CH1099 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1099: I Like You and Everybody

The message arrived at the construction camp before breakfast, moving through the barracks faster than any official courier could manage. King Roland had granted family visits — one full day, for any laborer with more than three months of service. Their families would travel by rail from Neverwinter to the terminus at the Misty Forest and meet them there.

The workers had just finished night shift. They heard the announcement and stood in the grey morning light and cheered themselves hoarse.

Snaketooth had stared at the list for a very long time.

He had found Paper’s name near the bottom. He had stared at it. The foreman had pressed him twice for an answer and he had not responded to either. He could feel the man’s impatience the way you feel weather — a pressure with direction — but he could not make his hand move. He could not make his eyes leave the two characters that spelled out her name in the camp’s administrative register.

She agreed to come.

That was what it meant. The Administrative Office contacted listed family members to confirm. If she hadn’t agreed, her name wouldn’t be here. She had seen his name — Snaketooth, from Longsong District, construction crew — and she had said yes.

“Are you approving this or not?” the foreman had snapped.

Snaketooth had grabbed the pen and signed so fast the characters came out crooked.


He waited a week for his turn in the transport rotation. The train carried a hundred people per run; Paper had been assigned to the first group, which meant she arrived at the forest terminus ahead of him by six days — waiting, or working, or doing whatever Paper did in the margins of the front lines. Snaketooth spent those six days reciting the speech he’d composed and discarding it and recomposing it and discarding it again.

His bunkmates had opinions about his behavior.

“Is she pretty?”

“Don’t stay out too late!”

He left the barracks at a near-run and did not stop until the train platform.

The conductor’s reminders looped through the passenger car the whole journey — visitors restricted to the guarded zone, departure by eight o’clock, follow First Army instructions in any emergency. Snaketooth already knew the rules. Returned workers had briefed anyone willing to listen. He sat with his hands pressed flat on his thighs and watched the forest rise up around the track and thought about nothing at all.


The platform at the Misty Forest terminus smelled of sap and cold iron. Staff were shouting lineups. Someone made a joke about grocery queues. The crowd laughed the way crowds laugh when they’re wound too tight.

Snaketooth scanned faces.

The speech was gone. Everything he had prepared — the opening, the pivot, the thing he would say if she looked uncomfortable — all of it had evacuated, leaving only a buzzing blankness and the physical fact of his own heartbeat, which had migrated to his throat.

She was shorter than he remembered. Or he had remembered her wrong, or two years had shifted the proportions somehow. She moved through the dispersing crowd with the same quality she’d always had — a forward-facing attentiveness, like someone who intended to find out what was around the next corner.

She saw him. She came directly to him, no hesitation, no performance of considering whether to approach. She took both his hands in hers.

“You’re living at Neverwinter!” she said. “That’s wonderful.”

Her hands were warm. Nothing about her touch was tentative.

Everything he’d spent two years building walls against came apart at the seams. He stood there grinning like an idiot.


They walked away from the encampment, down a narrow track into the forest where the noise thinned out and the light came through the canopy in long, refracting columns. Paper walked with the efficient energy of someone accustomed to covering ground — and talked, because Paper, Snaketooth was remembering, had always talked when she had things to say. Two years of things, apparently.

“So you came after the district was merged?”

“The whole Rat network dissolved. There were job boards in the main square, so Tigerclaw and I applied.” He shrugged. “Better wages. Closer to —” He stopped.

Paper did not follow the unfinished sentence. She said, “I couldn’t find you afterward. Once I heard Dark Corner Alley was torn down, I assumed you’d left the Western Region entirely.”

“You looked?”

“I had someone look.” She walked a few steps. “I looked later, myself.”

He held the fact of that carefully, the way you hold something fragile in a moving vehicle.

“Why didn’t you come find me once you were in Neverwinter?” she asked. Not accusatory — simply a question, the kind she’d always asked, without decoration.

“We were getting settled,” Snaketooth said. “Work every day. No fixed address for a while. We kind of —” He cleared his throat. “Lost track.”

He knew it was a worthless answer. You do not forget a person for two years unless you are actively deciding not to find them. But the truth — I was afraid of who you’d become, afraid you’d look at me and see only the Rat I used to be — had no form he could hand her.

Paper didn’t press it. “Same, honestly. At the start I barely had time to think. The construction projects needed my ability to set cement faster. Agatha needed me for experiments. The chemical plant kept asking about reaction acceleration. His Majesty says my power can raise bond energies — I’m still not entirely sure how he knew that, the theory says those particles are smaller than anything you can see, if you scaled an atom up to the size of the Longsong Theater the nucleus would fit inside a walnut —”

Snaketooth nodded. He understood perhaps one word in five. He watched her hands move as she talked — the fingers counting off items, tracing shapes in the air — watched the light catch the silver in her hair and the brightness in her eyes, and thought that this was already more than he had let himself want for a very long time.

He was close to saying something.

“Oh —” Paper switched gears the way she always had, without preamble. “Once I knew you were in Neverwinter, I asked Ms. Scroll to pull the files. Sunflower is here too. And some of the others. We could all see each other, once things settle —”

He didn’t hear the rest.

He said, “I like you, Paper.”

The words came out clean. No performance, no scaffolding — just the plain thing he had been carrying for two years, dropped into the open air between them.

Silence.

His pulse hammered against the inside of his ribs. He waited for the shape of what came next.

Paper looked at him. Her expression was bright and uncomplicated and entirely sincere.

“I like you too,” she said, “and everybody.”

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