shut in frustration. She flicked through the box aimlessly, then took out an energy bar and tossed it through the bars of her cell. “Here, Rems, have a little something sweet to counteract all that bitterness.” 
Nox turned and strode away down the corridor before he could erupt into laughter at the shade of enraged purple that Remy the Cop’s face turned. 
He knew goddamn well what was in that box, and it wasn’t just the food and period products that seemed to be in there. While there was ordinary food and ordinary tampons, there was also some quantity of Aelin’s SecondSkin, the very same substance that was currently covering Nox’s hands. He didn’t know exactly how much Elide and Nehemia had folded up and tucked into the decoy drink packets, but if Aelin was going to use it to get herself out of Endovier, he could only imagine that it was a lot. 
And he could only imagine the look on her face when she strolled out in plain sight. 
~
Four weeks, two days, and seven hours after she became an inmate of Endovier Prison, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius received the package that would get her out. 
Elide and Nehemia had done everything exactly as they had all planned. Carefully measured and prepped sections of SecondSkin were tucked into a number of the electrolyte drink packets, and a set of ice-blue contact lenses hid in another packet. Elide had even tucked a tiny scrap of a note into one of the packets, and Aelin chuckled at her familiar, comfortingly blunt writing. She confirmed that everything was in place for whenever Aelin decided to make her move. 
Which meant that Maeve Bitchface had taken the bait. 
Aelin smothered a smirk. She’d never really doubted that Maeve would fall for her trap, not when that woman’s ego was so laughably easy to predict. Aelin knew Maeve was gloating over her arrest and imprisonment, and that meant she’d grown too comfortable in her power. A short note from Connall had been tucked into an earlier letter from Elide, and in code, he confirmed that he’d run the course of poisoning the Bitch Queen of the Night, and she was visibly weakened and frantically throwing money at anyone she thought could help her condition. 
The second she got through Endovier’s gates, Aelin would be heading straight for Maeve Bitchface’s cute little compound. Well, not straight—she knew the most convoluted path to get there, and she’d take it to keep any potential pursuit off her trail. She and that bitch had a score to settle. 
Shaking those thoughts away, Aelin carefully sorted the normal drink packets from the SecondSkin ones. All the orange-flavored ones were SecondSkin, both because it was the most common flavor and because Aelin loathed artificial orange flavoring almost as much as she loathed Maeve. She tucked the orange ones into the plastic basket where she kept her shower things, hiding them beneath her bar of soap and her washcloths. 
A couple of days later, in the shower, Aelin turned the water on extra hot, creating a cloud of steam in the shower room. Behind the plastic curtains, she tore into the packets, unfolded the SecondSkin, and began the tedious process of laying the film atop her skin. Somewhere around half an hour in, a guard rapped on the door and grunted something about not taking too much time. 
Aelin ignored him, of course. 
It took a good forty-five minutes to get every piece of SecondSkin laid onto her skin, and she wrapped a towel around her hair and put on a clean set of inmate scrubs. Only a few more days in this rancid orange, she promised herself. Only a few more days. 
“About damn time,” the guard grumbled when she emerged from the shower room. 
She shrugged. “I’m a woman. We take long showers every once in a while.” 
“Whatever.” He led her back to her cell, and she lounged on her bed, content for a while. She picked up her journal and wrote aimlessly on one of the last pages, her pencil moving almost without any conscious effort. Her shower had been a night one, and it wasn’t long before the corridor lights dimmed and she tucked her journal back onto its shelf. She fell asleep dreaming of the smell of fresh pine air in her lungs and the sweet taste of freedom. 
And she dreamed snippets of strong, tattooed muscles flexing and shifting above her skin, fragments of tortured moans breaking the thick, hot air. Shattered emerald eyes stole a glance at her, and in an instant, the dream crumbled, giving way to cold concrete and steel. 
Fuck. 
~
Aelin pushed the scraps of her dreams away as she went about her day, letting nothing show. When the usual guard came to escort her to the computer room, she walked in calmly, sat herself down, and let her fingers fly over the keyboard. She was into the system and navigating to the cameras almost before her brain caught up with her actions, and she forced herself to stop and breathe deeply before she went on, lest she make a wrong move and trigger some kind of alert. 
Now or never, Galathynius. She entered the sequence of keystrokes that gave her command over her sector’s cameras, and in a matter of minutes, that entire section was playing a loop from two days ago. 
That loop was the last time Remelle was on Aelin’s guard rotation. 
Like clockwork, the platinum-blonde cop joined the guard as Aelin was returning from computer time, a sneer on her face. “No snide comments today, inmate?” 
“It’s too early for that,” Aelin returned sweetly. As they rounded the corner into her corridor, she nodded a fraction at the guard. Obediently, Nox started to walk faster, and as if on cue, Remelle stopped and scowled. 
“There’s no need to rush, guard.” 
Nox shrugged. “I’m not rushing.” 
“You are.” 
“Didn’t seem like I was.” 
She huffed in irritation. “Just go back to your rotation. I can handle the inmate from here.” 
“Fine.” Nox peeled away and headed back down the corridor, off to his usual path. 
Remelle curled her acrylic-tipped fingers around Aelin’s arm. “Just you and me now, inmate.” 
Aelin fixed a dry, blank stare on the cop. “Is that supposed to be threatening, Remy? Because you should know that you sound childish at best.” 
“Shut it,” she snapped. “Get moving.” 
“Hard to do that with such a…significant weight clinging onto me.” Aelin knew it was a low blow to comment on another woman’s size, but Remelle fucking had it coming. 
The cop gasped, then her face burned scarlet. “You little bitch,” she hissed. She threw Aelin’s cell door open with a rattling clang, following her into the small room. 
Perfect. 
As Remelle wound up to slap her across the face, Aelin slipped a tiny syringe out of her pocket, ducked the cop’s wild swing, and grabbed her ponytail, holding her head still as she stuck the needle into the nape of her neck. Her hairline would conceal any puncture marks. Remelle’s eyes went wide, and she flailed without success—the sedative worked rapidly, and Aelin had asked Nehemia for enough to knock the woman out for a good twenty-four hours. 
When Remelle sank to the floor, unconscious, Aelin swiftly stripped her of her clothes, then removed her own prison scrubs and did a quick clothing swap. Before she put the undershirt onto Remelle, she very carefully applied the SecondSkin patches to her fingertips. The synthetic nearly disappeared into her skin, and Aelin chuckled as she put the pinch-faced cop into her prison clothes. 
“Enjoy your stay,” she crooned, tidily switching the cuff from her wrist to Remelle’s. She stepped in front of the mirror, applied the pale blue contacts to her eyes, and then slipped the turquoise ones into Remelle’s eyes. “And thank you,” she added as she settled Remelle into the bed, tucked the blankets up around her, grabbed her journal, and left the cell. 
She’d memorized Remelle’s schedule, so it was natural for her to adopt the cop’s sneer and customarily pinched expression as she sauntered down the corridors. A brief stop at the staff computer room allowed her to transition the cameras from their loop back to their normal settings, and she went back to her corridor and stood the rest of her Celaena Duty before the next guard came to relieve her. 
“Any changes?” the guard asked. 
Aelin curled her lip. “Why would there be?” she snipped in a flawless imitation of Remelle’s nasal whine. She’d had weeks to perfect that inflection. 
He held up his hands. “Standard question, as usual.” 
“Well, if it’s so standard, just stop asking.” Aelin turned on her heel and walked snootily down the corridors. She passed rows of cells, ascended a couple of floors, and went down more hallways, carefully following Remelle’s usual path, which Nox (and her studies of the security camera footage) had graciously provided. 
In the guards’ break room, she picked up Remelle’s uniform jacket and backpack, into which Nox had tucked a plastic bag containing a change of clothes. She swiped her badge at the door and went out to the checkpoint, where all she had to do was sneer at the fidgety young man on duty as he double-checked her badge before he let her through. Jingling the keys on her belt, she walked over to the parked police sedan, unlocked it, dumped her bag on the passenger seat, and got in. 
And she drove out of Endovier’s gates in an Orynth PD vehicle. 
Fuck, she liked irony. 
Aelin drove to a gas station on the western outskirts of Orynth, parked just out of range of the single camera by the gas pumps, and got out of the car. She quickly stripped for the second time in a few hours, changed into the formfitting dark clothes that Nox had left for her, tidily folded Remelle’s uniform and left it and everything else in a neat stack on the passenger seat of the sedan, clicked the manual lock switch, and tossed the keys into the car before she closed the door. 
Let Orynth PD figure that one out. 
She knew the gas station was rarely open—hell, she often had a couple of her guys use this place for distributions—so she ducked around the side of the building, swiftly crossed the street, and disappeared into the tightly clustered tangle of buildings that lined this side of Orynth. As the afternoon faded into evening, Aelin let her muscle memory take over, winding a circuitous, rambling path through half of Orynth, doubling and tripling back to tangle up her trail. She worked her way around the outer districts, a grin curling the corners of her lips as the familiar steel and brick walls of the industrial district rose up around her. 
About half a mile away from her favorite riverside warehouse, an old apartment building had been taped off and designated for destruction. Aelin had the Boss’s men plant those signs months ago, planning to use the building as a contingency. She slipped in through a ground-floor window, shook the dust off of her shoes, and latched the window shut before she went down the hallway into the darkened building. 
To her pleasant surprise, the reinforced walls around the kitchen were even sturdier than before, and she flipped on the soft light as she walked in. With a long, muffled groan, she sat down at one of the high stools, relieved to get off her feet after so much walking. 
“Good to see you again, Boss.” The voice nearly made Aelin jump out of her skin. 
“Fuck!” She pressed a hand against her thundering heart as she turned around to meet Elide’s sly grin. “Scared the hell out of me, Ells.” 
Elide snickered. “The bold Officer Remelle would never be so terrified.” 
Aelin rolled her eyes. “The bold Officer Remelle wasted most of her boldness trying to get into my—into some man’s pants.” 
“I’m almost surprised,” Elide continued, tactfully ignoring Aelin’s slip of speech. “If you were still in the uniform, I’d probably think you were actually Remy.” 
“Don’t call me that!” Aelin sniped in her Remelle voice. Elide bent over, howling, and Aelin’s laughter joined in. “Hey, when you give a girl enough time with nothing else to do…” 
“Nice work.” Elide discreetly wiped the corners of her eyes. “Right. Here’s your phone.” She passed Aelin a nondescript burner phone. “Con’s number is already there.” 
“Perfect.” Aelin tucked the phone into a side pocket of her pants. “Where’s the best place for me at the moment?” 
“Right now?” Elide bubbled her lips. “Probably here, honestly. Stay the night—the place is secure and should have everything you need. I’ll update you tomorrow—actually, it’ll probably be Con. He’s better at going around unnoticed than I am.” 
“Side effects of being a high-profile CEO,” Aelin joked. “Speaking of—have you and the team figured out a new name yet?” One of the clauses in the transfer of ownership was renaming the company, since there was a high chance that people wouldn’t want to be associated with a company named after an infamous criminal. 
