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The apartment was dark. Pitch black, specifically, the kind where you couldn't even see your own hand in front of your face and where every sound was amplified to horror movie levels. The power had been out for forty minutes—a "total and complete failure of the incompetent morons who manage this city’s garbage infrastructure," as Sandrone had snapped before the dark truly set in.
"I told you so," a voice drifted from the kitchen. Zandik was leaning against the counter, silhouette barely visible outside the collective glow of everyone’s phone-screens. His voice was soaked with oily satisfaction to such a degree that it made Sandrone want to throw a wrench at his head.
"You didn't tell us anything," Sandrone snapped from the sofa. "You just made a vague gesture and sighed for three minutes."
"I literally gave you a countdown. You told me to shut up and eat my breadsticks."
“You're always talking about failure! It's your personality!"
"And yet—" Zandik's silhouette gestured broadly to the darkness. "—here we are. In the dark. Without juice."
"Stop talking," Ineffa’s voice came from the floor. "Jahoda, stay still. If she claws your eyelid, I’m not the one driving you to the ER."
"I'm trying!" A hiss. There was a frantic scratching sound, followed by a muffled mrowr of pure indignation. "Get her OFF me!" Jahoda's voice, muffled and panicked.
"I'm trying!" Ineffa, clinical even in crisis. "Pulonia, release. Pulonia, that's not appropriate. Pulonia—"
A yowl that suggested the cat had opinions about being told what to do. Pulonia had decided that, in the absence of light, Jahoda’s head was the highest, most strategic point of terrain available.
"She's on my FACE. Her butt is on my FAAACE."
"I can see that. It’s quite impressive.”
"HELP ME!!"
On the couch, illuminated by the glow of a tablet, Aino was completely absorbed in whatever game she was playing, oblivious to the chaos three feet away.
"If we stay here any longer, I’m going to lose my mind," Nefer said, heels clicking sharply against the hardwood as she paced a three-foot radius. "Lauma, Ineffa has a test tomorrow. Aino is already falling asleep on the rug. We cannot stay here while they debate the ethics of cat-claiming. Look, just, I'm just saying, logistically, a third child requires—"
"I’m just saying that if we do end up having a third—" Lauma's voice was warm, almost dreamy.
"You’re already accepting this!? Look, adopting sisters was fine, I get paid enough, but a third—if we put emotions aside, economically, my schedule—"
"If we’re talking about schedules, we need to talk about a possible nursery. You can’t expect me to take care of all of it, your 'billable hours' need to include diaper changes. We're not running a cost-benefit analysis on theoretical children in the middle of a blackout."
"Why not? It's the perfect time. Nothing else to do. Besides, you are the one that looks completely in love with the idea of a third—"
"A third?" Sandrone groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Can you two not decide the fate of the human population in my living room while we're eating cold pepperoni?"
"It's a valid legal and domestic query, Sandrone," Nefer snapped back. "And enta el-sabab—you are the one who lives with a clairvoyant!"
"Don't blame me! Columbina was the one who let it slip!"
"It wasn't a slip," Columbina’s voice floated from the window, calm as a lake. "Lauma asked if I saw peace in their future. I simply mentioned that the third child looked very much like Nefer but had Lauma's laugh. It seemed relevant."
"IT WAS NOT RELEVANT TO MY BLOOD PRESSURE," Nefer shouted into the void. "Actually no, hang on. Putting aside the fact that we weren't even planning a third—did your 'divine vision' forget to account for the fact that we are both women?"
"Nefer, please, we don't need to—" Lauma started, voice trailing off with a hint of a laugh.
"No, I want to know!" Nefer insisted. "Is there a lab involved? A very expensive donor? A miracle? How do you even know we can even have a child together?"
Columbina’s silhouette shifted against the window as she tilted her head, voice remaining impossibly serene.
"You’re asking the angel how she knows that?"
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Zandik loudly crunching on a breadstick.
"Oh," Nefer’s voice dropped three octaves. "Right. The... the cosmic perspective. I sometimes forget you see the 'before' pictures too."
"Lauma’s life is exceptionally well-built. The daughter I saw carries that same craftsmanship."
"Okay, shut up, everyone shut up," Sandrone groaned, face heating up even in the dark. "I am not listening to a theological discussion about my neighbor’s reproductive biology while I’m eating cold pizza. It's weird. You’re all weird."
In the corner near the kitchen, barely visible, Flins sat with perfect posture eating cold pizza. He looked completely comfortable, like darkness was his natural habitat, ominous in his uncanny ability to attract what little amount of ambient light coming through the windows directly to his face.
