"Shut up, Linkin," I groaned into the pillow. "It's the middle of the night in Mexico. Jesus."

"Fill in for me today!" she yelled through the door. When I didn't say anything, she tried again. "Ira!"

"Okay, okay." What the hell was she doing? Was she serious? I'd just turned up last night, and I had no idea how things worked here. Nevertheless, I put on a gray dress that looked close to professional and ran into the bathroom to tame my bed hair, borrowing Linkin's makeup, which I discovered was a few shades lighter than my skin. I washed the offending patch off my face and just filled in my eyebrows. With my messy blonde bob and pink lipstick that I dabbed on with a finger, I barely looked like myself.

I ran down the stairs with my shoes making too much noise. The reception desk was on the other side of the staircase, with a laptop placed at an annoying angle to the desk corners. A vase of flowers stood next to it, and I was surprised to find that they were real upon touching one of the petals.

When I opened up the laptop, it mockingly required a password. I rolled my eyes. Leaning down on my elbows, I found two locked drawers and one sticky note written in Linkin's pristine handwriting. "Don't wait up? Tell that to my jet lag, Linkin."

I guessed I was staying.

"Morning," Stuart said, startling me. He was just coming off the last step. His hair was damp, and he was wearing a crisp white shirt and black jeans that made him look professional but approachable. He looked great, much better than yesterday, and he smiled watching me straighten up, before looking at his shoes shyly for a second. "Who are you?"

"Not Linkin." I tore the sticky note off my desk and handed it to him, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Apparently, I'm taking over as secretary indefinitely, but I can't even log into the laptop. You have a handover policy?"

"She takes mental health days off every now and then, but..." Stuart gave me a look that didn't carry much confidence in his words.

"She goes off on her own? Will she be okay?"

"I've tried telling her, but she's Linkin," he said, rubbing the sleep out of his cheek. Before I could protest, he added, "Admin shouldn't be too hard, Ira. I think today is a short day, too, off memory. Just be nice to the clients and you'll be fine."

"Are you implying that I'm not nice?" I raised an eyebrow. He'd implied a lot of things about me that were funny but true: professional liar, escape artist, shameless criminal.

"First, use the right side of your face too so you don't look like you'll track down anyone because you do have their details," he said, ignoring my question, a little life coming back to his face. "Second, you'll need a phone keypad for the password. Spell Konstantinov out with the numbers. Yup, we're unoriginal stalkers. Third, don't worry, but I'm going to run off and make a quick breakfast for us. Linkin's runner has got us running late." He smiled at me and walked to the back of the house, where the kitchen was.

"Hey!" I called after him. "I'm helping." My face was flushed and I didn't want to think about how I could unlearn my serial killer face; I'd much rather spend some time with Stuart. Ahead of me, he shrugged and waited for me to catch up.

"Lucky for you, no Linkin means no burnt toast." Stuart checked the toaster and emptied the tray for crumbs at the bottom. "What do you feel like this morning, Ira? No Mexican food for your Mexican time zone, unfortunately, but check the pantry for anything you'd like."

I saw Stuart taking eggs out of the fridge but I opened the pantry out of curiosity. They had honey, cornflakes, a coconut-based cereal, and... "Who's responsible for the Froot Loops? Eggs are great."

"Linkin," he said, turning on the stove and the kettle shortly after. He shook his head with a quiet laugh as he whisked the eggs in a bowl. "I know. She loves the sugar. What can I do? Take a seat. I won't be long."

"I can't let you do everything," I said.

"Ira, I know you like doing everything on your own, but—"

"You're not my token prison therapist anymore, remember?" I pulled the half-loaf of bread out of the pantry. "Plus, gotta have some unburnt toast."

"You're insufferable," he said as I stuck four slices in the jumbo toaster. "And I was never your token prison therapist on Dell Island. I was your friend."

♟♙♟♙

"Good afternoon, Doctor Stewart's psychiatric office, how can I help you?" After calling him Stuart Neil a few times, I decided to just go with what was most familiar. I hummed in agreement as I changed the client's appointment, while smiling apologetically at the woman in front of me, who was ready to pay. When I successfully made the booking and didn't screw up the receipts using the card machine, the last client of the day congratulated me.

"Not bad for a family friend filling in," she said. "Great job, Clare."

"Clare?" Stuart asked after we heard the woman drive away. He'd made yet another tea and was holding the steaming mug to his lips, trying to hide his amusement.

"Yep, my passport says Clare Wiley." I smiled, using two cheeks this time. Between Linkin's history with fraud and my arsenal of aliases, it was amazing that Stuart had so much trust in either one of us. "What happens now?"

Stuart looked caught off-guard. "Linkin likes to make tea with one of her fancy tea sets, and we normally have a long chat."

I stood up from the desk and peered at the windows. It was sunny outside, and the shadows from tree branches danced on the white walls. I had a feeling that if I sat down and chatted, I might fall asleep. "How about a walk?"

Stuart froze at my suggestion and blood drained from his face. When he set his mug down on the reception desk, his hand was trembling. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Are you okay?" I didn't think I did anything wrong, but Stuart's demeanour had completely changed.

"I'm okay," Stuart said with a clenched jaw, obviously hiding something. "You're right. It's a nice day for a walk."

♟♙♟♙

Stuart fell behind a lot, even when I was walking at my most leisurely pace. His hands were deep in his pockets and they were tugging the collar of his jacket down. He'd often miss what I was saying, and looked extremely guilty about it when I glanced at him.

I stopped after crossing a small intersection and lightly patted his shoulder. "Hey, really, are you okay?"

He gulped and thought hard, looking past my ear at nothing in particular. Eventually, he looked down and said in one breath, "I've got bad anxiety these days, Ira. When I leave the house, I get the feeling that someone is following me. I know it's not true, I'm safe here, but..." He sighed.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know." My hand on his shoulder tightened. "We'll go back."

"Let's keep going, Ira." He inhaled loudly and shook his head. "I'm a psychiatrist, and I haven't tried to get better. Go figure."

I sighed before taking a step forward. "When did it start? I know you had some trouble in Mexico." It was never this bad.

"I did," Stuart muttered, starting to drag his feet again. "It got worse after we moved here. I had to keep myself busy, otherwise I'd start having terrible flashbacks – to the failed test subjects, to Celestia, to Jaysen, to you. On the worse days, I'd start thinking they're watching me. All the people I'd failed, judging me."

"You didn't—"

"It was just one thing after another," Stuart continued. His breathing was getting shallow but I didn't know if I should stop him or let him clear his mind. "After you left, Linkin was almost dragged away by a gang in Mexico. Her tattoo sting saved her."

I stopped him this time and squeezed him in a hug. I didn't know what to do as he just stood there, frozen. Pulling back and locking eyes with him, I said, "Stuart, we wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

"Ira..." He looked ready to object, but the alarm slowly seeped from his green eyes. After what felt like a long time, he eased into a little smile and looked towards the sky. "You know, I haven't ever seen it get this sunny over here?"

"Poor Linkin's going to be jealous."