“We have some options, but nothing is set.” Elide tapped her phone, pulling up a page on her notes app. “Staghorn Development is currently the top choice, though.” 
“I like that.” Aelin mulled over the name. “If my opinion has any weight—which it probably doesn’t—I’m a fan of Staghorn.” 
Elide’s lips quirked upwards. “Good to know.” She slipped her phone back into her jacket. “I have to get home, but Ae?” 
“Yeah?” 
The petite woman grinned. “It’s so good to see you safe.” 
Impulsively, Aelin hugged Elide. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.” 
“Least I could do.” Elide squeezed Aelin’s hands. “I’ll see you soon.” She left, and Aelin waited for the muffled click of the doors locking before she headed further down the hallway, towards the bedroom and bathroom. 
After a long, hot shower that made her feel both clean and more human, Aelin changed into fresh undergarments and the same clothes she’d been wearing. The nondescript, cheap cotton-blend clothes could have come from anywhere, which made them perfect for sneaking around in. She’d taken out the pale blue contacts and tossed them in the trash before her shower, but she kept the protective film of SecondSkin on her hands. 
Better to mask her fingerprints than to get caught too early. 
She flipped on the bedside lamp in the plainly furnished bedroom and gratefully crawled into bed, near tears at the feeling of a proper mattress beneath her body for the first time in over a month. Unable to fall asleep without some kind of light—she’d grown accustomed to the hallway lights in Endovier—she left the lamp on and drifted off, letting her body shut down as the adrenaline high finally wore off. 
When she woke up, watery grey sunlight had broken through the clouds of the late-November sky, and she rolled over and just stared out of the window, soaking in the morning light for the first time in weeks. Eventually, she rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, redid her braid, and made herself a coffee in the kitchen. She sipped it carelessly as she fiddled with her phone, waiting for Con to text. 
And when he did, she couldn’t control the smirk that spread across her face. 
~
For about the trillionth time in the last year, Rowan was royally fucking pissed, and Aelin was the reason for it. 
“What the fuck do you mean?” he snarled, hands clenched into fists atop his desk. The cold wood was still unfamiliar under his fingers, so different from the steel tables of the police building. 
“Watch it, Lieutenant,” Gavriel warned from the doorway. 
Rowan pulled in a deep breath and shoved it out in a harsh exhale. “Where is she?” 
“Downstairs, in a temporary holding cell until we can verify that it’s actually her.” 
“I’m going to talk to her.” He was halfway out the door when Gav’s iron hand clamped around his upper arm. “What?” 
“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Whitethorn,” Gav said, coolly. 
Scarlet anger crept up the edges of Rowan’s vision. “Why not, sir?” 
“You have a personal history with this woman—technically, with both of these women, since you worked with PD for almost a year. I’d hate for that to compromise anything.” 
“I understand, sir, but—” 
“But nothing,” Gav interrupted, cutting him off. “No.” 
Rather than tearing free from his commander’s grasp, Rowan deflated, his posture going slack. “I only want a few minutes, sir. I…” He cleared his throat, not expecting this tangle of emotion. “I need to know.” 
After a long, tense moment, Gav sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes. When the timer goes off, you get the hell out of there or I swear to all that’s holy I’ll slap you right back into basic training.” 
“Yes, sir.” Rowan snapped off a salute at his commander and strode down the hallways, his pace increasing with every step he took. He took an elevator down several floors, flashed his badge at the pair of TSF guards stationed outside the double doors that blocked off the temporary holding quarters that took up half the floor of the TSF building’s basement, and pulled the doors open. Inside, he took a deep breath, dredging up every scrap of resolve he could summon, and walked down another few yards. 
He stopped in front of the first holding cell, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned an impassive gaze onto the platinum-blonde woman seated on the bench inside the cell. The instant she saw him, she shot up to her feet, folded her arms across her chest, reared her head back, and sneered at him, her pale lips curling back, rage filling her icy blue eyes. 
“Hello, Remelle,” Rowan said quietly. 
“Fuck you,” Remelle snapped. 
Rowan raised a brow. “If this is some kind of plot to escape Endovier, I’m afraid you’ve failed.” 
She practically growled at him. “I’ve told every stupid asshole in this place and I’ll tell you too: I am not Aelin!” 
“That’s not what your fingerprints say,” he replied. 
She laughed caustically and, to his surprise, pinched her skin between the tips of her acrylic nails and yanked, and the skin at the tip of her finger peeled away. “Because that bitch put her fingerprints on me, asshole.”
“Prove it.” Rowan leaned against the wall opposite the holding cell and waited for Remelle to yank the synthetic off of her fingertips. She shoved the synthetic through the slot in the door, and he tucked it into a plastic bag to give to the forensics team. 
“Get me out of here,” she snapped again. 
Rowan had only vaguely wondered whether Remelle was actually Aelin in disguise, and he was unsurprised to find that it wasn’t. “That’s not for me to do,” he tossed over his shoulder as his timer rang. The guard from outside the holding area poked his head in and gestured, and Rowan turned on his heel and left, letting Remelle’s enraged whining fade away. 
“I’m taking this to forensics,” he told Gav, who was waiting outside the holding area. 
Gav nodded. “Did you get your answers?” 
“I’ve seen enough,” was all that Rowan said. “Should be fine to let her go, if only to get rid of the goddamn whining.” 
“You’re certain?” 
“Yes. Sir,” he added, tacking on Gav’s title at the last second. 
Gav raised a brow but otherwise didn’t react to Rowan’s near instance of insubordination. “I’ll let her get back to PD, then. Wait for me in my office, Whitethorn.” 
Not trusting himself to reply verbally, Rowan dipped his head tersely, saluted, and headed upstairs, where he dropped off the bag at the forensics lab and walked back to Gav’s office. He only waited for around ten minutes before the commander came into the office, sighed heavily, and sat back down at his desk. 
“That woman is a piece of fucking work,” Gav grumbled, mostly to himself. 
Rowan didn’t suppress his snort. “Couldn’t agree more, sir.” 
“If she’s always like that…” He scoffed quietly. “I can’t say I blame my niece for choosing that woman as a decoy.” 
“I don’t think that was the whole reason, sir,” Rowan said. He’d been thinking over the situation as he waited, and while his thoughts were still clouded with rage—and a hefty dose of lust, if he was being honest, because clever, scheming Aelin had a way of working him up—he’d formed a somewhat solid hypothesis. “Besides her, uh, cattier tendencies, Remelle also looks remarkably physically similar to Sardothien, a fact that I’m sure she knew.” 
“You know that’s not Aelin’s real name, Whitethorn.” Gav made a statement, not a question. 
It was real enough to convict her. “I…it’s easier this way, sir.” Rowan swallowed the lump in his throat and kept talking. “I suspect she began planning this as soon as she found out that Remelle was the police officer on duty. However, I’m perplexed at the footage, since it shows no apparent signs of tampering and everything looks perfectly normal.” A crease dug between his furrowed brows. “I’m having Luca at PD look at the footage, since he was the one to figure out Sardothien’s loop when she broke into PD headquarters in the summer.” 
Gav chuckled. “Back up, Whitethorn. She broke into Orynth PD?” 
“Yes, sir.” Rowan stifled his irritation. “Somehow, she managed to put the entire security camera system on a closed loop—except for my personal camera. We still have no knowledge what exactly she did while there, but since nothing was visibly disturbed, it was probably just recon.” 
“Interesting.” Gav tapped his chin, thinking. “Do you have any idea where she is now?” 
“I…no, sir.” Rowan reluctantly answered. “She could be anywhere.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the screen. And a fresh wave of scarlet washed across his vision. “Goddammit!” Composing himself, he showed Gav the messages from Luca. “Apologies for the outburst, sir. Luca just confirmed that there was in fact a rather sophisticated loop run on Endovier’s security cameras for several hours.” 
“All of the cameras?” 
“No, sir. Only the sector of cameras by Sardothien’s cell.” 
“What does the footage show when the loop ends?” 
Rowan sent Luca a text, and it was only a few minutes before the younger cop replied. “That’s the confusing part, sir. When the loop ends, the cameras show Sardothien asleep in her cell—which is to be expected for around ten p.m.—and Remelle changing duty as normal. We checked the rest of the cameras as well, tracking Remelle’s path, and it’s completely ordinary. And then, the next day, Sardothien wakes up and starts screaming at the guards to get her out.” 
“And she turns out to be Remelle,” Gav finished. 
“Correct, sir.” 
Gav pressed his lips into a flat line. “Is there anywhere else that we could look for intel?” 
Rowan sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet, sir. We might be able to ask PD to search the area around Endovier for any signs, but—” Before he could finish his thought, both his and Gav’s phones pinged at once. His eyes rapidly scanned the alert. 
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Gav stood up and pocketed his phone. “Looks like I’ll be heading down to PD headquarters after all.” 
“Sir, I—”
“No.” 
Rowan blinked. “Sir?” 
“No,” Gav repeated, the command clear as day. 
“Sir, with all due respect, I have the most information on Celaena Sardothien, and as the TSF agent from the case, I believe I should know about this new development.” 
“You already have your answer, Lieutenant Whitethorn.” Gav drilled a steely stare into Rowan’s forehead. “It’s in the best interest of both you and this case that you leave the case behind. Any further attempts to participate will be considered violation of a direct order, and you will be punished accordingly, Whitethorn. Clear?” 
Rowan locked his jaw. “Yes, sir.” 
“Good.” As Gav left his office, he tucked a folded piece of scrap paper into Rowan’s clenched fist, sparing him a hint of a nod as he strode down the hallway. Reining in his fury, Rowan stormed back down to his much smaller office, threw the door shut, and unfolded the note. 
Unless I tell you otherwise—Stay. Fucking. Put.
He’d be fucking damned if he did. 
~
There’s a cop in my backseat. 
Nox navigated the meandering turns of the industrial district with ease, focusing more of his attention on the serpentine tangle of streets rather than on the trussed-up, unconscious cop occupying the back seat of his nondescript car. Officer Remelle had been almost laughably easy to kidnap, since she was so overcome with rage at her recent run-in first with Aelin and then with the Terrasen Special Forces. Nox had lingered outside a chain coffee shop a couple of miles away from TSF headquarters, waiting, and the moment Remelle had stopped for her usual beverage, he struck. He knew the TSF and the police were probably scurrying around the coffee shop like a bunch of idiots by now, and he couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. 
Mostly hidden by the cold, foggy darkness and the smoggy smear that hung over the industrial district, Nox parked his car about half a mile away from the overgrown path that led down to the Boss’s riverside warehouse, climbed out, and hoisted the still-unconscious Remelle over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He backtracked down the side alleys, doubling and tripling back on his steps to confuse anyone that might try to track him, and eventually pushed through the curtain of brittle branches and headed down to the warehouse. 
“Nice work, Owens.” The soft, crackly voice sounded abruptly in his ear, and he almost dropped Remelle onto the half-frozen ground. 
“Fuck’s sake, Boss!” 
The Boss snickered. From her perch somewhere outside the warehouse, she was watching her set of concealed cameras as the final pieces of her grand plan fell into place. “Upper mezzanine. And be quick—Her Royal Bitchiness should be here in an hour or so.” 