"This is truly some excellent pizza," he said to no one in particular. "Very nice. Cold pizza is underrated."
Zandik's voice again: "Hey, I'm finishing the juice. Anyone want the last—" A pause. "Never mind, I already drank it."
"ZANDIK!" Sandrone's voice from somewhere in the dark.
"What? You weren't drinking it!"
"It was in the FRIDGE! That means it's CLAIMED!"
"Finders keepers!"
Jahoda made a sound like a dying walrus. "PULONIA. PLEASE. I CAN'T BREATHE."
"Stop moving and she'll get off," Ineffa advised.
"I CAN'T STOP MOVING, SHE'S SUFFOCATING ME."
Sandrone stood in the middle of her own apartment—her living room, technically, though "living" felt like a generous description right now—and tried to remember how her life had reached this point.
Eight people. One cat. Zero electricity.
They were supposed to have a nice, organized ‘neighbors dinner.’ Nefer had even insisted on taking over Sandrone’s kitchen to cook something that didn't come out of a microwave. She’d been standing over the stove, looking sharp in her suit even with an apron on, lecturing Lauma about something when the power had vanished mid-sauté. Then the delivery guy had arrived in the dark, and now her living room was a crowded, disorganized mess of people who refused to leave her alone.
She'd had a nice, quiet, solitary life once. She had systems. Routines! Predictable evenings that involved exactly one person (her), one cat (Pulonia), and zero social obligations (work didn’t count).
What the hell had she done to deserve this?
Oh.
Right.
TWELVE HOURS EARLIER
The morning began with a level of stress that Sandrone usually reserved for fated deaths.
"I can dress myself," Columbina said for the third time.
"I know you can." Sandrone was laying out clothes on the bed. "But you always pick the most… impractical things. We're going to an engineering lab, not a garden party."
"I like white dresses."
"I know. But the lab has grease, metal shavings and most importantly, my coworkers, who spill coffee on everything within a three-foot radius when they’re excited. White is a terrible choice."
"I'll be careful."
"You're blind."
"I'm aware." Columbina's tone was dry. "I live with it every day. Funny how that works."
Sandrone winced. "Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant—the lab is going to be a mess. Dark colors are practical. Here." She held up a shirt. "This one. Dark green. It's soft, machine washable, and if someone spills coffee on you, it won't show… much."
"When did you become a fashion consultant?"
"When I started dating someone who exclusively wears white like she's auditioning for a toothpaste commercial."
Columbina laughed—that musical sound that still made Sandrone's chest do complicated things. "Fine. The blue shirt. But I'm wearing my white cardigan over it."
"That's a compromise I can live with."
They'd been doing this dance for three months now—learning how to exist together, how to navigate Columbina's blindness and weakness, how to balance Sandrone's need to help with Columbina's need for independence. It was getting easier. Mostly.
Today was "Bring Your Spouse to Work" Day—a corporate initiative meant to 'foster a sense of community and transparency’ that Sandrone had successfully avoided last year by scheduling an "emergency field test in a remote area”—localized entirely inside her apartment. This year, however, Zandik had cornered her.
"Come on," he'd said. "You've got a cool spouse now. Show her off! Let her see where you work!"
"She's blind."
"Okay, let her experience where you work. You know what I mean. Don't be difficult."
So here they were. Sandrone helped Columbina dress, doing her best not to catastrophize about all the ways this could go wrong, and regretting agreeing to this with every fiber of her being.
"You're overthinking," Columbina observed, buttoning her shirt carefully. She'd gotten good at that—doing things by feel, memory, by sheer stubborn determination.
"I'm always overthinking. It's literally my default state."
"I can hear your brain from here. It's rather loud." Columbina reached out, found Sandrone's face, cupped it gently. "It's going to be fine. I'll meet your coworkers, I'll see—experience—your workspace, we'll eat whatever terrible lunch the company provides, and then we'll come home. Simple."
"Nothing with you is simple."
"Rude, but accurate." Columbina kissed her. "Now stop fussing and help me with my shoes. The ones with velcro today please, not laces. I'm not dealing with laces today."
Sandrone knelt to help with the shoes, and Pulonia immediately took this as an invitation to headbutt her shoulder repeatedly.
"Your cat is needy," Sandrone muttered.
"Our cat," Columbina corrected. "And she's saying goodbye. Be nice."
"I’m being nice!"
"You're being tolerant. It's different." Columbina was smiling, scratching behind Pulonia's ears. "We'll be back tonight, my beautiful most precious girl. Guard the apartment. Keep it safe from invaders."
