By the time the sun dipped behind the pier, I'd finally showered off the salt and dust.
I stood in front of the motel mirror for what felt like the fiftieth time, staring down the pile of clothes I'd made on the bed. Jeans and a black tank felt too casual. The crop top looked like I was trying too hard.
Zoey sat cross-legged on the dresser, brushing her mane with zero sympathy.
You're thinking about it too much, she said, eyes gleaming in the reflection. It's just a drink.
"Yeah, but I don't even know if it's a date," I muttered, holding the shirt up against me, then putting it down again.
Then treat it like it's not.
"Easy for you to say. You don't get butterflies."
No, but I get instincts, and mine say you should stop panicking and be yourself. She already likes that version.
I exhaled, grabbed the jeans, and slipped into the tank top. Simple. Comfortable. Me.
"Fine. But if she laughs at my sneakers, I'm blaming you."
Deal.
O'Connory's was small and warm, tucked between two brick storefronts. The smell of citrus and salt clung to the air, and the chatter was low enough that I didn't have to shout. Skyla was already there, waving from a corner seat at the bar.
"Hey," she said, her smile easy and bright. "You clean up nice."
I laughed, trying not to sound nervous. "You too. Guess we both passed the dress code."
She patted the stool beside her. "Sit. Drinks are on me tonight."
The bartender, an older Ludicolo in a pressed white apron, was humming quietly while polishing a glass behind the counter. His rhythm matched the beat of the jukebox in the corner.
Skyla leaned toward me. "So I've got to ask… how do you do that? The no-commands thing. You and your team move like one brain in two bodies."
I hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Trade secret."
She nudged my arm. "Come on, I won't tell anyone."
"Alright, but don't freak out."
Her eyes sparkled. "Now I have to freak out."
I turned toward the other end of the bar. The Ludicolo was still working on his glass, humming a tune from behind the taps. Without saying a word, I reached out with my mind, quietly, politely.
Could I get two of whatever you'd recommend for a pair of nervous girls on a not-date?
He froze mid-polish, blinked once, and then gave a cheerful grin.
Moments later, he waddled over with two drinks balanced expertly on his tray. Something tropical from the look, glowing faintly blue beneath the lights.
For the ladies, he said in a thick accent, placing them down with a little bow. To Skyla, it had just come out as him reciting his species' name.
She blinked. "Wait! You didn't even- did he just-?"
I shrugged, smiling as I lifted the glass. "Yeah. I asked him from over there."
She stared at me, half awe, half disbelief. "Telepathically?"
"Mhmm." I took a sip. Sweet, with a sharp kick at the end. "Perks of the mutation."
Skyla laughed, shaking her head. "Unbelievable. You didn't even move your lips. That's… wow."
When Ludicolo returned to the counter, I slid a folded bill toward him.
He waved it off, still smiling.
Skyla frowned. "He didn't take the tip."
I grinned into my drink. "I already gave him one."
Her brow furrowed. "What did you say?"
"I told him he had the kindest rhythm I've ever heard."
She stared for a second, then laughed, the sound soft and genuine. "You complimented him in his head?"
"Hey, words carry weight," I said, tapping my temple. "Sometimes they're heavier up here than out loud."
She raised her glass toward me. "Then here's to words unspoken."
I clinked hers gently. "I'll drink to that."
The conversation slipped easily after that, stories about her flying competitions, the absurdity of battling on moving runways, and me describing how Zoey used illusions to cheat her way through exams. We laughed more than I expected, and the drinks went down smoothly. Sweet, cold, and just strong enough to keep my nerves distracted. The bar's low amber lights painted everything in warm tones, softening Skyla's sharp grin into something almost gentle.
"So," she said, tracing the rim of her glass with a finger, "you really just talk to Pokémon. No words, no hand signals, nothing."
"Pretty much." I set my drink down. "Sometimes it's like whispering into a crowded room. Other times it's like they're sitting right here."
Skyla smirked. "And I thought I had good communication with my team. Taylor only listens when she wants to."
"She likes you too much to admit it," I teased.
Skyla laughed, head tipping back slightly. "You sound like you know her already."
"I kinda do," I said before realizing how that sounded. "Not, like, know-know. Just… I heard her voice during the battle. She said she'd never seen someone fight like me before."
Her eyebrows rose. "She said that?"
I nodded. "She's proud of you, by the way. You two have the kind of bond most trainers dream about."
Skyla leaned an elbow on the counter, eyes glinting with something between curiosity and admiration. "And here I thought I'd seen it all. You really are full of surprises, Morgan."
That name pulled a faint laugh out of me.
"What?" She said, confused
"You've called me by my last name more than once."
"And?"
"You make it sound like it means something."
"Well," she said, swirling her drink, "it kind of does. Morgan's not exactly a small name in the League circuits. Any relation to Chloe Morgan?"
I hesitated, taken off guard. "Yeah. She was my mom."
Skyla nearly dropped her glass. "You're Chloe Morgan's daughter? The Dark-Type master of the U.S. Elite Four?"
I smiled awkwardly. "That's the one."
"No way." She leaned closer, eyes wide. "She was incredible! Her Absol was legendary; everyone studied her matches. Her mega evolution tactics redefined coordination battles for years."
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling heat creep into my face. "You sound more excited about her than I ever was."
"You're telling me you didn't grow up idolizing her?"
"Not really," I admitted with a faint shrug. "She wasn't some untouchable icon to me. She was just… Mom. The woman who made hot cocoa after long training nights, or scolded me when Zoey bit the mailman."
Skyla's expression softened. "That's kind of beautiful, actually."
