Chapter Text
True to Pacifica’s prediction, Preston was not pleased with the news, though he did actually react better than she had been expecting—which meant that he calmly left the room before he started cursing and punching a taxidermized moose. Before he could come back and start chewing them out, Pacifica had taken Dipper by the hand and begun leading him up the grand staircase past her mother.
“Leave the door open Pacifica!” called her mother up after her. They had been expecting Preston to react the worst, and they were right—but Pacifica had also been expecting more reaction out of her mother. She didn’t seem riled up at all—either she was much better at hiding her emotions, or she just didn’t care. Pacifica wasn’t sure which possibility would be worse.
“That could have gone better,” said Dipper, rubbing the back of his head as Pacifica led him down a long corridor to her bedroom.
“It went about as well as I expected,” sighed Pacifica, shaking her head.
“I knew it wasn’t going to go great,” said Dipper, still confused, “but I didn’t say anything rude. I walked up, I said, ‘Mr. Northwest, Pacifica and I are dating.’ That was it!”
“He probably would have liked it if you had asked for his permission first,” said Pacifica.
“Would he have given it?” asked Dipper curiously.
“Oh, of course not,” chuckled Pacifica. “He would have just taken immense satisfaction at telling you no.”
“I think I’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission,” replied Dipper. “When it comes to you, at least.” Pacifica had led them to the entrance to her room, which looked very much like a hotel door—it even had the peephole. The only difference was the rich layer of pink paint that covered the entire thing.
She extended her hand and twisted the doorknob, revealing the inside of her room. Of all the times that Dipper had been to the Northwest Mansion, either to pick Pacifica up for an adventure or to exorcise some kind of ghost, ghoul, or specter, he had never been here.
Her room had a very similar color scheme as her door—largely pink accentuated with cream, but there were highlights of purple and mellower sections of light green. The bed was queen size, with a sturdy frame of solid white wood and sheets of mulberry silk, a light and fluffy comforter thrown over the top of it—along with far more pillows than one girl could ever need. A large vanity with a heart-shaped mirror, lined with marquee lights, sat in the corner along with an equally impressive jewelry box. Next to them was a purple door that likely led to a massive closet and dressing room. Beside the purple door was a green one—probably a bathroom that was connected to the dressing room on the other side.
The room had a large arching roof that multiple chandeliers hung from—they weren’t the most ornate, but the mere fact that they were in a bedroom made them plenty impressive. On the exterior wall, large vertical windows with metal frames and lacing ran all the way to the ceiling. A fairly simple desk, again made of white wood, was against the same wall.
However, in the small alcove created where the leftmost window sat in the wall, Pacifica had piled pillows and blankets, with a stack of books in easy reach. Though it was a bedroom, this looked like the only place where someone spent a lot of time. Dipper thought that he could even make out the crumbs of some Chipackers in the folds of the fabric, though he couldn’t be sure before Pacifica had escorted him to her bed, leaving the door to the hallway open behind them.
“Go ahead and pull your pant leg up,” she said, patting him on the knee as she went to her vanity and pulled out a drawer. She reached in and grabbed a set of rubber-tipped tweezers and a very fine pair of scissors. Tossing them on the bed next to Dipper as he struggled to cuff his jeans, she then went to her desk and pulled out a metallic trash can from underneath. Adding it to the improvised operating table, she then opened the green door and retrieved both a dark green towel and first aid kit from the bathroom.
The little glimpse that Dipper could get of the bathroom was as equally impressive as her room—a large tub equipped with jets, a freestanding shower, wide counter and mirror, and a patterned tile floor like a Roman villa. It was probably heated as well, since there didn’t appear to be any bathmats.
“Now,” said Pacifica, returning to her patient. “This might hurt a little more. I don’t have lidocaine like I did last time.” As she knelt down next to the bed, she saw her father walk by the open door and check in on them. His stance was very defensive, and he was clearly paying very close attention to what was going on and wanted both Dipper and Pacifica to know it.
“I’ll manage it,” said Dipper, grimacing. “I could probably go out to the truck and get some if you wanted me to, though.”
“Yeah,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes. “And explain to my parents you going out to your truck and coming back wearing a trench coat full of knives and syringes? No thanks. We’ve done enough for one day.”