Pulonia meowed, which Sandrone interpreted as I'll knock everything off the counters while you're gone and you can't stop me, peasants.
They made it out of the apartment with minimal crisis. Down the elevator—Columbina counting floors by feel and sound. To the car—Sandrone helping her into the passenger seat, folding the wheelchair and loading it in the trunk.
"I think I understand the transparency part," Columbina said as they moved, fingers tracing the collar of her shirt. "But will they be upset that I am not technically your spouse by legal definition?"
"If anyone asks, I’ll ask Nefer to draft the paperwork to sue them for discrimination," Sandrone grumbled, stepping behind Columbina. "Hold still. Your collar is tucked in."
Sandrone’s hands were slightly shaky as she reached out to adjust the fabric. Helping Columbina get ready was a ritual she still wasn't used to. She smoothed the material over Columbina's shoulders, touch lingering longer than necessary.
Columbina turned her head slightly, eyes soft. "You're vibrating, Sandrone. Is the lab that dangerous?"
"The lab is fine. The people are the problem," Sandrone said, taking her hand and threading their fingers together. "And don’t you dare worry yourself—don’t steal my job."
That got a laugh. They drove in silence, Columbina's hand in hers, the morning sun warm through the windows.
The office building was exactly as Sandrone had described it—functional, boring, aggressively beige. She helped Columbina out of the car, unfolding the wheelchair.
"I can walk some of it," Columbina protested.
"It's a long hallway and you're already tired. I can tell."
"Doubt."
"Your hands are shaking." Sandrone positioned the wheelchair. "Please. Let me help."
Columbina sighed but sat. "You're very bossy when you're worried."
"I'm always worried. Therefore, I'm always bossy."
"Logic checks out."
“Again, it’s literally my job.”
They made it through security—the guard doing a double-take at Columbina, but politely holding the elevator for them—and up to the second floor where Sandrone's lab was located.
Zandik was waiting at the entrance, grinning like he'd won the lottery.
"You actually came! I thought you'd chicken out." He stuck out his hand toward Columbina. "Hi! Welcome to the horrible future birthplace of Skynet, populated by cooler, more successful engineers than miss grumpy cat over here. I must warn you—you’re already quite famous over here, so expect lots of people."
"Famous?" Columbina's smile was amused as she shook his hand.
"Sandrone wrote a whole book about you. That makes you famous." He leaned closer, conspiratorial. "Although if you’re asking me, the whole angel thing is a bit too much for our workplace. You’re not planning on giving a religious crisis to the others, at least I hope so. It’s supposed to be fiction, so—"
"Zandik," Sandrone warned.
"What? I'm just asking!"
"No," Columbina said simply. "I will be the most well-behaved fallen angel you have ever seen.”
"Splendid! Your girlfriend is so much nicer than you are, Sandrone.”
"I'm aware."
"I never asked—can you do angel things? Like fly? Smite people? Turn water into wine?"
"I'm blind and can barely walk without getting exhausted. So no, not currently." Columbina's tone was dry. "But I used to be able to see all the ways people were going to die. Want to hear them?"
Zandik paled. "That's—no. No, I'm good. Thanks though."
"Coward," Sandrone muttered.
"Self-preservation," he corrected. He turned back to Columbina. "But seriously, welcome. Sandrone's talked about you a lot. Well, she doesn't talk much, but when she does, it's usually about you. Or drones. Sometimes both."
"I'm a compelling subject," Columbina said.
"Clearly."
The lab tour was actually… fine? Better than fine. A sensory assault of cooling fans, the smell of ozone, and the high-pitched whine of testing rigs as Columbina listened to Sandrone explain her latest project with genuine interest, asked intelligent questions, and let Sandrone guide her hands over things so she could feel their shape.
"Watch the cable on your left," Sandrone whispered. "And Zandik, stop hovering. You're blocking the light."
"I'm facilitating the experience!" Zandik protested. He spent the next hour trying to explain the 'nuance' of their latest circuit board to Columbina, who listened with a patience that Sandrone found bordering on divine.
"The resolution is sub-millimeter," Zandik said, leaning far too close. "It can detect the movement of a sparrow's wing from five hundred meters away."
"That sounds... very precise?" Columbina reached out, fingers hovering until Sandrone guided them to a cold, smooth metal housing. "It feels solid. Reliable."
"It's also incredibly expensive," Sandrone added.
"It's beautiful," Columbina’s fingers moved slowly. “You made this?"
"We made it," Sandrone corrected. "Team effort. I’m not a thieving asshole."
"But you designed it, didn’t you? Your fingerprints are all over this. Metaphorically, of course." Columbina smiled. "You create beautiful things."