I smiled faintly, watching the ice in my glass shift. "When she got her diagnosis, she didn't want anyone to see her as weak. She called her team together one last time: Absol, Houndoom, Tyranitar, Honchkrow, Weavile, and Bisharp. Said goodbye to each of them, told them they'd always be free."
Skyla rested her chin on her hand. "She released all six?"
"Yeah. Every single one. It broke her heart, but she didn't want them watching her fade away. Said she'd rather have them remember her as strong."
"Did they ever come back?"
I shook my head, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "No. But I like to think they still watch over the places she used to train. Absol loved the forests near Mt. Hood. Houndoom used to nap by the old power station. They left happy. That's what mattered to her."
Skyla didn't say anything for a long moment. She just looked at me, really looked at me, with that quiet kind of respect that didn't need words.
Finally, she raised her glass. "To Chloe Morgan, then. For teaching both of us what strength looks like."
I clinked mine against hers softly. "And for teaching me when to let go."
We drank, the silence between us comfortable now, filled with the buzz of conversation, the soft clink of glasses, and Ludicolo's gentle humming behind the counter.
Skyla set her drink down and grinned. "You know, I didn't expect to spend tonight getting inspired."
I laughed under my breath. "Trust me, neither did I."
She slid her stool a little closer, her voice dropping just enough to make my pulse skip. "Well… maybe next time, you can tell me more about Zoey's bite record over dinner instead of drinks."
I blinked. "Was that- uh-"
"A date?" she finished, smirking. "Yeah. That was me asking you on one."
I could practically feel Zoey's smug laughter echoing in the back of my mind.
I smiled anyway. "Then I guess I'll have to say yes."
I barely remembered stumbling back to my motel. The night air had that thick, salty taste that always clung to coastal cities, the kind that stayed in your hair and lungs no matter how long you were indoors. My head buzzed pleasantly from whatever the Ludicolo had mixed for us. For the first time in months, I felt warm. Not just from the alcohol, but from Skyla's laughter still echoing in my ears.
When I finally collapsed onto the bed, the city lights outside the window shimmered like stars caught underwater. Zoey was curled up on the chair in her illusory form, earbuds in, pretending she didn't care. Trilla was asleep near the window, her breathing steady, faint psychic light pulsing like a heartbeat. I closed my eyes, still smiling. Somewhere between waking and sleep, the hum of the city faded into something quieter, too quiet. The light behind my eyelids shifted, soft gold bleeding into the dusky orange of sunset. I felt grass beneath my hands, warm wind brushing my hair.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the motel anymore. I was standing in a park. It was quiet. Too quiet.
A faded swing set stood at the edge of the field, one of its chains groaning with every gentle sway. A little girl sat on the swing, sneakers kicking up dust as she rocked back and forth. The woman behind her pushed lightly, humming an old tune that stirred something deep in my chest.
It took me a moment to recognize her. The soft black hair. The half-smile that always hid worry behind it.
"Mom?" My voice caught.
She didn't answer, just kept humming, eyes lifted toward the horizon where the sun was slipping behind the trees. The light bled orange and red, painting everything in long shadows.
I took a few steps closer. The girl laughed, carefree, leaning back as the swing arced higher. Her laugh echoed, faintly familiar. Then I saw her face.
It was me.
My throat tightened. "I don't remember this," I whispered. "Why don't I remember this?"
Neither of them looked at me. The sun dipped lower, the warmth bleeding away until the light turned cold and gray. My mother didn't seem to notice. She just kept pushing, smiling softly as the world dimmed around us, as if she'd always preferred the dark. Then someone screamed.
"Morgan!!"
The voice ripped through the park like thunder. Deep. Shaking. Angry enough to crack stone.
Both of them froze. The chains stilled. The wind died.
I spun, searching the shadows between the trees, but there was nothing. Just that voice, closer now, and ragged with hatred.
"You ruined my life!"
The ground split beneath the swing. My mother's hand shot out, reaching for me, no, for the younger me, as the scene shattered like glass.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else. A different part of the park.
The little girl, me, was convulsing on the floor, eyes wide and glowing faintly blue. My mother knelt beside her, sobbing, clutching her face. "Stay with me! Please, baby, stay with me!"
From the darkness behind them, a voice whispered. Smooth and low, but not human.
I can save her… but you know what it will cost her.
I jolted upright with a gasp.
My shirt clung to me, drenched in sweat. The motel room swam into focus, bathed in dim yellow light. My chest ached, my head pounding. Then I saw her, Trilla, collapsed on the floor beside the bed, her body trembling faintly, psychic static flickering off her skin.
"Trilla!" I scrambled down beside her.
Zoey was already there, eyes wide, panic bleeding into her voice. Atrea, you were thrashing and screaming. She tried to calm your mind and-
She swallowed hard; something hit her back.
I pressed my hand to Trilla's chest, feeling for a pulse. It was there and oddly steady. Her mind flickered dimly in the psychic space between us, chaotic and burned at the edges.
Zoey helped Trilla back onto the bed while I sat on the floor, staring at the faint streak of dawn creeping across the wall. The air still hummed, like the room hadn't decided if the nightmare was over.
Trilla leaned against the headboard, her breathing shallow but steady. It's gone for now, she murmured into my mind, her telepathy faint and fractured, like a radio through static. But whatever it was… it left a mark.
I brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Rest. Both of you."
Zoey opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, then just nodded, exhaustion softening her usual sharpness. She curled up on the chair again, tail twitching nervously with each breath I took.
When I finally stood, my knees were still trembling. The floorboards creaked under my weight. I could still feel the echo of that voice deep in my skull. I didn't sleep again. I sat by the window instead, watching the city stretch awake beneath a gray-gold sunrise. The ocean beyond the skyline shimmered like nothing had happened, calm and endless.