“Sure thing.” Nox crossed the final stretch of pavement and entered the warehouse’s dim gloom. 
“Oh, and Owens?” 
“Yeah?” 
“There’s a chance that PD might be on scene by the end of the night.” 
“Good to know, Boss.” He glanced over his shoulder, a little unsettled by the fact that she could see him but he couldn’t see her. “You know where the car is.” 
“Indeed.” A sinister note crept into her voice. 
Nox went up to the mezzanine, where he set Remelle down, untied her, and set her up so she was faced out over the warehouse, head turned away from the south door. To stabilize her, he cuffed her hands to the metal railings and hooked a short grappling cable from the wall to the crossed straps of her weapons harness. As he slipped down the stairs, he heard the distinct rattle of another door being opened, and his hand flew to the knife tucked into his waistband. 
The west door creaked open, and a man dressed in nondescript gray fatigues and some kind of military vest ducked inside, his dark hair and clothing blending him into the shadows almost seamlessly. But Nox was friends with the shadows too, and he slipped up behind the man and had a knife to his throat in seconds. 
“Who the fuck are you?” he hissed. 
Faster than he thought possible, the man slipped his hold, whirling and grabbing his knife hand and immobilizing it above his head. “Who the fuck are you?” he retorted. 
Nox jabbed the man in the ribs and slithered free. “Call me Nox.” 
“The other man paused. “You’re the Boss’s spy.” 
Caught off guard, Nox lowered his knife halfway. “And…?” 
“I’m Con,” the dark-haired man said. 
“Con,” Nox repeated. A smirk crawled across his face. “Is that short for Convict?” 
Con snorted. “Why would I tell you?” 
“Because of my pretty face and winning personality?” 
“I’ve seen better.” Con’s onyx gaze traveled slowly down Nox’s face, half-obscured in the warehouse’s gloom. 
“Oh, I hardly believe that.” Nox winked, slowly, watching a faint blush creep over Con’s cheekbones. Hell. He was a pretty one. 
“Boys,” Celaena’s drawl crackled through each of their earpieces. “I hate to interrupt your little meet-cute, but I’m tracking a royal bitch onto the property.” 
“Heard.” Nox and Con spoke at the same time. 
Con was the first to break their stare. “I’m in place,” he answered Celaena. 
“Leaving,” Nox said hurriedly, and he ducked out the west door with a last glance at the pretty man in the warehouse. “Boss, who the hell is he?” 
She chuckled. “A former Navy SEAL and my inside operative at Maeve’s compound.” 
“Damn.” Nox whistled. “Man of many talents.” The line went silent, and he swiftly scaled the ladder rungs built into the steel wall of the warehouse and crouched on the rooftop. Some of the roof’s panels were pushed open, allowing room for a crane to reach inside and hoist pallets in or out for distribution. It also gave him a clear sight line into the warehouse.
Which was perfect, because he’d eventually need to throw the little glass vial in his pocket into the pallet sitting in the middle of the warehouse floor. 
Shifting himself into as comfortable a crouch as possible, Nox fixed his eyes onto the warehouse floor. And waited. 
~
Clad in an old, faded set of black fatigues, with knives tucked into his sleeves and boots, a pair of handguns on his hips, and Kevlar strapped to his chest, back, and upper thighs, Rowan trailed Maeve Ond through the industrial district of Orynth. He kept about half a block between himself and the woman known as the Queen of the Night, but she was so singularly focused that he doubted she would even notice she was being tracked. He’d picked up her trail thanks to an anonymous, untraceable number that had somehow contacted him with nothing more than a location pin. 
Whoever had sent it had placed a tracking device on Maeve. 
He’d barely taken a few seconds to marvel at the skill and sheer audacity of that feat before he was on the move, a lethal shadow prowling through the cold late-November night. She stalked down the maze of streets and alleys with deadly precision, despite the occasional tremors that rattled through her body. He observed those shakes with analytical curiosity, noting that the supposed Queen of the Night wasn’t invincible after all. Those were the tremors of someone whose body had been exposed to long-term poison. 
Maeve shoved through a brittle curtain of overgrown vegetation, and Rowan followed at a short distance. Past that patch of cover stood a solitary, steel-sided warehouse on the edge of the river. The skeleton of a crane loomed beside it, barely visible through the foggy night. She stormed up to the building, rounded the corner, and fired a single bullet through the keypad beside the south door. The latch released, and she yanked the door open with a snarl. 
“You can’t hide forever,” she called in a hoarse voice. It probably would have been more sinister if her throat hadn’t been ravaged by coughing. 
Who the fuck is she talking to? Rowan wondered as he crept up to the edge of the building. 
As if she could read his damn mind, she answered in the form of another snarled question. 
“Show your worthless self, Moonbeam!” 
Rowan froze in his tracks, ice shooting through his veins. Moonbeam? At the distinct sound of more than one gun cocking, he whipped his attention back to Maeve. Although her body visibly shook with tremors, she gripped her gun fiercely. 
“Still disobeying me, Connall? I’m disappointed.” Connall. The name clanged through Rowan with the force of a train. Connall Moonbeam was alive.
This…could change everything. 
As if she were on the set of a crime drama, Maeve continued monologuing. “I should have known you’d turn and sell your secrets to the highest bidder, Connall. I’m only irritated that after everything I gave you, you’d let Celaena Sardothien’s dirty money control your loyalty.” 
Once again, Rowan felt like he’d been hit by a train. Connall Moonbeam was not only alive, but he was working undercover for Sardothien. Which meant he’d probably been feeding Fenrys information for gods only knew how long. 
Which meant Fenrys had known his brother was alive. 
That explained the contact labeled Con in Fen’s phone. 
“I’m tired of your tricks, Connall.” Maeve’s frigid voice coiled through the warehouse as she tugged on a nearby cord, pouring a pool of yellow light over the area where she stood. Rowan immediately flattened himself against the wall behind a heap of boxes, melting himself into the cover of the shadows but keeping a clear view of Maeve as she paced across the floor. 
A blur of movement peeled away from the west wall, and Maeve whipped around to find a distinctly male figure ducking behind another stack of crates. She curled her lip and glanced that way. 
And did a visible double take. 
Her sneer melted into a twisted expression of blinding fury as she fixed her hollow violet gaze onto the black-clad female figure who stood poised on the mezzanine. “I suppose you made yourself useful one last time, Connall,” she crooned, raising her gun and cocking it. “Say goodbye, Celaena Sardothien.” 
Sardothien?
The ice in Rowan’s veins solidified into iron, weighing his body down as he lifted his gaze up to the mezzanine and traced the undeniably familiar figure who stood there, her head turned away, scanning the wrong side of the warehouse as the Queen of the Night curled her finger around the trigger. 
And fired. 
No!
White-hot horror blazed through Rowan’s body, and he forgot who and where and what he was as he pulled his gun and aimed and emptied an entire chamber into the back of Maeve’s skull and watched as her body arched backwards, blood bursting out of her throat and forehead and chest, and collapsed to the cold hard cement in a blur of gore and gunfire. The roar of gunshots abruptly cut off into thundering silence, and Rowan forced his eyes to move from the crumpled corpse of the Queen of the Night upwards, climbing the steel wall to the mezzanine. 
The woman lay slumped over the railing, crimson soaking steadily into her platinum hair. 
Rowan’s gun clattered to the floor, its dull thud echoing in his ears with the force of an anvil crashing into stone. Numbness swept over him, and he barely recognized that he was moving as his TSF survival instincts took over, directing his limbs to lift Maeve’s prone form and haul her outside to get her back to the investigative team for analysis and confirmation of death. He turned to go back, but a strong set of hands clamped down on his shoulders. 
“Don’t.” Lower and rougher than Fenrys’s voice, Connall Moonbeam’s baritone jolted an old, familiar strand of Rowan’s memory. 
He made a weak push against Con’s hardened grip. “She…Celaena…” 
“You can’t go back in there,” Con repeated. “It’s not safe.” 
“Fuck that!” In a burst of adrenaline, Rowan managed to break halfway free. Before he could sprint back into the warehouse, Connall spun him around and slapped the knife out of his hand. 
“You can’t, Whitethorn!” For the first time in a decade, Rowan came face to face with the second of the Moonbeam twins, whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh since he went off to Navy SEAL training. 
“Why the fuck not?” Rowan growled, feeling his burst of energy give way to hollowness again. 
Too many emotions to count rippled across Con’s eyes. “All I can tell you is not to trust what you think you saw.” Before Rowan could formulate a response, Con pinched the nerve at the joint of Rowan’s neck and shoulder, and he felt himself go weak. In a rapid blur, Con slung him over his shoulder, sprinted to the cover of dense but winter-bare vegetation surrounding the far side of the lot, and hurled him into the frigid dirt, covering Rowan’s immobile body with his own. 
And both of them watched as the warehouse exploded in a searingly white burst of flame. 
“N…no,” Rowan croaked, feeling sensation begin to return to his fingers. “No!” From deep in his chest, a single name tore brokenly out of his throat. “FIREHEART!”
Gaze flicking between Rowan’s tears and the blazing ruin of a warehouse, Con put the pieces together as he stood up. “She wasn’t actually there, Whitethorn,” he said softly. 
Rowan’s shattered gaze locked onto him. “What?” 
“That wasn’t Aelin,” he repeated. 
But before Rowan could say anything else—before Con could reveal anything else—a birdcall sounded in Con's earpiece, and he turned sharply on his heel and jogged into the dense overgrowth, leaving Rowan prostrate on the ground behind him. He broke through the brush and jogged up the alley, sparing a single glance over his shoulder at the blaze he left behind. At the top of the alley, an electrical van idled, with Nox Owens at the wheel. 
“Hop in, pretty boy,” Nox said with a sly little grin. Con shook his head with a dry huff and swung himself up into the van, and Nox drove off. 
A panel behind the seats swung open, and Aelin Ashryver Galathynius stuck her very much alive head into the cab. “Where is he?” 
“North end of the lot, halfway into the tree cover.” 
“Good. Nox, slow down.” Aelin withdrew, and a moment later, Con heard the back door unlatch and thud closed shortly after. He glanced into the rearview mirror as the van sped back up, watching Aelin tuck and roll and jog back in the direction of the warehouse, her figure rapidly disappearing into the night.
~
Through a fog of devastation and confusion and a thousand other roiling emotions, Rowan finished loading Maeve’s body into the back of an Orynth PD van. He’d pinged Luca as soon as he arrived at the warehouse, alerting the cops of his location, and the police squad—with Gavriel in tow—had arrived on scene as the oddly controlled blaze faded into smoking embers. 
Gav’s face was stone, but his eyes flicked from Rowan to the ruins of the warehouse and back and rapidly made the right connections. His posture softened. “Get in the vehicle, Whitethorn.” 
“I…” Rowan couldn’t form words. “He said it wasn’t her.” 
“Who said what now?” 
Rowan gulped. “It…Connall. I saw Con.” 
Shock flared Gav’s eyes wide, but he shut that expression down. “And he said…”
“He said it wasn’t Aelin,” Rowan croaked. 