Across the lab, Zandik made a gagging sound. "You two are disgustingly cute."
"Jealous?" Sandrone asked.
"Extremely. Where's my angelic girlfriend?"
"Have you tried being less annoying?"
"Hoy! Rude!"
The day dragged on in a blur of introductions. Sandrone’s manager, a woman who looked like she hadn't seen the sun in a decade, shook Columbina’s hand with surprising warmth. The HR department tried to give Columbina a lanyard, which she accepted with a delighted smile that Sandrone found deeply suspicious.
"I have a badge now," Columbina whispered as they moved toward the cafeteria. "I’m official."
"You're a tourist," Sandrone corrected, though she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.
Lunch was, as predicted, a disaster of soggy sandwiches and lukewarm coffee. They sat at a corner table, Columbina picking at a salad while Zandik and two other engineers debated the ethics of autonomous flight paths. It was the most normal, most boringly human afternoon Sandrone could remember, and she found herself constantly checking Columbina’s face for signs of fatigue.
"I'm fine, Sandrone," Columbina said, as if sensing the gaze. "I'm enjoying the noise. It feels like a beehive."
They left at 3:30 PM, Sandrone pleading a 'headache' to get Columbina home before she collapsed from the sheer effort of being social. The drive back was quiet, Columbina resting her head against the window, hand still clutching the HR lanyard.
"Your workplace is interesting," Columbina observed on the drive home. "Very… human? Very alive. I liked it."
"Really? Fluorescent lights and questionable cafeteria food?"
"The people. The energy. Everyone clearly respects you, even if they don't show it." Columbina tilted her head. "You've built something here. A life, a career, a place where you matter. It's impressive."
"It's just my job."
"It's never just a job. It's purpose. Contribution. It's—" Columbina reached over, found Sandrone's hand on the wheel, squeezed it. "It's you being brilliant and making the world better. I'm proud of you."
Sandrone's throat felt tight. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Now let's go home. I'm exhausted and Pulonia is probably destroying something."
They made it home at 4 PM, Sandrone barely having time to kick off her shoes before the quiet of the apartment was shattered.
By 4:15, Jahoda had texted. 'Heard the spouse day was a success! Zandik says she’s cooler than you. Coming over to confirm.' Five minutes later, she was through the door, bursting with energy and demanding a play-by-play of Zandik’s inevitable embarrassment.
By 4:30, Ineffa arrived. She didn't knock; she just appeared in the kitchen, pulling a notebook from her pocket. "I am here to observe neurotypical social rituals in a post-corporate environment," she announced, before taking a seat on the floor near Pulonia.
By 5:00, the hallway echoed with the unmistakable sound of Nefer’s heels. She entered with Lauma trailing behind, Aino perched on Lauma’s hip. "Aino missed her sister," Lauma explained with a shrug, though the mischievous glint in her eye suggested she just wanted to escape her own apartment. Aino was immediately deposited on the sofa, where she pulled out her tablet and claimed the middle cushion as her sovereign territory.
"Sandrone, you look like you’ve been run over by a tractor," Lauma noted, letting herself into the kitchen. "I’m making dinner. You clearly aren't capable."
"It's my apartment!" Sandrone protested.
"It's a hazard zone," Nefer corrected, taking off her blazer to reveal a silk blouse that seemed too expensive for Sandrone's living room. "Lauma, the girls need to eat by seven. Sandrone, where is your good olive oil? Don't tell me you use the supermarket blend."
"I use what's there!"
The next hour was a whirlwind. Nefer and Lauma took over the kitchen like a domestic SWAT team. Jahoda tried to show Columbina how to play a mobile game through audio cues. Ineffa hovered by Jahoda, occasionally making comments about "optimal dopamine release" while trying to figure out how to sit close to her without looking like she was doing it on purpose.
At one point, Sandrone walked into the kitchen to grab water and stopped, staring at Lauma as she reached for a high shelf. The woman was... well, she was built like a statue.
"God, Lauma, how do you even reach that with those?" Sandrone muttered, gesturing toward Lauma's front. "The center of gravity alone must be a nightmare for your spine. Honestly, from an engineering perspective, I don't know how you haven't tipped over."
Nefer didn't even look up from chopping onions as she reached out and flicked Sandrone hard on the forehead.
"Ouch! What?"
"Khalas," Nefer warned. "Watch your eyes, engineer. That's my wife you're analyzing."
"I was talking about physics!"
Lauma just laughed, a rich, easy sound as she adjusted her shirt. "It's alright, Nefer. She's just a little jealous."
