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Thought people might be interested to see this as a kind of novelty. It feels sometimes like I'm putting way too much effort into my plan before I even start writing a chapter. Sometimes I've been using AI as a motivational tool; I'll tell it what a chapter is supposed to contain and look at the output. Seeing my ideas executed so badly is a kick that can sometimes lift me out of a depressive slump; and by the time the chapter is finished, the depression is often gone too. Not to actually use the AI output, but just for the feeling of "this is awful, I can do better" to give me a little extra drive on bad days. But lately, it's not working so well… the AI output is no longer terrible enough to make me angry. Well, not always. But I think I might still ask it for a version of a chapter occasionally, just to see what the quality of AI writing is actually like at the moment. And maybe it can be a teaser, for people who are waiting for my actual chapter after I've written the plan. The human-written version of this chapter will be posted in the main story thread soon (hopefully today or tomorrow), but I do think it's interesting to see what Claude can do with my plan. I prompted it with the last 8 chapters of the story (and instructions to use them as a basis for the style, tone, and character voices), the story grid plan for the whole book, story bible, and this plan for chapter 44: PLAN: Based on all that plan, this is what Claude could come up with: 44. Strife Isadora woke up with the morning light filtering through the curtains, feeling unusually optimistic. She stretched lazily in bed, allowing her mind to drift over their conversation from a few nights ago. Brock had actually shared information with her—real intelligence about Roman and his mysterious past. It felt like progress, like they were finally becoming a proper team. Her thoughts drifted to Nina, and what Brock had revealed about her. An adult baby. The concept kept circling in her mind, impossible to dismiss. She told herself she was just trying to understand the case better, to put all the pieces together. But there was something else there, a curiosity she didn't want to acknowledge. What would it be like to take regression that far? To be treated like an actual infant rather than just a little girl? The idea made her uncomfortable, yet she couldn't stop thinking about it. Bottles instead of sippy cups. Cribs instead of beds. Diapers instead... "Just professional interest," she murmured to herself, sitting up abruptly. "I need to understand what makes someone want that, that's all. For the case." She padded across to the bathroom, trying to refocus her thoughts on their plan. It had started as idle conversation during one of her regression sessions. She'd been coloring with crayons when suddenly the rough sketch of the Arrencani house had emerged on the page, complete with a basement area that Brock confirmed was probably the location of the Pink Room. From there, it had evolved into a detailed infiltration plan—ways to get inside, possible cover stories, even extraction contingencies. Isadora had been surprised at her own ingenuity during that session, speaking half as an agent and half as a child, the juxtaposition somehow making it easier to think outside the box. They'd discussed the details at length—the pros and cons, the risks involved. But in the end, Brock had dismissed it as unnecessary. "We don't need that level of verification," he'd said. "Too many unknowns, too much risk." She'd made every argument she could think of: what if there were non-consenting women being held? What if the Pink Room was just a front for storing drugs or weapons? What if it contained evidence that would connect Arrencani to criminal activities they hadn't even considered yet? But Brock had been unmoved. The plan would stay on paper, nothing more. After showering and dressing, Isadora headed downstairs, anticipating another attempt at persuading Brock. She'd thought of new angles, better arguments. Surely he'd see reason this time. The kitchen was empty. A note on the counter, in Brock's precise handwriting: "Running errands. Back this evening. Don't worry about dinner, I'll pick something up. -B" Isadora crumpled the note in her fist. So much for their breakthrough. So much for trust. He was off again, button cam conveniently disabled, leaving her with no way to know what he was investigating. "Goddammit, Brock," she muttered, tossing the crumpled paper into the trash. "We're supposed to be partners." She poured herself a coffee, trying to tamp down her frustration. Part of her wanted to storm upstairs, change into her most childish outfit, and spend the day watching cartoons. At least then she'd have some comfort. But that would be letting Brock win somehow, letting him dictate her emotional state even in his absence. The chirp of her phone pulled her from these thoughts. A text from Alison: "Book club today, 2pm at my place. Don't forget! Bringing wine is optional, bringing opinions is mandatory. 