Gav loosed a long, tight exhale. “I think we should go for tonight, Rowan.” 
“Please,” Rowan breathed. “I only want a moment.” 
“Alright.” To Rowan’s surprise, Gav ran a hand through his hair and walked away. “Get yourself home safe, Rowan.” He climbed into the leading PD vehicle and waved them forwards. 
As the taillights of the PD van faded away, Rowan turned his stare back onto the smoking heap of rubble where Aelin’s river warehouse had stood. His heart fought his eyes at the sight, torn between wanting to cling to Con’s words and wanting to believe what he saw. An icy breeze curled up from the river and bit through his clothes, and he finally took a step towards his waiting truck. Dry leaves crackled behind him, and he drew in a sharp breath and started to turn around. 
Only to be met with the kiss of steel at his throat and his groin. 
“This feels somewhat familiar, Lieutenant. Have we met?” 
Shell-shocked and hardly trusting his own state of consciousness, Rowan tried to maneuver, but a simple twitch of the blades stopped him cold. 
“Oh no you don’t, Lieutenant. It’s best for both of us if you don’t get a visual.” With that, the blade at his throat dropped and was rapidly replaced with the sharp pinprick of a needle. Heaviness spread through his limbs, and the last thing Rowan saw as his vision went black was a half-dazed glimpse of the turquoise eyes that haunted his dreams.
His Fireheart…was alive?
~~~
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campbyler · 5 months ago
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ik part of it is that life and work just Be Like That sometimes, but every time i check back on your blog it seems yall are going through chronic ao3 author syndrome. sending love and good vibes your way i hope all three of you are doing ok and can catch a break soon!! (ik suni and thea yall are the ones writing the rest of it but sending love to andi as well)
also any tips on writing longer chapters without them sounding like they’re dragging on? i’m a (more casual) fic writer and my chapters always end up a little shorter than i usually hope they’d be
awake at 3am in a fit of jet lag and laughed aloud upon reading this bc you’re not wrong 😭 i feel like part of it is just timing, like thea’s work has a big busy season during the fall every year and her schedule also varies week by week and even day to day so i know some stretches are more difficult than others by default (rn she has been having to work from home on her weekend or after she clocks out which has been extra rough). my work tends to have bursts of insane work days every few weeks or so, and i just have a shitty daily commute on top of that and will sometimes get home like 12 hours after i left in the morning or something. so honestly there is a nonzero chance one of us is having a subpar time on any given workday i fear, and that schedule is pretty unpredictable given the nature of our very full time jobs. i also think it’s just statistically more likely that when we are active there is a reason for our Grievances to be brought up, either organically because we are coming out of a slump and are complaining about the Horrors or because someone checked in on us in a period of absence and we are giving a quick update, but either way, thank you so much for your wishesssss! thea will be getting a break soon (thank god) and i’m actually entering a bit of a busy stretch at work for the next week or so because we have a grant deadline to meet, which always means 10000 last minute experiments that i have to work into my schedule in the middle of the week and it’s really fun and lovely and great. woo hoo. 🙂
as for chapter lengths, i wish i had more solid advice but my problem is genuinely that i can’t for the life of me seem to trim them down 😭 i guess a part of it is largely how your chapters are structured — i only have a couple chaptered fics outside of acswy, but all of them are planned so that each chapter is quite meaty in terms of content or what i want each scene to accomplish. i will say that the singular thing that consistently drives up my word count is DIALOGUEEEEE!!! a blessing when i’m in a rut or have writers block and am trying to get something down on the page, a menace when im editing a scene transition i left to fill in for later and my wc is right at 29k and im sweating watching the number tick up. i find there’s absolutely nothing wrong with shorter chapters if it’s accomplishing what you hope for and i honestly am working really hard on trying to be more concise, but i do find dialogue to be a good way to slow down a scene that’s maybe rushing or is paced a little quicker than you intended. real conversations often stray off topic, people ramble or get sidetracked or get interrupted by things they’re doing — i love describing people talking while doing chores or eating or whatever because you can break up the dialogue with bits of action — and at least for me, it’s a lot easier to work in some narration or description in with dialogue than it is to just write a couple paragraphs of it straight up, which also sometimes feels a little more blunt and Quick than i intend it to be. one thing we both do a Lot is script out dialogue between characters and then go back in to fill in things like speech tags, action descriptions, inner monologues and thoughts, etc. literally just like:
character 1: ___ character 2: _______ 1, (note on how it’s meant to be said or what they’re thinking/intending to say to cue us in later): _____ 2: _____________ (small description of them moving around/something happening in the background to give a visual for describing later)
so on and so forth. it helps a lot either when we want to establish the setup of a dialogue heavy scene before we forget our inspiration, or we’re feeling a bit too blocked to be able to write more descriptively at the moment, etc etc. it’s a really natural way to focus on the flow of conversation without getting caught up in transitions and repetition of dialogue tags and stuff, and usually is the culprit for a scene taking way longer to finish than expected for me.
all that being said, the times i have actually felt like a chapter is paced too quickly is usually either when the dialogue exchange is too fast and feels like the conversation could be more fleshed out, or maybe likeeee a transition happens a little too immediately and it reads a little bit like one thing happening after the next after the next without much of a pause for expansion. if you’ve managed to get your point across in fewer words and your main concern is driving up the word count, i really wouldn’t worry about it! you could always have someone look at it with a fresh pair of eyes and ask for places they feel could use more explanation or detail (maybe describing a setting more vividly? or giving more insight to some of their thoughts at a certain point?) but genuinely — conciseness is a Skill, and seeing how i have once again accidentally answered an ask with one million words, i’ll actually just trade you some of my internal word vomit right now. here you go -> 🎁
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miyakuli · 6 months ago
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Stray Gods
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Lost In A Song
Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome! To cabaret? No, no, in an interactive musical fiction. Yes, you heard that right. Stray Gods is a surprising mix of visual novel and musical, where your choices influence not only the story but also the songwriting. So it's a pretty original concept, but is it note-worthy? Bleibe, reste, stay, and see for yourself.
❤ The mix between the modern world and mythology works really well, and the idea - which I won't reveal here - of bringing these two worlds together is a pretty good one. As a result, we find familiar Greek divine figures mingling with our society in a rather amusing way, and we revise our classics as we meet them. But the real strength, in my opinion, lies in the use of these legends to address harsh yet topical issues such as suicide, grief, relationship abuse etc...offering some emotionally powerful musical moments. ❤ While the music is in the spotlight, it's also a treat for the eyes, with some truly superb comic-book-style illustrations! Some may be put off by the stop-motion effect, but the animation is no less dynamic with its camera work and changing backgrounds and colors to match the tunes of our decisions. So, for the same scene, the atmosphere will not be the same visually and will follow the mood of the song according to the choices made by the player.
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❤ The characters are endearing and I really enjoyed the diversity in terms of chara-design. They each have a strong visual identity, which reinforces their personality even more, making them quite memorable characters. The interactions between them are very well handled, with well-written dialogue that juggles humor and drama. On the romance side, I think that each suitor brings an interesting dynamic, whatever the personality given to Grace, our main character. Each player will obviously have their own preferences, but it's rare that I find that all the romances harmonise so well with the MC. ❤ I have to mention the French translation, which doesn't just translate the songs word for word but has tried to adapt the lyrics with more melodious turns of phrase and even rhymes! Well done for the effort :)
+/- You'll have noticed that I haven't yet mentioned the heart of the game, namely the music. The work on the music is clearly impressive; the main musical themes, built like leitmotifs, are quite memorable and echo each other throughout the game. But above all, each song has its own variation, and it's up to the player to direct their own score, taking on the role of conductor. It could have been extremely clumsy, yet Austin Wintory (who has already signed one of my favourite soundtracks with Journey) has managed to make clever musical transitions that never create a rupture…..well, not all the time. Some of the variations fit together more or less well, sometimes making the melody a bit wobbly, and you really get a feel for which parts were written as the main theme and which are ‘optional’. That must be why the song Adrift sticks in my mind the most, because it was conceived as a song in its own right with no real changes. +/- Where there's a song, there's a performer. While the voice cast is excellent, with some of the big names in dubbing, making their characters their own, I found that in terms of singing performances, some were a little subpar and didn't always sound quite right.
✖ While the universe is charming, the script clearly lacks subtlety, being far too predictable, and the scenes are chained together at a very fast tempo without giving the time to really enjoy the investigation. ✖ The game is also short and offers very few changes to the storyline when it comes to the choices made. As a result, it can quickly become repetitive if you try to complete it. ✖ Another downside was that there were a number of glitches during my various games: music cutting out when I made a choice, dialogs overlapping when I wanted to fast forward, delays between sound and image and minor translation oversights.
Stray Gods was a satisfying experience for the Broadway lover in me. Sure, the plot could be better paced and orchestrated, and the music can sound a little unstable at times, but you can't take away from the the game's originality and inspired ideas. Besides, if I've already got one song stuck in my head, then I guess the game has served its purpose. On that note, so long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu🎶
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➡ My personal VN ranking (in french) ➡ My Steam page
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themontess · 5 months ago
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WIP Wednesday
Thanks @lavender-tea-fling for the tag! I have been "working" on the same Rookanis WIP for some days, by which I mean crafting great words in the shower and then forgetting them all by the time I get chance to write 😅 This is literally the extent of what I have so far, although the whole piece is blocked out:
The clue was in the name, but the Hossberg Wetlands really were… wet. The Grey Wardens had hit upon a source of the Blight, a Blight eruption which they intended to cleanse once and for all. The whole team was in situ, burning back tendrils and carving through cysts, clearing the area around Lavendel until what was left was mud, and hope. It had not stopped raining in three days. Rook was out in the worst of it, at all hours, while Lucanis… Lucanis was knitting the most straightforward blanket out of subpar Druffalo wool on wrong-sized, borrowed needles. His abilities were not the most useful against darkspawn, so he had chosen to stay behind in this co-opted run of abandoned farm cottages, to cook and keep camp. Still, in his down time he couldn't concentrate on anything more complex than a basic stocking stitch - not even checking and correcting the tension. It was not his finest work. A year in near isolation - the damn Venatori guards did not count - left him restless whenever he was cooped up for too long, and Rook's company… Rook's company these past few months had made the transition so much easier, and the idleness so much harder to bear.
It's just a snuggly, chatty, hurt/comfort fic which in my WIP document is titled "How Rook Feels About Spite" but is more accurately "How Rook Feels About How Spite Feels About Her" - Rook and Lucanis squaring the circle on the Rook x Lucanis x Spite triangle, if that's not too many shapes for one analogy lol.
Please motivate me to keep writing this, because working on fic this week has been like clawing my way through that cold, Anderfels mud 😭
@the-font-bandit has finished their current series, but I can't remember if there is any more ongoing? (If not, check out all their stuff on AO3 👀)
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dolljunk · 8 months ago
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I am a long time Wicked fan and if anyone knows me they would know I've loved Elphaba for such a long time that it's influenced my way of customising and figuring out how to paint, reroot and sew for my perfect Elphaba doll.