Sandrone beat a retreat back to the living room, where Columbina was waiting with a knowing smirk. Sandrone sat beside her, but the smirk didn't leave Columbina's face.
"Sandrone?"
"Yeah?"
"I was listening to the kitchen," Columbina said, voice low. She gestured slightly to her own frame. "Do you... prefer that? The 'physics' of someone built like a statue? I’m quite small, as you know."
Sandrone's face went from pale to a deep, alarming crimson. She leaned in, physically pushing Columbina toward the corner of the sofa to shield her from the rest of the room, and spoke in a frantic, bashful whisper.
"What? No! Stop that. I—you're perfectly sized! They're... they're actually quite cute! Very aerodynamic! Please don't make this a thing!"
Columbina’s laugh was soft and delighted. "Cute? You think they're cute?"
"I think you're perfect! Now pleaseshutupbeforeAinohearsyou."
Zandik appeared at 5:30, holding a crumpled schematic. "I forgot to tell you something about the motor housing," he lied, stepping over Ineffa to get to the fridge. "Oh, hey everyone. Is there juice?"
"Zandik, get out of my fridge," Sandrone groaned.
At 6:00, Columbina, sitting peacefully amidst the growing chaos, checked her phone and smiled. "I invited Flins. He said he was curious about the gathering."
Ten minutes later, Flins walked in, looking like he’d just stepped out of a noir film. "A gathering?" he murmured, leaning against the doorframe. "How amusing. It smells like pepperoni and social anxiety in here."
The pizza didn't arrive until after the "Incident." Nefer had just started the main course, the smell of garlic and spices filling the air, when the lights began to stutter.
"Here it goes," Zandik said, checking his watch. "The substation three blocks over is about to give up the ghost. Five, four, three—"
"Shut up, Zandik," Sandrone muttered, stirring her drink. "The lights always flicker when the AC kicks on in 4B."
"—two, one."
Click.
The world vanished.
"I told you so," Zandik said into the silence.
Which brought them to now.
"I GOT HER!" Ineffa's voice, triumphant. "Pulonia is secured."
"My FACE," Jahoda whimpered. "She was on my face for five whole minutes…"
"It was actually two minutes and thirty-seven seconds."
"IT FELT LIKE FIVE MINUTES."
From the couch, Aino spoke for the first time: "The power company says it'll be back in an hour."
"How do you know that?" Sandrone asked.
"I texted them."
"...you’re like, five, or something."
"You can do lots of things if you're persistent." Aino returned to her game, utterly unbothered.
"We should play a game," Jahoda suggested, now Pulonia-free and recovering. "Like—I don't know. Twenty questions? Truth or dare?"
Nefer raised an eyebrow. "We're not twelve.”
"You're no fun."
"I'm realistic."
"Same thing in your case," Lauma pointed out.
A hand found Sandrone's in the dark—Columbina's. "You're overthinking again," she murmured. "I can hear it from here."
"There are eight people in my apartment."
"I know. I can hear them."
"Eight people, one cat, zero electricity, and I think Zandik is eating our leftovers."
"I am!" Zandik called from the kitchen. "They’re delicious, by the way. Thank you!"
"See?" Sandrone sighed. "This is my life now. Madness. Constant, unending madness."
"Is it terrible?" Columbina asked softly.
Sandrone looked around—or tried to, in the darkness. Jahoda and Ineffa were bickering. Nefer and Lauma were debating theoretical children while Aino provided occasional input. Flins was still eating his pizza peacefully in the dark like a vampire. Zandik raiding their fridge without shame.
"...No," she said eventually. "It's not completely terrible."
"I’m glad." Columbina squeezed her hand. "This is what you get for writing a book about an angel. You attract madness, strays, and whatever Flins is."
"Ladies, ladies! I’m nothing but a normal concerned neighbor." Flins said mildly.
"You’re eating pizza in the dark like it's your natural habitat."
"Indeed. Very normal."
The lights flickered—once, twice—and came back on with a vengeance. Everyone groaned at the sudden brightness.
"Oh thank god," Jahoda said. "That wasn’t so bad. Sight is underrated."
"Agreed," Columbina nodded, deadpan.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
"I'm kidding." Columbina was grinning. "Relax. I'm allowed to make blind jokes. It's in the rules."
"Are there rules?"
"I'm making them up as I go."
"Does anyone want to order more pizza?" Zandik asked. "Since I finished the leftovers."
"You WHAT—"
"ZANDIK!"
Voices erupted again. Sandrone sighed, stood, and went to deal with it.
Columbina's laughter followed her—amused and absolutely worth everything that had led them here.
Yeah. I can live with this.