“They’re going to need to get used to all the weird stuff that we get wrapped up in eventually,” said Dipper as Pacifica lifted up his leg and slid the towel underneath it, protecting her bedding from what was about to happen.
“I agree,” replied Pacifica. “Just not today. Probably a bit down the line. I’m sure that there’s something that’ll happen whenever you come back over the summer or the winter, and we’ll broach that subject then. I’m sure there’s a whole bank of things that you can show me in that journal of yours.” Preston walked by the doorway again, confused at what was happening inside. That being said, it at least didn’t appear sexual, so he left the two of them alone.
“There is one pretty big one,” said Dipper, taking a deep breath as Pacifica picked up the scissors and started to clean them off with an alcoholic wipe. Then, unfolding another one, she wiped across the scab on Dipper’s leg. The blood red lines that had been there yesterday were gone, and in their place was new pink skin. The scab could probably have been taken off, but it was best to leave it in place until it fell off naturally. The only downside was that the scab was partially enveloping some of the stitches, which meant Pacifica would have to be careful with them. “Did I ever tell you that there’s an alien spaceship underneath the town?” Dipper continued
“Really?” asked Pacifica, only half paying attention. She was trying to focus on both removing the stitches, which required some level of technical precision, and keeping Dipper entertained, since that would help him get through it without as much pain.
“Yeah,” said Dipper, shivering as she picked the scissors up and slipped them underneath the first suture. Then, with a firm click, she pulled her hand together and severed the synthetic thread. The skin around the wound relaxed a little bit, but everything appeared to be holding. “Where do you think we got the alien adhesive from?” asked Dipper, wincing.
“I didn’t think that it was actually alien,” said Pacifica, repeating the process as she moved down the length of the wound—severing each stitch from the one next to it, and then cutting over the top of it. As she did so, his calf relaxed even more as the scab started to stretch and ooze blood—but not enough to worry her. She gently used a loose piece of gauze to clear it away. “I thought that that was just some nerd thing you called it.”
“Nope,” grimaced Dipper as Pacifica softly placed the scissors on the towel and picked up the tweezers. “Ford calls it Crash Site Omega. There are lots of goodies down there. I could definitely show it to you sometime.”
“How about when you come up over Christmas break?” replied Pacifica, gently pinching one of the severed pieces of thread. Preston walked by the doorway again—at this point, Pacifica was pretty sure that he was just pacing the hallway from end to end, waiting for one of them to slip up.
“I don’t know about THEN!” yelped Dipper as she started to pull on it. “There’s a lot of snow then,” he continued, gasping for breath. “I’m not sure I could find the entrance if it was buried like that.”
“The summer, then,” replied Pacifica. “Are you sure that you’re going to be able to handle this?” she asked, tugging on the sliced stitch again and causing Dipper to wince.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, even as he closed his eyes in an attempt to separate himself from what was happening. “It’ll just hurt for a little bit. Be quick.”
“Okay,” said Pacifica, grimacing as well. “I believe you. But how about some incentive? For every stitch I manage to pull out that you don’t groan during, I’ll… drive down for a weekend and see you. Your choice of times.”
“I’ll take that bet,” said Dipper, smiling—though that quickly faded as Pacifica completely pulled out the first stitch and dropped it on the towel, causing Dipper to moan as a single drop of blood pooled out of the hole left behind.
“Ooh, that’s one weekend gone,” smirked Pacifica as she moved onto the next one. “And you were talking a big game.”
“It’s not that,” said Dipper. “It’s just that I don’t think your Tesla has the range to get down to Piedmont and back. Those electric engines, you know, are… urgh,” he grunted again as the next stitch was removed.
“Wow,” said Pacifica, shaking her head. “At the rate you’re going, it’s like you don’t want me to visit at all. There are only seven of these left, after all.”
“Fine,” grunted Dipper, “challenge accepted.”
Pacifica moved to the next stitch and pulled it out quickly—Dipper flinched, but did not make a sound. The same pattern repeated for the next five stitches. A yank, a flinch, a drop of blood—another weekend together. The only exception was the last one, which caught a little bit on the way out and made Dipper moan, very loudly, clenching his muscles and almost kicking his leg off of the towel.
