Rosie and Dahlia's bed hangings are drawn tight, but I can hear the occasional murmur of their voices, the rustle of expensive fabric. They're awake. They're always awake when I am, like they're waiting for me to slip up.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. The wrong number. A stranger on the other end who has no idea who I am—who I really am, what my mornings look like, how heavy my hands feel from scrubbing cauldrons before breakfast.

And yet.

I type.

@Starless: the last section—with the werewolf transformations and the lunar cycle theory. i’ve read the chapter three times and it still looks like ancient runes to me.

I press send before I can stop myself. The little bubble appears. They're typing.

@FerretPrince: you’re reading the 5th edition. mcg taught from the revised 6th. different page numbers, different citations. that’s why it doesn’t make sense.

I blink at the screen.

@Starless: how do you know what edition i’m using

@FerretPrince: because i made the same mistake last week. had to hear about it for twenty minutes. trust me, you want the 6th.

A pause. Then another message.

@FerretPrince: i can send you my notes if you want. the correct ones.

My chest does something strange. Tight. Warm. I glance at Rosie's bed. One of her shoes is still kicked off on the floor, right where I'll have to step over it in the morning.