One by one, they touched him. A palm to his chest. A hand at his back. A kiss on his lips. His thighs. His spine. Each contact sparked a new glow, a new thread of color spiraling outward into the pool.
Then Lucy stepped behind him, pressing her bare chest to his back, her arms sliding around his waist.
"You're the heart now," she whispered. "And we're your pulse."
The others murmured assent, low and reverent.
They moved together.
No command.
No structure.
Just instinct.