“Calm down,” said Pacifica, patting him on the knee. “One more pull.” And with that, the last bit of blue thread was removed from his wound. Some of the scab had fallen off during the process, revealing a large panel of smooth pink skin, ripe with fresh blood vessels. There were tiny puncture marks where the stitches had been, but Pacifica had soon cleaned them up and rewrapped the bandage around his leg. The rest of the healing process would have to be natural.
“What’s my final score?” asked Dipper, breathing beginning to even out as he sat up and swung his leg off of the bed. Pacifica gathered up the towel, still holding the scissors, tweezers, and bloody bits of thread, and dumped the entire thing in her trash can. She had plenty of everything.
“I think you were at… six weekends,” she said, sitting next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Now, make sure that they’re not all in a row,” she said, gently pushing against him. “Or you won’t have any Pacifica to help you out when things get rough.”
“No touching!” said Preston, walking by the doorway yet again and seizing on the opportunity to interrupt the two of them, causing them to jump apart and turn around, looking at him. He made eye contact with both of them, before warily moving on.
“He’s actually showing a lot of restraint,” mumbled Dipper, just loud enough for Pacifica to hear. “I thought he might throw me out.”
“He’s just waiting for a good excuse to,” said Pacifica, as the two went right back to leaning against each other.
“I’ll try not to give him one,” said Dipper, smiling as the first stars started to emerge from the darkening sky, clearly visible through Pacifica’s massive windows.
“I’d appreciate that,” said Pacifica, interlacing her fingers with his. “It’s hard to believe that I’m not going to see you for three months,” he sighed.
“It won’t be that long,” replied Pacifica. “Let’s say you come up to visit me in three weeks, and then I’ll go down to visit you three weeks after that. Plus whichever weekends you choose. I mean, I don’t like being apart. But we’ll manage.”
“I’m just worried that things are going to change,” whispered Dipper. “Your parents might get to you, or someone like Marius could show up at your private school… I don’t want us to drift apart and let things like that get between us. And I mean, you obviously shouldn’t base a relationship on something like this, but what we had last night seemed like a pretty good way to bind us together. There can’t be any of that while we’re apart.”
“Not in person, at least,” replied Pacifica. “I’m going to miss it too. But we’re stronger than that, both together and apart. All we have to do is bring each other soup.”
“What is it with you and soup?” said Dipper, looking at her in confusion. “Is it a metaphor for something?”
“It,” began Pacifica, “is both a metaphor and not. It’s just soup. Simple, yet complex.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that much about soup,” replied Dipper. “There’s tomato and chicken noodle. Maybe a chowder. I’ve heard the word ‘gazpacho’ before, but that’s about it.”
“Those are the most important ones,” said Pacifica. “Tomato goes very well with grilled cheese.”
“I’ve got a very good technique for making grilled cheese,” answered Dipper. “It’s all about the butter, the mayonnaise, and the way you pile the cheese on. It’s delicious.”
“And you cut it in triangles, right?” asked Pacifica.
“Of course,” said Dipper, looking aghast at her. “Triangles are mandatory. Any other shape is sacrilege.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever made a grilled cheese before,” replied Pacifica. “I would like you to teach me.”
“I can definitely teach you,” said Dipper, smiling. “But at least you know how to make fancy soup, right?”
“I know how to get fancy soup,” answered Pacifica, blushing. “Not make it.”
“I would rather that you make it.”
“It might not be as fancy, though.”
“No, but you will have been the one to make it. And that counts for a lot. Just don’t burn yourself.”
“I’ll have my parents get me cooking lessons,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes, before casting them down to where Dipper’s hands held hers. “I’m a little worried that I’m going to change too. Or that you’ll change.” Dipper sighed.
“I don’t think that we can avoid change,” he replied, picking up Pacifica’s chin with his free hand. “People change all the time. We just need to make sure that we change for the better. That way, whenever we see each other, it’s a good surprise to see how we’ve grown.”
“But what makes a good change?” asked Pacifica, breathlessly as Dipper bent his face down to hers.
“Be more you,” answered Dipper, gently pressing his lips against hers before drawing back. “What about for me?”
“Be more you,” said Pacifica, kissing him again. “And maybe work on those abs of yours,” she smirked, poking him in the stomach and causing him to blush. “And for any other changes that your conversation technique might need—we’ll work on that together,” she added with a smirk. Suddenly, they sprang apart as they heard a throat clear from the door behind them. Their heads spun around, terrified of the possibility of seeing Preston.
