Oh, there's movement. The memory continues, the way it's supposed to, the way the other memories Mary Grace had entered had continued eventually. She'd just been distracted. Not that saving Mr. Crockett was ever going to take priority here.

She follows Chanel toward the sink and leans against it, fingers still twisted in hers. There's something glowing in there, but they don't need to grab it quite yet.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Mary Grace says, her thumb running along Chanel's knuckles. "That's chemistry."