😉" Right. The Evergreen Girls book club. She'd almost forgotten. A part of her wanted to cancel, to wallow in her irritation at Brock's continued secretiveness. But perhaps it was better to get out, interact with other people. Besides, Nina would be there—her first social gathering since returning. It would be the perfect opportunity to observe her without the filter of Brock's camera. Isadora finished her coffee and headed to the living room. She still had a few hours before the meeting, enough time to finish the book and gather her thoughts. She picked up the paperback from the coffee table—a popular thriller with supernatural elements that had been Zannah's suggestion. The kind of book that would normally be a guilty pleasure but had been elevated to respectability by its appearance on bestseller lists. As she settled into reading, she couldn't help wondering if Nina would recognize something in her—some hidden signal that they shared a secret interest in regression. The thought made her skin prickle with a strange mix of anxiety and anticipation. "She won't know," Isadora told herself firmly. "There's nothing to know. It's a performance, part of my cover." But as she turned the pages without really absorbing the words, her thoughts kept returning to the Pink Room, to what happened there, and to the plan that was sitting, fully formed but unused, in the back of her mind. There had to be a way to convince Brock it was necessary. Or, failing that, a way to investigate on her own. By the time she reached Alison's front door that afternoon, Isadora had resolved to take matters into her own hands. Partner or no partner, she was going to find out the truth. It was time to stop waiting for Brock's approval and start acting like the field agent she was trained to be. Alison Jones's house was exactly what Isadora would have expected from a romance author—eclectic, dramatic, and distinctly feminine. The living room where the book club gathered featured floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with paperbacks in every shade of the rainbow, interspersed with small art pieces that looked like they might have been collected from various local artists. The furniture was mismatched but somehow cohesive—an overstuffed leather sofa, two wingback chairs upholstered in rich burgundy, and several plush floor cushions arranged around a weathered coffee table. "Make yourself comfortable," Alison called from the kitchen. "Wine's breathing, tea's brewing, and there are some nibbles on the table." Isadora settled onto the sofa beside Martha Donovan, who was already leafing through her copy of the book, numerous sticky notes protruding from the pages. Zannah sprawled across one of the floor cushions, her bright pink hair stark against the muted tones of the carpet. "I think I might have actually finished a book for once," Zannah said with mock pride. "Probably because there was, like, actual action in it instead of just people thinking about their feelings for three hundred pages." "Some of us appreciate a bit of introspection," Martha replied primly, but with a hint of humor. "Though I will admit the supernatural elements kept things interesting." The doorbell rang, and Alison hurried to answer it. A moment later, she returned with Nina Solomon. Isadora had seen Nina through Brock's camera feed, but the grainy footage hadn't captured the details. She was petite with delicate features, her dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore a modest floral dress that fell just below her knees, paired with a light cardigan despite the warm weather. Her movements were graceful but cautious, as if she were constantly aware of taking up space. "Sorry I'm late," Nina said, her voice soft but clear. "I was having trouble deciding what to bring." She held up a plate of homemade cookies. "I baked these this morning." "Oh my God, you didn't have to do that," Zannah exclaimed, immediately grabbing one. "But I'm definitely not complaining." Nina smiled, a genuine expression that lit up her entire face. "I just thought it would be nice. Victor said you all might appreciate something sweet." Isadora noted the casual mention of Victor without any trace of the frustration or irritation the others had described. There was only warmth in Nina's voice when she spoke of her fiancé. "Well, we're glad to have you back," Alison said, guiding Nina to one of the wingback chairs. "The book club hasn't been the same without you." "I've missed this," Nina replied, settling in with her copy of the book neatly in her lap. "Victor kept me updated on what everyone was reading. I caught up on all of them during my... vacation." There was the briefest hesitation before the word "vacation," so slight that Isadora might have imagined it if she hadn't been watching so closely. As Alison poured wine for everyone (except Zannah, who received tea), the conversation flowed naturally to the book. Isadora, having barely skimmed it, was relieved when Martha launched into an analysis without prompting. "The protagonist's journey really spoke to me," Martha said, flipping to one of her marked pages. "Especially that moment when she realizes that fighting against her nature is what's been holding her back all along." "I thought that part was a bit on the nose," Kaylee Whitman chimed in, having arrived just after Nina. "Like, we get it—embrace your true self and magical things happen. But people don't change overnight like that." "Sometimes they do," Nina said quietly, a small smile playing at her lips. "Sometimes you just need the right... perspective." Isadora found herself leaning forward slightly, intrigued by the hint of something deeper in Nina's words. "What kind of perspective do you mean?" Nina's eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, Isadora felt a strange connection—as if Nina were seeing something in her that others couldn't. "Just... stepping away from everything you think you're supposed to be," Nina replied. "Sometimes when you let go of all those expectations, you find out who you really are underneath." "That's what I loved