“Pardon me, miss,” said a butler with a large gray mustache, bowing. “Mr. Northwest would like to inform the young Mr. Pines that his sister appears to be harassing the peacocks.”
“Thank you, Benson,” said Pacifica, relieved. “We’ll be down to deal with it shortly.”
“Very good, miss,” he said, turning around and walking away. “Carry on,” he added with a wink. They both blushed in response.
“Mabel,” they each said in unison, looking at each other.
“I guess it probably is time we get back to the Shack for the night,” sighed Dipper. Pacifica looked crestfallen—there was no way she could hide her disappointment, and no one expected her too.
“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” she asked, pleadingly.
“Yes,” replied Dipper sadly. “School starts next week, and we need to get everything ready for that. Plus, I had a hard enough time convincing my parents to let us go up to Seattle with you. I don’t want to have to cash in any more favors than I have to.”
“I guess your parents wouldn’t have been happy if we had been dating when we left,” said Pacifica, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Definitely not,” said Dipper, shaking his head. “Not as mad as your parents, but I probably will wait a week or two before I mention that we’re a thing.”
“You’ll never make it,” grinned Pacifica. “Mabel’s not going to let that happen. She’ll tell them right away.”
“Probably,” answered Dipped with a smile. “And I should probably go get her before she finishes plucking all of the birds. But before I leave, there’s something I want to give you.” He started reaching into his jacket.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” said Pacifica, blushing as she wondered what it could be. She certainly didn’t need any more jewelry—but her breath caught in her throat when she saw him pull out his journal.
“Dipper,” she said as he handed it to her, and she took it with reverence. “I can’t take this. This… this is you.”
“No,” said Dipper, leaning back on his arms. “I want you to have it.”
“But why?” she asked, tentatively opening it and flipping through the pages with as tender a touch as her fingers would allow. The front of the journal was full, but the back half had yet to be written.
“Two reasons,” said Dipper, looking at her face as she flipped the pages, and not the journal itself. “The first is that we closed the last rift. Weirdness is very concentrated around Gravity Falls, and it drops off very quickly once you exit the Gravity Well. And now that those rifts are closed, there’s going to be even less of it out there for me to study. You’ll have more to write about than I will.”
“You want me to write in it?” asked Pacifica, looking at the blank pages towards the end. The last completed entry was for the dyre—the next page had a tentative sketch of a giant crab, but there was nothing about the juice-sucking swamp starfish. Dipper hadn’t seen it well enough to add anything about it.
“I do,” said Dipper, reaching back into his jacket and handing her the pencil case that came with it. “There’s so much to see if you look. And the more you write about, the more that we have to investigate together when I come back.” Pacifica closed the journal and set it on her lap, the golden pine tree shining up at her.
“What’s the second reason?” she asked, curious. For Dipper to give her his journal like this meant so incredibly much to her—it was the thing that had introduced him to Gravity Falls, had turned him into who he was. It was a token of him, and he was giving it to her.
“This,” said Dipper, flipping the book over and opening the back cover, causing Pacifica’s eyes to grow wide as she instantly recognized the object inside.
It was a thin gray button, with a tiny slot to insert a watch battery into, and the barest outline of computer chips and wires running beneath the plastic covering. She’d know it anywhere—the tracking button she had given him two years ago, the night he had turned up cold and desperate on her doorstep.
“You still have this?” she asked breathlessly as Dipper pulled out his phone and opened the app that came with the tracker.
“Of course,” he said, showing her the map—a glowing, pale green dot on a satellite image of the Northwest Manor. “This way, I can know where you are, and that you’re safe whenever something happens. And I can come to get you if you need me too. Though, it is a long drive, so I may just call the police and tell them where you are if I have to.” He would have kept talking, but Pacifica had wrapped him in a hug, tears gently dripping from her eyes.
“Thank you, Dipper,” she said, squeezing him as tight as she could as he squeezed her back. “I promise I’ll take good care of it.”
“I know you will,” he said, breaking the hug and wiping away her tears.
“But I can’t track you,” she said, plaintively. “I mean, I can get another button, but not before tomorrow.”
“That’s what these are for,” replied Dipper, holding up his cellphone. “Besides, if I don’t respond, just ask Mabel. She’d rat me out in a heartbeat if I got up to something I shouldn’t.” As if caused by the mention of her name, they both heard Mabel shout and then a panicked warbling from across the manor.