I'm honestly am super hyped for the Wicked movies because I think the casting decisions aren't the first thing you'd think of for the musical, but they're really fun and different choices. I'm also hyped the movie split the musical in two since I do find the writing between each song to be really brief and break neck, so spending even a few more minutes between each song to expand the world will be an easier transition for auduences that don't watch musicals.
So imagine my disapppointment that the first glimpse of official fashion dolls for the movie are dolls with the trademark Mattel (lack of) quality fashions and pretty poor screenings (Glinda's doll having nose contour makes her a "wait til clearance" doll for me).
My biggest issue is that there's no variation in screening or hairstyle for each character so there's no real incentive for me to purchase any more than one of each character, especially since the fashions are poorly constructed, made from subpar materials and lack even basic things like hemmed edges or finished backs.
So while, maybe 10, or 15 years ago, I probably would have been super excited that Mattel was making dolls of the movie, it's been a bit of a disappointment that I'm not picking the best of the best to be my first movie Elphaba doll, I'm choosing the least of the worst and being willing to pay full price.
I'm also really sad the packaging is just cheap blister packaging since I would have liked to keep the box as a memento of the movie since it does kinda sting paying £30 for this.
I ended up picking Ozdust Ballroom Elphaba because she has the most detail in her outfit and if I was gonna pay £30 I'd wanted a doll with a fully constructed outfit. Of course, there's implications of layers but they're all sewn together and the fabric itself is really cheap and bad feeling.
As a big Wicked fan, I'm really disappointed but I guess I finally have Elphaba in movie form.
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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 year ago
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It turns out that reading Pioneer Girl: The Path Into Fiction (the book that shows the extensive revisions that went into creating Little House in the Big Woods) was the best possible thing I could have done after posting a lukewarm draft of a story I care deeply about.
There is so much editing, and it's fascinating to see all the work that goes into shaping a story. There wasn't enough description--so they added some in! This transition was wonky--so they wrote a new one! These pieces didn't flow--so they rearranged it! You can just do that???
The writing advice of "you can fix it in edits" is so tired that it's become meaningless, but seeing it played out here over multiple drafts that all have multiple layers of edits makes it real, and concrete--and even enticing!--in a much more valuable way. This is one of the most beloved children's classics of all time, and it took so much editing to get there.
But that doesn't mean those early drafts were garbage! So much of my development as a writer involves unlearning or reframing the advice pushed by the Nanowrimo-style events--write as many garbage words as you can as fast as you can! Maybe that framing works for some people, but not for me. Why would I want to spend a lot of time writing garbage?
What's more useful for me is a combination of lowering expectations--this is not going to be a masterpiece and that's okay--and recognizing that even subpar works are valuable. This may not be the best version of the story--but it's the best I can do right now. Maybe one day I can fill in the gaps, develop layers of character and theme, and it'll be even better--but that doesn't mean that this early version was worthless. It's still art! I still made it! It's still something for people to read! And that's not garbage! And seeing those many, many early versions of a beloved book--published for curious readers to see--makes it clear not just how much better it became, but how much good there was to start with. And it makes the idea of editing seem, not intimidating, but exciting.
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astra-aeterna · 3 months ago
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aced it - chapter 14
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something about you felt like fate
the final chapter. oh my god. this has been my first long-fic for the acotar fandom and i can't thank you all enough for the support and love you've shown me and this fic. i love you all!!!
catch a snippet under the cut
"Ugh," Cass groaned softly. He was driving the RV while everyone else slept — save for Feyre, whose eyes didn't seem to want to close.
"What's up?" she muttered, crawling into the empty passenger seat. If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well keep him company.
He smiled softly at her. "Just thinking about how we have to go back to classes in two days. But life isn't all road trips, Feyre."
"Sure isn't," Feyre sighed wistfully. The week they'd spent driving around Prythian had been perfect, laughing and bickering and teasing each other as they drove to random destinations and explored nature preserves and wooded walking paths and whatever small towns they came across. It had been the perfect escape from the stress of the real world, but she'd have to return to the pressure cooker of the end of her third year all too soon.
At least she and Rhys were in it together. And together for real.
Finally.
"Thinking about the end of the year now?"
She huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Thanks for that. I was having such a good time not sleeping."
Cassian glanced over at her for a quick moment, wry grin on his face, before turning back to the road. "I'm sure I can find something to talk about that'll put you to sleep. Ooh, what about hockey statistics?"
"You have one thing on your mind ever, and it's hockey."
"Hey! Unfair," he complained. "I also think about the gym. And sex."
"You are such a stereotype of a man."
He just grinned, then handed her his phone. "Here, why don't you pick some music that'll keep me from falling asleep at the wheel."
Soft rock filtered through the speakers as Feyre selected a playlist that looked upbeat enough for night driving, then set his phone back down. The dark environment around them passed in a blur, all black and grey and barely distinguishable.
Except for the stars overhead.
Feyre stared out the windshield at the sky, watching as the stars shifted ever so slightly in the sky as they flew down the highway. She curled up in the passenger seat, thinking about the improbability of her life — but thanking the Mother and the Cauldron that she'd made it to whatever this phase of her life was, with Rhys and his family that was slowly becoming her own, with happiness and success and comfort. And without realizing it, her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Transitioning back into the chaos of spring semester schoolwork was difficult.
Free time was a thing of the past, and within a week, Feyre wasn't sure she even knew the meaning of the phrase. When she wasn't in her own classes, she was in the class she was a TA for. When she wasn't in any class at all, she was at VUAC. When she wasn't on campus, she was doing her own homework or grading her students' assignments or sleeping tucked into Rhys's arms.
Those late hours where she was asleep next to her boyfriend (she was still getting used to the fact that Rhys was her boyfriend, mentally) were the only restful hours she had.
And normally, she thrived on being busy like that.
Don't get her wrong, she wasn't running straight toward burnout, and she wasn't any more stressed than a usual semester, but it was different now.
It was different because she didn't dread the conversations she'd have to have when she went home. She didn't worry about whether or not her boyfriend would want subpar sex. Instead, she found herself wanting to share dinners with Rhys, Cass, Az, and Mor. She missed the easy evenings they had often shared, each doing their own studying in the living room and occasionally bickering with each other for 'writing too loudly' or tapping on computer keys too hard. And she wished she had more time to spend in bed with Rhys. Not sleeping.
Sex with him was unlike anything she'd had before. Certainly not the childish fumbling she had when she lost her virginity to her friend Isaac (just to get it over with). And definitely not the chore that was sex with Tamlin, where she just laid there as he took his pleasure.
No, Rhys was… thorough. Attentive. Mind-blowing, even. He would always prioritize her pleasure, bringing her over the edge repeatedly with his mouth or fingers or cock, and do so until she was a mess, writhing and sobbing and so thoroughly wrung out that she quite literally couldn't take another. When they had time, anyway.
Recently, they'd been relegated to quick fucks before bed or before getting out of bed in the mornings, where he'd prepare her for him with his mouth and slide into her, working both of them expertly to orgasm. Just one.
'Just one' was certainly far better than anything else, but she missed when they had time to play.
Oh well. They'd have all summer to explore each other's bodies.
Right now, she was waist-deep in a pile of weekly quizzes she had to grade, and they were… a mess, honestly.
Something about meiosis was just stumping them. She didn't blame them — they'd done a basic overview of mitosis and the regular cell cycle before getting into the complexities of gamete production, but… wow.
She glanced down at the packet she was working on and laughed. In answer to the question Why are gametes haploid?, the student had written 'because… it HAPpens? idk!'
Not exactly correct, but at least it was creative. Feyre sighed and marked a little note in her blue pen. 'Gametes are haploid because two need to join to create a fertilized embryo with the correct (diploid) number of chromosomes.'
Grading the weekly quizzes was mildly entertaining at first, but after five or so packets, she was just bored and praying for her pile to start dwindling so she could do literally anything else. There were only so many times she could correct one single question on every quiz before it became frustrating. Thankfully, she was almost at the bottom of that week's pile, and it was Friday.
Friday meant she and Rhys might actually get to spend some quality time together that didn't involve their own classwork or TA responsibilities.
That thought spurred her on, giving her the energy to make her way through the last half dozen quizzes she had to grade. And then she was done, done for the day, and she could go find Rhys and curl up with him on the couch.
Once she was curled into his side on the couch, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder, hand skimming her collarbones, Feyre felt like her entire soul exhaled in comfort. Tension and stress were things of the past.
"I'm so glad we only have like three weeks left before finals," she sighed. "I need summer break now more than ever."
He smiled down at her, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "Indeed. I've been missing you lately."
"We see each other every day."
"That doesn't mean I get to spend good quality time with you every day. We're in class or at work or sleeping in the same bed, not really spending time with you."
Feyre pressed her body more fully into his in agreement. "I know. I've missed you too."
"See?"
"Shut up," she complained. "Don't brag about being right, just take advantage of this time we have without any other responsibilities."
His violet eyes lit up, multitudes of stars sparking to life within. Before she could even register his intentions, Rhys had her scooped up in her arms and was heading to the stairs.
"What are you doing?"
The question wasn't a very effective deterrent when she was giggling and clinging to him like a barnacle, but she'd be damned if she'd make things easy for him. There was a 95% chance that he was whisking her upstairs to take her so thoroughly apart with his mouth that she wouldn't be able to speak for a while after he was done, but Rhys didn't need to know she knew that.
"Taking advantage of the time we have, naturally," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear before nipping teasingly at the lobe. "I want you all to myself for a while this evening."
She shivered in his arms as his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck, a flush already blooming on her cheeks, warmth already pooling in her core. "You have me, Rhys."
"Oh, I intend to."
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thetypedwriter · 1 year ago
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Divine Rivals Book Review
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Divine Rivals Book Review by Rebecca Ross 
I have a feeling this book review might be short and sweet (quite unusual for me). 
Divine Rivals is one one of those books that I avoided reading because it had so much hype. It’s been topping the New York Times Bestseller’s List for weeks and I just…couldn’t believe that it was worth all the attention it was getting. 
I was wrong, but in my defense, the last book I read with tons of praise and accolades was Fourth Wing and that book was certainly not worth the recognition in any way, shape, or form. 
Divine Rivals, however, to my utmost surprise, was a super enjoyable read, probably one of the best that I’ve read in awhile.
My school librarian (I work at a high school) finally convinced me to read it as she flew all the way up to Washington to attend Rebecca Ross’ book signing and couldn’t stop singing its praises. 
As a fellow YA reader inspired by her dedication, I finally bought Divine Rivals with lingering reluctance. Very quickly though, that reluctance turned into relief and then that relief transitioned into a rave review. That brings us to the present. 
Divine Rivals is a true enemies-to-lovers. I feel like YA has been so over saturated with enemies-to-lovers lately, but they’ve all been subpar and disappointing.
The so-called “enemies” stage lasts all of five minutes before they immediately become lovers. Divine Rivals actually was a true enemies-to-lovers, and a good one at that. 
Additionally, the main characters, Iris and Roman, don’t suddenly change their feelings for one another overnight. It’s a slow realization of coming to terms that the vitriol they felt for each other was always a razor’s edge away from love.
