The dispatcher pales. "Because I just switched to the secret language my friend group uses," they explain. Now that Emily pays attention, the words do sound subtly different. The dispatcher switches back. "Alright. Saher — would it be alright to send someone around to meet Emily around 30 or 31 tomorrow? Emily, that would just be a meeting to get you a model of phone you pick out instead of whatever Saher has, and some basic clothes and toiletries, and to start figuring out where you want to stay on a longer-term basis."

Saher hugs herself.

Yes, that should be fine. Have them text me when they get to the turn-off, please.

Okay, Emily agrees.

"Alright. I'll send someone out, and have them text you. As far as I can tell, you are both otherwise safe and not experiencing cognition problems. It looks like Emily really can understand languages they have no reason to know, which ... well, I think you did the right thing calling Emergency Services. Is there anything else that I should know about?" the dispatcher asks.

No, thank you, Saher signs, although the dispatcher waits for Emily to sign no as well before ending the call.

Once the phone turns off, Saher sighs and looks out into the forest. She's silent for a minute.

Emily is silent too. She's not sure what to think.

Well, Saher finally signs. They're always so serious. But I'm glad I called, because otherwise I would kept doubting myself.

She leans back in her chair, considering Emily. If you want to talk, I'd love to hear more about fairy stories — as I said, I don't think they're a genre we have here.

She looks back out towards the forest. And if you don't want to talk, I'll go back to my writing. I usually have dinner in about 2 hours, but we can have it sooner if you want.

... I can talk about fairy stories, she agrees. She spends the time describing some of the mainstays of the genre — stolen babies, changelings, deals, tricks, food — and then wanders off topic and starts talking about how modern adaptations completely change the focus, and try to make fairies not be terrifying, which is missing the whole point. And she doesn't like most Disney retellings. Well, except Beauty and the Beast, because she wants to be a castle librarian. And Mulan is neat, but it's not a fairy story. And ...

By the time she wraps up, it is only because she can't both talk with her hands and convey dinner — a cold spicy wrap of some kind — into her face.

I see, Saher replies. You know, I'm half-tempted to steal that idea about cakes that make you change size for one of my own stories. It sounds like it would make an excellent locked-room mystery, if you could figure out a way to set up the implication of the cake's effect without outright stating it.

Do you write a lot of mysteries? she asks, polishing off her wrap.

I do, Saher agrees. I made my living on them. Well, them and romances. I'm supposedly retired now, but I can't seem to stop writing them.

Emily glances at the bookshelves that cover the wall opposite the kitchen.

Could I ... read one of your books? she asks, suddenly shy.

Saher gives her a thoughtful look, before standing and running a finger along the books. She plucks one down and hands it to her.

How about the Court of the Volcano-Tamers? she suggests. It's one of my earlier books, but it features someone struggling to figure out his place in a strange new city, all the while dodging dangers from his past. Can Lhelifin figure out the identity of the shadow-banisher without letting Serdisa catch up to him? Plus, Lhelifin reminds me a bit of you.

Emily opens the book and begins reading. She doesn't stop when Saher makes them both tea, and relocates her to the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. She doesn't stop when Saher yawns and clears their dishes away.

Eventually, Saher stands by the stairs to her loft, finger on the light switch.

Goodnight, Emili, she signs. I promise the book will still be there in the morning.

Goodnight, Saher. And ... thanks.

I would not have had it any other way, Saher says, smiling. I will see you in the morning.

She notes her page number — 540, not prime — and falls asleep trying to figure out the factors in base six.

It's not much like the stories she's read. But that's okay. Every story is different, and this is just the start of hers. Today, she switched planets. Who knows what's going to happen to her tomorrow?