“You better not,” said Pacifica, poking him in the chest.
“I won’t,” he said, smiling. He stood up and pulled Pacifica up with him. She walked over to her desk and opened the biggest drawer in it, holding onto Dipper’s gifts.
“Are you sure you want me to have this?” she asked, turning back to face him again.
“I’m sure,” he answered confidently. “Besides, I’ve got like four more copies at home.” She shook her head as she placed the journal and pencil case into the drawer before closing it.
“You know you’re a dork, right?” she said as she walked over to him, holding his hand as they left her room together.
“Of course,” said Dipper, Pacifica leaning on him as they walked back to the main staircase. “And if I ever stop being like that, I want you to tell me. It’s my best feature.”
“No problem,” she replied, briefly jumping up to peck him on the cheek.
They found Preston and Priscilla standing on their patio, looking horrified as Mabel chased the peacocks around their garden, turning the perfectly manicured paths into mud. Already, she had claimed two giant feathers, which she had tucked into her hair.
“Mabel!” shouted Dipper, causing her to screech to a halt. “Cut it out! We’re leaving.”
“Thank you, boy,” said Preston, turning to look at him sternly. “Tell me, when will you and your… sister be returning to Gravity Falls?”
“Three weeks,” said Dipper confidently, still holding Pacifica’s hand as he turned to face Preston and drew up to his full height—only reaching Preston’s mustache. His statement served as both a reassurance to Pacifica, and a warning to Preston that he didn’t have enough time to try and change his daughter’s mind.
“I look forward to it,” said Preston tersely, not meaning a word of it. Mabel, meanwhile, tracking mud up the perfectly lacquered stairs, had joined the party of five.
“I love those birds!” she said cheerfully, not realizing the mess she had created. “Maybe I should get one to keep Waddles company.”
“They cost three hundred dollars each,” boasted Preston. “Not counting maintenance.”
“Gross,” said Mabel, instantly moving on and refusing to get bogged down by the subtle flaunting.
“Come on,” said Dipper, reaching out and taking his sister by the shoulder. “We need to get going. Soos is expecting us back at the Shack.” The trio left Pacifica’s parents standing on the patio, watching their every move as they walked back to Dipper’s truck.
“Three weeks, you said?” asked Pacifica as Mabel climbed into the backseat and leaned out the window.
“Three weeks,” said Dipper, smiling at her.
“I’ll make sure to have some fancy soup,” said Pacifica, smiling back. Their faces were inches from each other.
“Pacifica,” whispered Dipper, “I’m not so sure that we should kiss like this in front of your parents yet. I mean, they’re just standing there watching us.”
“I got you, bro,” said Mabel, smacking the side of the truck. “HEY, LOOK OVER THERE!” she shouted, pointing into the darkness. “IT’S AN UNKNOWN INDIGENOUS GROUP WAITING TO BE EXPLOITED!”
Preston and Priscilla’s heads snapped that way, just long enough for Pacifica to push up and close the distance between their lips as Dipper wrapped his hands around her waist. They stayed there for just a moment, but a moment was enough to feel each other’s warmth, and the love behind it.
“I’ll bring grilled cheese,” said Dipper as he pulled back and let go of Pacifica. He held onto her hands for a moment longer, but then, acting decisively, stepped around to the other side of the truck and climbed in. As the headlights roared to life, he turned and waved to Pacifica, who waved back, a sad smile on her face.
Their line of sight was broken by Mabel, who clambered up and over into the shotgun seat that she had been denied the entire trip. She winked at Pacifica, rolling down her window as she did so. Suddenly, her eyes went wide.
“Pacifica!” she gasped, holding out her cellphone for the blonde to see. “Look! I left my phone in the car and I’ve got two missed calls from Yachats!”
“I told you,” said Pacifica, smirking, yet almost unable to contain her shock that Hudson the waiter had actually called her. She had not been expecting that at all, but she wasn’t about to give up the credit. “Hard to get works.”
Dipper leaned forward and waved at Pacifica, and was soon joined by Mabel. She waved back as the truck lurched into motion, passing through the gates and heading down the hill back into town. Though the amber lights inside the truck were dim, she could see Dipper and Mabel looking back until the gates had closed behind them.