They’ve always had passion, always driven each other, and that is what makes the best enemies-to-lovers: the deliberate and almost imperceptible change of hating one another to loving one another and then realizing it’s not all that different in the end. 
Speaking of Iris and Roman, I like them as characters. Were they the best, most amazing characters of all time? No. But they were genuinely good. 
Iris is passionate, caring, and brave. Roman is dedicated, persistent, and loving. My only gripe is that I do think Iris and Roman are a little too perfect.
The worst thing Roman did was fall asleep while his little sister was sleeping, only to have her drown. While this is terrible, it was also an accident. It wasn’t actually anything intentional on Roman’s part. 
I do think Iris has more moments of selfishness perhaps, especially when thinking about Forest and how she’s been left alone, but even then it’s very understandable and not even that bad to begin with. 
They’re both almost unflinchingly brave, kind, and altruistic, which is quite bothersome, but in this case it’s not a huge gripe that I have. 
Other than the actually good enemies-to-lovers story device, my other favorite part of the novel was the plot, which astonished me, especially considering that this is a war novel. 
I don’t like war. It’s violent, brutal, and heart-wrenching. Thinking about it, I don’t believe I’ve actually read a YA novel centered around war before.
For that reason, I appreciated its uniqueness, especially in the sense that Roman and Iris were war correspondents and not soldiers.
I thought that was an interesting detail to include, one for the better as then we got to see the cruelty and ferocity of war, but it didn’t take up the entire book and we got to explore other avenues as well—like the support side of war, their life before the war, etc. 
Iris looking for her missing-in-action older brother was a great plot point as well, one that really drove her character and fueled a lot of her actions. Roman’s motivations were a bit weaker, as the unwanted arranged marriage as a device is a bit overused in my opinion.
He essentially just followed Iris because he liked her, but it would have been good if he had other reasons to motivate him other than his feelings for Iris. 
The other characters in the novel are fine and play their roles well. However, I will make the blanket statement that they don’t really matter in any significant way.
Marisol, Attie, any of the soldiers—they’re stock characters without too much development. 
But that’s okay. While I would have liked a little more development of Attie’s and Iris’ friendship, the focus really is on Roman and Iris and I accept that. 
One facet of the novel I really liked was the small, almost easy-to-forget casual moments of magic. Fantasy elements are present throughout the whole novel, but they’re small, curious tidbits instead of huge game-changing elements—until the very end at least. 
For example, the whole war is between two gods. You get this backstory as a reader that there used to be hundreds of gods, but that humans banded together to kill them.
Eventually, only the most powerful gods remained until they were murdered as well, put to rest, and buried in graves…until now. Two gods, Enva and Dacre, have risen and are ranging war, gods with a twisted past and even more twisted feelings. 
The backdrop of the war is unique and interesting, but never too heavy. You get some exposition here and there, the occasional myth that crops up, but that’s it.
I cannot state how much I appreciate Ross’ world-building here. It’s light, but intriguing. It molds the story, but doesn’t require massive amounts of chapters of mundane explanation. 
It’s perfectly well-executed. 
Even the magic part is interesting. It’s mentioned here and there that magic exists, but in small, unceremonious doses. An odd door here, an alley there, a magical typewriter—nothing huge, but instead these small details that just add to the world and make it special. 
I have a feeling that we’re going to learn more about the gods, their backstory, and the magic system in the next book and I can’t wait.
One of the only things that downgraded this book for me was the ending. Spoiler alert for moving forward, as I will be discussing the conclusion in intricate detail. 
It is beyond frustrating to me when authors take the whole book to finally get two characters together, two characters that they know their readers are rooting for and can’t wait to see, and then finally deliver it only to shatter it one second later. 
For instance, it takes Roman and Iris nearly the whole book to come to terms with their feelings and be shaped by world events before they finally unite in holy matrimony (literally). It’s beautiful. As a reader you are overjoyed at finally having reached this point. 
Then, through flimsy excuses, Ross separates the two almost immediately with the insinuation that Roman will turn into Dacre’s war puppet and they will once again have to fight to find each other and be together. It’s my guess that this will take the entire next book. 
It is so baffling and aggravating to me when authors do this. We want to see Iris and Roman together. That’s why we’re reading. Let me see their relationship blossom. Just because they got married doesn’t mean the story is over.
Marriage is hard. Let me see them navigate this new stage of their relationship. That would be so interesting and just as complex.
When you separate them literally a few hours after they get married we get to see nothing. 
What is the point?
You’ve undermined all the progress you’ve made throughout the whole book and now we’re back at square one.
Iris literally is back in Oath, her hometown, living in the apartment where she started, working a journalist’s job. 
It is beyond excruciating to feel like the progress, feelings, and events of the first book are all but wiped away just so that Ross can have something to write about again?
I’ve said it before and I'll say it again: couples can get together and still be interesting. It’s not just about getting together, but staying together. 
Urgh. 
Up until the ending, I was so into this book. While the ending didn’t ruin things, it really annoyed me to know that we will now take the whole next book to find Romana and he probably won’t even be his full self. 
I can see it all clearly laid out. If this is not the case, I will be pleasantly surprised, but I don’t count on it.
I didn’t even get into the bit of Iris not recognizing Roman and mistaking him for Forest, but I’ll leave at: it was stupid and not believable, even with circumstances presented. 
In general, other than the ending, Divine Rivals is fantastic. The morsels of magic that leave you wanting more, the successful enemies-to-lovers with a payoff (until it’s immediately ripped away from you), the background of war and raging gods—it’s all sublime in the best way possible. 
Recommendation: If it gives you any indication on how I felt about this book—I already started reading Ruthless Vows and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into it and devour it from beginning to end. 
Score: 8/10 (would have been higher without the idiotic and cliched ending). 
P.S. (Turns out my book review was not short and sweet. Whoops.)
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apphiarothowrites · 2 months ago
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general update
so, anybody subsribed to my AO3 will notice I posted 2 fics today that are just cleaned up versions of stuff on this blog, and will notice I haven't updated HBTB at all in over a year
I'm aware I don't need to/am not obligated to explain, I want to put it out there. I've had two major reasons for holding off on HBTB
the first: I'm reaching a transitional phase in my writing where things just aren't coming out in satisfying ways. My writing is frustrating me, I'm approaching limits I know I need help to overcome and it's creating a block I am struggling with
the second: since October of last year (2024) I have taken on extra work that has consumed my non-dayjob hours. It's led me to quit my dayjob and transition to a whole new fucking area that I have very little formal experience or education in but I have good practical hands-on work experience in. This job is work-from-home and remote, there's no physical office for me to report to just home addresses, and it's for a small business with big ambitions about the niche it's in. This new job is kind of intense and requires a lot of daily focus and interacting with people via email and requires international travel.
that's right-ya bitch is international now. I just returned yesterday, as of writing this post, from my first work trip to a tropical country wherein I suffered from sun rash and sunburns as well as chronic exposure to beautiful beach scenery and drunk people. It's a good gig, great even, and I'm very excited about it. But it does cut into time I would have otherwise dedicated to writing.
Hurts Being This Beautiful is not abandoned, just paused. There will be an update over the summer, regardless of if I'm wholly satisfied with it or not (that's part of overcoming that block I mentioned before-I'm a hard perfectionist on my personal projects and I hate putting out what I consider to be subpar or even at-standard work if the rest of the surrounding stuff is stellar).
Anyway, that's the update. Thanks for sticking around and supporting me <3
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archoneddzs15 · 4 months ago
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Sega Mega Drive - Turbo Out Run
Title: Turbo Out Run / ターボアウトラン
Developer: Tiertex Design Studios
Publisher: Sega
Release date: 27 March 1992
Catalogue No.: G-4053
Genre: Driving
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To say that AM2 and Sega caught lightning in a bottle with the original arcade Out Run is not an exaggeration. The game is definitely one of the company’s classic titles, and those who have played the deluxe cabinet know why arcades used to rule. This was a game that took all your quarters, lunch money, rent money – everything. It was that good.
Anyone who even remotely likes Sega has to be an Out Run fan. Seriously, you simply cannot profess to say you’re a Sega fan unless you enjoy dashing around in a convertible Ferrari with a hot girl by your side. Out Run embodies that classic sense of freedom of the road, the feeling that anything is possible when you’re behind the wheel of an incredibly powerful machine, the open highway ahead of you and absolutely no speed limits for as far as the eye can see.
When the sequel, Turbo Out Run, was released in 1989, some people felt that it lacked the charm and polish of the original. The turbo button mixed up the gameplay, and the ability to upgrade the Ferrari was seen as an interruption to the sense of speed and flow the series had become known for. Naturally, both of these elements were integral to the Mega Drive port (the game was never released in the U.S.), but things seem to have been filtered down even further during the transition to Sega’s 16-bit console. What makes it worse is that it seems like Sega had farmed out development in the hands of Tiertex, a British developer with less-than-stellar output.
In the grand scheme of things, most people will regard Turbo Out Run was a brain fart, a game that got a port because it had to. I look at it (along with the subpar [to some] Out Runners) and see lost potential. The Out Run series was always great in the arcades, and each subsequent port on the Mega Drive (not counting SIMS's Out Run 2019) was worse than the one before it. There is an FM Towns port by CRI which makes use of the CD technology especially with regard to the awesome music, and honestly? I prefer the FM Towns version despite its own share of limitations. Even the C64 version is better and it's not just because of the funky Jeroen Tel music.
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darkened-storm · 1 year ago
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Mayblade Day 4: Gender Swap
(I took liberty with my interpretation on this one. Since Kenny is the bladebreakers engineer, I wrote about a female engineer character instead…)
(The lovely Kiya belongs to @soclonely )
Whether it was the haphazardly organised appearance of her office or the way in which she glided through the room with single minded focus while chatting at a million words a minute, Steph could tell immediately that she liked Kiya.
“Once upon a time people made beyblades out of wood and plastic, but these days, with the development of three-d printing, you can make a beyblade out of almost anything if you put your mind to it.”
She tossed one of the beyblades in Steph’s direction, confident her reflexes would allow her to catch it - and they did, just … Turning the beyblade over in her hand, she inspected it closely.
“I’ve never seen a material like this.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Kiya told her. “I created it myself. That’s what Mr Dickenson hired me to do - design beyblades that can better withstand the demands of your bitbeast’s power. Do you have an idea of what kind of beyblade you want to make.”
Steph rifled through her bag. “I have some sketches…”
“Let me see,” Kiya said, snatching the sketchbook gently from Steph’s hands and beginning to rifle through it.
“You’ve switched out your weight disk?” Kiya mused, her words more of a statement than a question. “And in addition to a heavier weight disk you’ve gone for a winged attack ring - that’s good; the heavier weight disk will give the projections on the edge of your attack ring a higher impact.”
“That’s kinda what we’re going for,” Steph replied. She was amazed that Kiya had gotten all that information from a handful of, let’s face it, subpar sketches.
Kiya pondered this information, then snapped the notebook shit and walked over to the wall where she’d hung a periodic table of the elements.
“What element does your bitbeast wield?”
“Seraphina is a fire dragon.”