about your spa retreat," Alison said, refilling Nina's glass. "You came back looking so refreshed. I've been meaning to ask where you went—Victor's been suspiciously tight-lipped about it." Nina laughed lightly. "Oh, it wasn't really a spa. Just... a place where I could focus on myself without distractions. Victor found it for me. He's so thoughtful that way." "The old Victor would have just bought you jewelry instead of actually listening to what you needed," Zannah remarked. Nina's smile didn't falter. "Victor has always been wonderful. I just didn't appreciate him properly before." Another exchange that confirmed what Isadora had heard—Nina never criticized Victor now, not even in the gentle way that the other women occasionally joked about their husbands. The conversation shifted to the book's controversial ending, which apparently involved the protagonist accepting supernatural powers at the cost of her humanity. Opinions were divided, with Martha finding it empowering and Kaylee calling it disturbing. "What did you think, Estelle?" Alison asked, turning to Isadora. "You've been awfully quiet." Put on the spot, Isadora scrambled for something to say. "I... found it interesting how the main character kept denying what she wanted, even when it was obvious to everyone else." "That's exactly it!" Nina exclaimed with unexpected enthusiasm. "Sometimes we're the last to recognize our own desires." Martha nodded sagely. "Like my Frank with his drinking. Claims he doesn't have a problem, but we all see it." "Is everything alright with you, though?" Kaylee asked Isadora. "You seem tense today." This was the opening Isadora had been waiting for. "It's Bernard," she sighed, letting Estelle's frustrations blend with her own. "He's... well, he has his scotch most evenings. Not enough to worry about, really, but lately it feels like he's using it to avoid talking to me." "Men and their liquid courage," Martha scoffed. "Frank does the same thing. Gets a few in him and suddenly he can't remember a single thing I asked him to do." "Victor never drank much," Nina commented. "But I used to get so upset about it. Now I realize I was just trying to control things that weren't mine to control." "It's not about control," Isadora said, perhaps too forcefully. "It's about communication. When Bernard drinks, it's like he's building a wall between us. He has his secrets on one side, and I'm stuck on the other, waiting for him to let me in." The room fell silent for a moment, the metaphor hitting closer to home than Isadora had intended. "That's... really insightful," Alison said eventually. "Have you told him how you feel?" "I've tried," Isadora replied, realizing she wasn't acting anymore. "But it's like he thinks he's protecting me by keeping me in the dark." "Men do that," Kaylee nodded. "George believes that not telling me about our financial troubles somehow spares me the worry, as if not knowing why we're suddenly cutting back doesn't create its own stress." "Maybe he needs you to be more direct," Nina suggested, her voice gentle but confident. "Sometimes they don't understand subtlety. You have to tell them exactly what you need." Isadora looked at Nina, struck by her clarity. Was this the same woman who had reportedly been so meek upon her return? There was nothing childlike in her demeanor now—just a serene self-assurance that seemed to come from knowing precisely who she was. "And what if what I need is for him to trust me enough to share his burdens?" Isadora asked. Nina smiled, something knowing in her expression. "Then you have to show him you're ready to carry them. Sometimes we have to surrender before we can truly be strong." The words echoed in Isadora's mind, carrying layered meanings she couldn't quite unravel. Surrender before being strong? Was that what happened in the Pink Room? A deliberate regression to find a different kind of strength? Before she could pursue this line of thinking, Zannah steered the conversation back to the book, specifically a scene involving a dance under a full moon that she claimed was "obviously a metaphor for sex." The afternoon continued with discussion, laughter, and a second bottle of wine. Throughout it all, Isadora watched Nina—her graceful movements, her thoughtful responses, her unfailing positivity. There were no baby voices, no childish mannerisms, nothing to suggest what she'd experienced in the Pink Room. Just a woman who seemed completely at peace with herself. As the meeting wound down and they prepared to leave, Nina touched Isadora's arm gently. "I hope things work out with Bernard," she said softly. "It took me a long time to understand that sometimes the things that scare us the most are exactly what we need." Isadora felt a chill run through her. "What do you mean?" "Just that happiness often waits on the other side of our fears," Nina replied with that same serene smile. "Have a lovely evening, Estelle." Walking home afterward, Isadora couldn't shake the feeling that Nina had seen right through her—not through her cover as Estelle Klein, but through the walls she'd built around her own desires. The idea was unsettling, yet strangely compelling. By the time she reached her front door, her resolve had hardened. Tonight, she would make Brock understand. She was ready to carry this burden, ready to pursue the lead regardless of his protectiveness. And if that meant surrendering to the Pink Room's regression therapy, then so be it. She was an agent first and foremost. At least, that's what she told herself as she stepped inside, prepared for the confrontation ahead.