She turned around and took a deep breath, expecting to see her parents’ stern silhouettes against the light from inside the house. However, they appeared to have gone back inside, which she was grateful for. She was sure that they were going to have a talk about her newfound relationship eventually, but she was going to be allowed to rest for tonight.
Even knowing that conversation would come, however, didn’t make her feel any less giddy. She felt warmer and more alive with Dipper, and even with Mabel, than she had for years before. If she needed to defend herself, she would do it. But if she needed to defend them, she would do it to the death—and for the three of them together, even more.
She walked back up the stairs, gently kicking the mud that Mabel had tracked onto them back down into the garden. She may have been liberated, but she wasn’t an animal. Stepping into the manor, she closed and locked the door behind her before taking her shoes off and walking up to her room.
Once she was there, she shut the door behind her and turned the lights off. She collapsed on her bed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling before closing her eyes. Three weeks—she could survive that. As happy as she was, it would either pass by in a flash, or take forever. She was tempted to text Dipper already—but she was sure that he needed time to talk with Soos at the Shack. It would be a good idea to give him some space.
She lay back and just breathed, taking in the sensations of being back in her bed after four hard days of travel. As much as she liked sleeping with Dipper, she couldn’t deny that she had missed her mulberry silk sheets—though she would have much preferred having the two of them together. Maybe if her parents left on a business trip some weekend.
Suddenly, she felt her phone vibrate. She cracked her eyes and looked at the screen. It was a message from Dipper—'We got to the Shack safely. Sleep tight.’
She smiled. Already he was sending her messages letting her know when he got places. She sent him a kissing emoji, which he responded to with the same kiss, and a crescent moon. Pacifica turned her head and looked out the window.
The moon was smaller than it had been last night, having begun to wane. They were also farther south than they were last night, and there were some lights at the Northwest Manor that never went off—but even with that, the moon still shone a pale green. It was amazing that she had never noticed it before.
As the moon shone in, casting her room in an eerily comfortable hue, she rose to her feet and walked to her desk. She opened the drawer and pulled out Dipper’s journal and pencil case, taking it over to her reading nook in the window. She pulled a warm, fluffy blanket over herself and turned a lamp on, spinning it away from her—just enough to shed a warm incandescent yellow on the journal, while still yielding to the smiling emerald moon.
She cracked open the journal and turned to the page with the giant crab. It had already been filled with text, but the rough sketch of the crustacean was only half completed. She unzipped the pencil case and began filling in the details, adding depth and motion to it as best she could—Dipper had already started and erased the sketch half a dozen times. After twenty minutes of solid work, she had done what she could and flipped to the next page.
This was going to be the entry about the swamp starfish. She reached back into the pencil case and drew out a fresh pen, considering what her first words were going to be. However, the first thing that her fingers grasped was the thicker UV pen. She wasn’t going to start writing in secret code just yet, so she began to return it to the pouch.
However, she was curious to know what secrets lay hidden in the journal. She would read the whole thing tomorrow, of course, but there was nothing wrong with getting a sneak peek tonight. She flipped to the beginning of the journal, and, casting the pages in the pale blue glow of the UV light, began to read.
Most of the pages had no hidden text on them at all. There just wasn’t anything that needed to be kept a particular secret. There were some little hints about where Dipper had found certain things, and some specific instructions for a more effective exorcism. Indeed, the page with the most invisible writing on it had been the one with the dyre, where Dipper had praised her combat skills—Pacifica’s name gently written below it in a curving script.
She was about to flip the blacklight off when she saw a small peek of glowing ink on the next empty page. She flipped to where she had been about to write and saw, in large, simple text— ‘I LOVE YOU.’ Beneath it, Dipper had signed his name and added a little drawing—a llama next to a pine tree.
Pacifica shook her head and smiled as she flipped the light off. This was supposed to be a serious field journal. She couldn’t believe that Dipper would put something so emotionally honest into it—but she loved it, more than anything she had ever been given before. It was almost better than last night. Almost. She flipped to the next page, deciding to leave that one unspoiled.
She would have to add a message of her own for him on some other page, but not tonight. As for now, there was science to do—observations to record, things to test, and weirdness to find. She returned the blacklight to the pouch and pulled out a fresh pen, one filled with a rich blue ink. She took the cap off with a satisfying pop, and, holding it between her teeth, began to write.