Kiya ran her finger over the elements on the table, hovering over the transitional elements until she settled on one in the middle of the table.
“Tungsten has the the highest melting point of any metal and low thermal expansion due to its strong metallic bonds,” she explained. “It should easily be able to withstand the heat of Seraphina’s attacks. But - tungsten is brittle, and quite frankly, difficult to work with.”
“Alloying small quantities of steel with it would counteract that,” Matt supplied. “And it won’t compromise its overall durability.”
Kiya frowned, looking annoyed at the interruption. “Ten points to captain obvious,” she muttered, reaching for the sketch book once again and a pen. She scribbled something into the margins of the page and handed it back to Steph.
“If you leave the designs with me, I can have the parts to you by the weekend.”
“That soon?” Steph exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise. “That’s only three days!” She was used to Kenny working fast, but even he couldn’t put an entire beyblade together in three days.
Kiya just shrugged. “Girl, find me some caffeine and I’ll have it done in two.”
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desertgourd · 2 years ago
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Rasa: Thoughts on parenthood and leadership
Brief and not terribly organized, prompted by a question asked over Discord:
[Rasa] seems to have good intentions, but is obviously an awful father. I don't think he has any idea what the hell he's doing...The harsh treatment from his father/the village [and Shukaku's weak seal] only makes Gaara's mental state worse. But, it wouldn't be nearly as bad if he had love/support from people. Rasa just doesn't seem to grasp this. Later on, when he's reanimated, he seems remorseful. Do you think it'd be possible to bring out that remorse earlier?
Rasa is a man who, under immense political and social pressure, did with Gaara what he probably thought was his best.
Obviously it was not his best and in general not successful by any stretch of the imagination.
It's about more than fatherhood. Suna is crumbling. In poverty, in constant skirmishes with Iwa, low in natural resources. They need the jinchuuriki to secure them some guarantee of power in the future. Rasa at the time likely didn't understand the true cost he was asking of his wife or his children, and even if he did, he was clearly willing to sacrifice them for the greater good of his village. Even thinking about Karura: Three kids in four years? Would not be surprised if he 'encouraged' her to continue having children until one of them was finally a compatible host for Shukaku.
And yes, his parenting skills. Subpar at best. The people of Sand are not gentle. Their parenting styles tend towards authoritarian; there is a strong culture of obeying your elders; sacrificing your own life for the good of the mission is not just culture but nearly law. It is with this background that we can understand Rasa's attitude not just towards Gaara but his other children as well. Seen and not heard. Do what you're told. Pawns for adults. Of course, with Gaara being a jinchuuriki, born and bred literally to serve as a tool for the greater good of Suna, it is not surprising that he in particular is treated as nearly subhuman - as merely a host, as the weapon he is, rather than a child much less a full human being.
Is he remorseful? Yes, I can see that. The immense pressure he was under to pull up a struggling village through any means necessary, the unprocessed grief over the death of his wife, the likely neglect of his elder children, watching his youngest fail expectations over and over. Rasa didn't attempt to assassinate Gaara because he hated him. He made that choice because he thought it was best for Suna. Imagine how much pain that must have caused him. How much shame.
It'd be possible to bring out that remorse earlier, yes. He's not an evil man, he is simply shrewd, logical, and very set in his ways. If Rasa hadn't been assassinated, if he had been alive to see Gaara grow and change after meeting Naruto - this is something Rasa had never even imagined possible, and he could have begun to support Gaara in this transition had he been around to witness it.
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trekwiz · 6 months ago
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I'm really not ready to return to work on Thursday.
It's been a rocky few weeks. We found out we were going to transition to a new staffing company. They offered an ok pay raise to a few of us, but subpar benefits. Everyone else was offered severe pay cuts.
The client responded by renewing with our existing staffing companies. Everyone was already on edge about being underpaid, and most of the team had bad benefits; enough to consider leaving before all of this. The people who were offered better pay with the other company are obviously upset now that we're back to status quo.
I also have no idea if I'm going to stay a subcontractor or be absorbed into the other contract company--it would mean better pay, worse benefits, and much less time off.
I'm also trying to figure out if immigrating to Canada is possible. To have enough points, I need my company to transfer me to a Canadian entity. My current company should be able to. The other staffing company is a wildcard. But the renewal expires at the end of 2025 so I don't even know how I can start making plans since that could prevent immigration mid-process.
Everything is just extremely uncertain right now and I don't see an especially decent path forward. Returning to work is just making it more real again.
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chaifootsteps · 2 years ago
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The main reason I want to keep watching HB (also intrigued by HH still even though I'm pissed about the recasting) is because I generally like the concept and thought that while the pilot had too much going on and needed a slower pace that it was still hype worthy. Especially when they shot the kid. That, and for a long time I've viewed a lot of the things said about vivzie as extremely polarized on both sides. The more recent iffy trans/enbyphobia is what's making me struggle with actually catching up though. The past stuff seemed like genuine mistakes to me, especially since I'm trans and was a fan of blaire white as well while I was closeted and scared to come out and transition. I kind of viewed liking BW as somewhat understandable because of that, something that as long as someone doesnt dig their heels into the ground to defend her then it's no harm no foul. Now I just dont know how to feel especially since even though it is subpar for the most part I still cherish it. Hell, when I was a kid jimmy two-shoes (TA was my age) was my favourite show and when I found out the original concept was jimmy was living in hell and bffs with satan's son I was pissed, and I'm also a romantic satanist so stories that challenge the actual purity and justice of heaven and hell or just features hell will always feel like a fixation to me. Sorry if this is rambly and too much. Just kind of dont know how to feel because of how everything is going.
Nah, all of that's completely fair and completely valid. The way I see it, as long as you're not out there claiming Vivzie didn't say those things or that she's right to or that her victims are a bunch of jealous liars, there's nothing wrong with enjoying her work.
True story, my little cousin loves Ren and Stimpy but also knows John K. was a total creep who preyed on little girls. I always tell him that it's okay, that sometimes crappy people make fun or even beautiful things, and that life's too short not to love what you love. And that's what I'm telling you.
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bizupsol · 1 year ago
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Is it Mandatory to Hire ERP Consultant?
Answer is YES
The Crucial Role of ERP Consultants Why You Need Them Before Jumping into ERP
Embarking on an Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) implementation is a significant step for any organization. It promises streamlined processes, enhanced efficiency, and improved decision-making. However, the journey towards successful ERP adoption is laden with complexities and challenges that can derail even the most well-intentioned initiatives. This is where ERP consultants come into play, serving as invaluable guides and partners in the ERP journey. Here's why you need them before taking the plunge into ERP:
Expertise in ERP Systems ERP consultants are seasoned professionals with extensive knowledge and experience in various ERP systems. They understand the nuances of different platforms, functionalities, and their suitability for diverse business needs. Their expertise helps in selecting the right ERP solution tailored to your organization's requirements, ensuring maximum returns on investment.
Business Process Analysis One of the critical aspects of ERP implementation is aligning the system with existing business processes. ERP consultants conduct comprehensive analyses of your current workflows, identifying inefficiencies, bottlenecks, and areas for improvement. They then map these processes to the functionalities offered by the ERP system, ensuring a seamless integration that optimizes operations.
Customization and Configuration No two organizations are exactly alike, and a one-size-fits-all approach rarely yields optimal results in ERP implementation. ERP consultants assist in customizing and configuring the system to suit your specific business needs. Whether it's tailoring modules, designing workflows, or defining user roles, their expertise ensures that the ERP solution aligns perfectly with your organizational structure and objectives.
Change Management and Training ERP implementation often entails significant changes in workflows, roles, and responsibilities within an organization. Resistance to change can impede the adoption and success of the new system. ERP consultants facilitate change management strategies, helping employees understand the benefits of ERP, addressing concerns, and fostering a culture of acceptance and adaptation. Additionally, they provide comprehensive training programs to equip users with the skills and knowledge needed to leverage the full potential of the ERP system.
Project Management and Risk Mitigation: RP implementation is a complex undertaking involving multiple stakeholders, timelines, and resources. Without proper project management, it's easy for projects to spiral out of control, leading to delays, cost overruns, and subpar outcomes. ERP consultants oversee the implementation process from inception to completion, ensuring adherence to timelines, budgets, and quality standards. They also proactively identify and mitigate risks, minimizing potential disruptions and ensuring a smooth transition to the new system.
Post-Implementation Support The journey doesn't end with ERP go-live. Post-implementation support is crucial for addressing issues, fine-tuning the system, and maximizing its long-term value. ERP consultants provide ongoing support and maintenance services, helping organizations resolve technical glitches, optimize processes, and adapt to evolving business requirements.
In conclusion, ERP implementation is a strategic initiative that demands careful planning, execution, and support. By engaging ERP consultants early in the process, organizations can leverage their expertise to navigate the complexities of ERP adoption successfully. From system selection to post-implementation support, ERP consultants play a pivotal role in ensuring that your ERP journey is smooth, efficient, and ultimately, transformational for your business.
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By: Leor Sapir
Published: Nov 13, 2023
Few figures in the medical world generate more controversy than psychiatrist Jack Turban. An assistant professor of child and adolescent psychiatry at the University of California, San Francisco, Turban is one of the leading figures promoting “gender-affirming care” in the United States. He is also regularly criticized for producing deeply flawed research and denying the significant rollback of youth gender transition in Europe.
The American Civil Liberties Union recently retained Turban as an expert witness—paying him $400 per hour—in its legal challenge to Idaho’s Vulnerable Child Protection Act, which restricts access to “gender-affirming” drugs and surgeries to adults only. On October 16, Turban submitted to a seven-hour deposition at the hands of John Ramer, an attorney with the law firm Cooper & Kirk, who is assisting Idaho in the litigation. In the course of the deposition, Turban revealed that, aside from churning out subpar research and misleading the public about scientific findings, he also appears not to grasp basic principles of evidence-based medicine.
Evidence-based medicine (EBM) refers to “the conscientious, explicit, and judicious use of current best evidence in making decisions about the care of individual patients. . . . The practice of evidence-based medicine means integrating individual clinical expertise with the best available external clinical evidence from systematic research.” Because the expert opinion of doctors, even when guided by clinical experience, is vulnerable to bias, EBM “de-emphasizes intuition, unsystematic clinical experience, and pathophysiologic rationale as sufficient grounds for clinical decision making and stresses the examination of evidence from clinical research.” EBM thus represents an effort to make the practice of medicine more scientific, with the expectation that this will lead to better patient outcomes.
Systematic reviews and meta-analyses sit at the top of the hierarchy of evidence in EBM. A key difference between the U.S. and European approaches to pediatric gender medicine is that European countries have changed their clinical guidelines in response to findings from systematic reviews. In the U.S., medical groups have either claimed that a systematic review “is not possible” (the World Professional Association for Transgender Health), relied on systematic reviews but only for narrowly defined health risks and not for benefits (the Endocrine Society), or used less scientifically rigorous “narrative reviews” (the American Academy of Pediatrics). One of the world’s leading experts on EBM has called U.S. medical groups’ treatment recommendations “untrustworthy.”
In the deposition, Ramer asked Turban to explain what systematic reviews are. “[A]ll a systematic review means,” Turban responded, “is that the authors of the reports pre-defined the search terms they used when conducting literature reviews in various databases.” The “primary advantage” of a systematic review, he emphasized, is to function as a sort of reading list for experts in a clinician field. “Generally, if you are in a specific field where you know most of the research papers, the thing that’s most interesting about systematic review is if it identifies a paper that you didn’t already know about.” Ramer showed Turban the EBM pyramid of evidence, which appears in the Cass Review (page 62) of the U.K.’s Gender Identity Development Service. He asked Turban why systematic reviews sit at the top of the pyramid. Turban responded: “Because you’re looking at all of the studies instead of looking at just one.”
Turban’s characterization represents a fundamental misunderstanding of what EBM is and why systematic reviews are the bedrock of trustworthy medical guidelines.
First, even if the only thing that makes a review systematic is that it “pre-defines the search terms,” Turban failed to explain the relevance of this. A major reason systematic reviews rank higher than narrative reviews in EBM’s information hierarchy is that systematic reviews follow a transparent, reproducible methodology. Anyone who applies the same methodology and search criteria to the same body of research should arrive at the same set of conclusions. Narrative reviews don’t use transparent, reproducible methodologies. Their conclusions are consequently more likely to be shaped by the personal biases of their authors, who may, for instance, cherry-pick studies.
To achieve transparency and reproducibility, systematic reviews define in advance the populations, interventions, comparisons, and outcomes of interest (PICO). They search for and filter the available literature with Preferred Reporting Items for Systematic Reviews and Meta-Analyses. Authors register their methodology and search criteria in advance in databases such as PROSPERO. These steps are meant to minimize the risk that authors will change their methodology midway through the process in response to inconvenient findings.
Turban acknowledged that pre-defining the search terms “makes it a little bit easier for another researcher to repeat their search.” However, he did not seem to grasp that the additional steps introduced by systematic reviews are designed to reduce bias and improve accuracy. Turban, one should note, endorses the American Academy of Pediatrics’ 2018 narrative review—a document that, with its severe flaws, perfectly illustrates why EBM prefers systematic to narrative reviews.
Second, Turban is incorrect that the “primary advantage” of the systematic review is to generate a comprehensive reading list for (in this case) gender clinicians. Systematic reviews also assess the quality of evidence from existing studies. In other words, they avoid taking the reported findings of individual studies at face value. This is especially important in gender medicine because so much of the research in this field comes from authors who are professionally, financially, and intellectually invested in the continuation of gender medicine—in other words, who have conflicts of interest. Financial conflicts of interest are typically reported, but professional and intellectual conflicts rarely so. Conflicted researchers frequently exaggerate positive findings, underreport negative findings, use causal language where the data don’t support it, and refrain altogether from studying harms. In short, assessing the quality of evidence is especially important in a field known for its lack of equipoise and scientific rigor.
In EBM, quality of evidence is a technical term that refers to the degree of certainty in the estimate of the effects of a given intervention. The higher the quality, the more confident we can be that a particular intervention is what causes an observed effect. It was only in response to Ramer’s prodding that Turban addressed “the risk of bias associated with primary studies”—namely, one of the key considerations for assessing quality of evidence.
During the deposition, Ramer read Turban excerpts from Users’ Guides to the Medical Literature, a highly regarded textbook of EBM published by the American Medical Association. Ramer asked Turban to explain what the Users’ Guides means when it says that narrative reviews, unlike systematic reviews, “do not include systematic assessments of the risk of bias associated with primary studies and do not provide quantitative best estimates or rate the confidence in these estimates.” Turban responded that systematic reviews do sometimes assess the quality of evidence, but that this is not a necessary condition for a review to be called systematic.
I asked Gordon Guyatt, professor of health research methods, evidence, and impact at McMaster University, what he thought of Turban’s answer. Guyatt is widely regarded as a founder of the field of EBM and is the primary author of Users’ Guides. “The primary advantage of a systematic review,” Guyatt assured me, “is not only not missing studies, but also assessing quality of the evidence. Anybody who doesn’t recognize that a crucial part of a systematic review is judging the quality or certainty of the evidence does not understand what it’s all about.”
Ramer asked Turban to explain the GRADE method (Grading of Recommendations Assessment, Development and Evaluations), a standardized EBM framework for evaluating quality. “GRADE generally involves looking at the research literature,” Turban explained. “And then there’s some subjectivity to it, but they provide you with general guidelines about how you would—like, great level of confidence in the research itself. Then there’s a—and then each of those get GRADE scores. I think it’s something like low, very low, high, very high. I could be wrong about the exact names of the categories.” Turban is indeed wrong: the categories are high, moderate, low, and very low. It’s surprising that someone involved in the debate over gender-medicine research for several years, and who understands that questions of GRADE and of quality are central, doesn’t know this by heart.
Ramer asked Turban what method, if any, he uses to assess quality in gender-medicine research. Turban explained that he reads the studies individually and does his own assessment of bias. GRADE is “subjective,” and this subjectivity, Turban said, is one reason that the U.K. systematic reviews rated studies that he commonly cites as “very low” quality. Turban’s thinking seems to be that, because GRADE is “subjective,” it is no better than a gender clinician sitting down with individual studies and deciding whether they are reliable.
I asked Guyatt to comment on Turban’s understanding of systematic reviews and GRADE. “Assessment of quality of evidence,” he told me, “is fundamental to a systematic review. In fact, we have more than once published that it is fundamental to EBM, and is clearly crucial to deciding the treatment recommendation, which is going to differ based on quality of evidence.” Guyatt said that “GRADE’s assessment of quality of the evidence is crucial to anybody’s assessment of quality of evidence. It provides a structured framework. To say that the subjective assessment of a clinician using no formal system is equivalent to the assessment of an expert clinical epidemiologist using a standardized system endorsed by over 110 organizations worldwide shows no respect for, or understanding of, science.”
At one point, Ramer pressed Turban to explain his views on psychotherapy as an alternative to drugs and surgeries. Systematic reviews have rated the studies Turban relies on for his support of puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones “very low” quality in part because these studies are confounded by psychotherapy. Because the kids who were given drugs and improved were also given psychotherapy and the studies lack a proper control group, it is not possible to know which of these interventions caused the improvement.
Turban seemed not to grasp the significance of this fact. If hormonal treatments can be said to cause improvement despite confounding psychotherapy, why can’t psychotherapy be said to cause improvement despite confounding drugs?
The exchange about confounding factors came up in the context of Ramer asking Turban about an article he wrote for Psychology Today. The article, aimed at a popular audience, purports to give an overview of the research that confirms the necessity of “gender-affirming care.” Last year, I published a detailed fact-check of the article, showing how Turban ignores confounding factors, among other problems. Four days later, Psychology Today made a series of corrections to Turban’s article. Some of these corrections were acknowledged in a note; others were done without any acknowledgement. In the deposition, Ramer asked Turban about my critique, to which Turban replied that he “left Psychology Today to do whatever edits they needed to do,” and that, when he later read the edits, he found them “generally reasonable.”
In sum, though Turban says that “there are no evidence-based psychotherapy protocols that effectively treat gender dysphoria itself,” the same studies he cites furnish just as much evidence for psychotherapy as they do for puberty blockers or cross-sex hormones—which is to say “very low” quality evidence.
Other remarkable moments occur in the Turban deposition. For instance, when asked whether he had read the Florida umbrella review (a systematic review of systematic reviews) conducted by EBM experts at McMaster University and published over a year ago, Turban said that he hadn’t because he “didn’t have time.” When I mentioned this confession to Guyatt, he seemed taken aback. How could a clinician who claims expertise in a contested area of medicine not be curious about a systematic review of systematic reviews? “If all systematic reviews come to the same conclusion,” Guyatt told me, “it clearly increases our confidence in that conclusion.” (My conversation with Guyatt dealt exclusively with Turban’s claims and how they stack up against EBM. I did not ask Guyatt about, and he did not opine on, the wisdom of state laws restricting access to “gender-affirming care.”)
I believe that Turban is being honest when he says he didn’t read the Florida umbrella review. He doesn’t seem interested in literature that might call his beliefs into question. He has staked his personal and professional reputation on a risky and invasive protocol before the appearance of any credible evidence of its superiority to less risky alternatives. Turban regularly maligns as bigoted and unscientific anyone who disagrees with him. Some gender clinicians in Europe now admit that the evidence is weak, the risks serious, and the protocol still experimental. Turban, however, would seemingly rather go down with the sinking ship than admit that he was too hasty in promoting “gender-affirming care.”
Put another way, Turban has intellectual, professional, and financial conflicts of interest that prejudice his judgment on how best to treat youth experiencing issues with their bodies or sex. European health authorities are aware of this problem; that’s why they chose to commission their evidence reviews from clinicians and researchers not directly involved in gender medicine. For instance, England’s National Health Service appointed physician Hilary Cass to chair the Policy Working Group that would lead the investigation of its Gender Identity Development Service and its systematic reviews. The NHS explained that there was “evident polarization among clinical professionals,” and Cass was “asked to chair the group as a senior clinician with no prior involvement or fixed views in this area.”
Unfortunately, in the U.S., personal investment in gender medicine is often seen as a benefit rather than a liability. James Cantor, a psychologist who testifies in lawsuits over state age restrictions, emphasizes the difference between the expertise of clinicians and that of scientists. The clinician’s expertise “regards applying general principles to the care of an individual patient and the unique features of that case.” The scientist’s expertise “is the reverse, accumulating information about many individual cases and identifying the generalizable principles that may be applied to all cases.” Cantor writes:
In legal matters, the most familiar situation pertains to whether a given clinician correctly employed relevant clinical standards. Often, it is other clinicians who practice in that field who will be best equipped to speak to that question. When it is the clinical standards that are themselves in question, however, it is the experts in the assessment of scientific studies who are the relevant experts.
The point is not that clinicians are never able to exercise scientific judgment. It’s that conflicts of interest for involved clinicians need to be acknowledged and taken seriously when “the clinical standards . . . are themselves in question.” Unfortunately, the American propensity for setting policy through the courts makes that task difficult. Judges intuitively believe that gender clinicians are the experts in gender medicine research. The result is a No True Scotsman argument wherein the more personally invested a clinician is (and the more conflict of interest he has as a result), the more credible he appears.
Last year, a federal judge in Alabama dismissed Cantor’s expert analysis of the research, citing, among other things, the fact that Cantor “had never treated a child or adolescent for gender dysphoria” and “had no personal experience monitoring patients receiving transitioning medications.” Turban’s deposition illustrates why this thinking is misguided. It is precisely gender clinicians who often seem to be least familiar, or at any rate least concerned, with subjecting their “expert” views to rigorous scientific scrutiny. It is precisely these clinicians who are most likely to be swimming in confirmation bias, least interested in the scientific method, and, conveniently, least concerned with evidence-based medicine.
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Jack Turban is frequently a star "expert" in so-called "gender affirming care" enquiries. Aside from being a pathological liar, we can now also conclude he's dangerously unqualified.
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