Page 237 of Black Reign

“I did not.”

“You were sick.”

Memory flickers.

A winter night.

Paris.

Rain.

Me complaining in NULL that my throat hurt.

Ghost telling me to stop drinking wine and make tea.

I had said something about only having terrible supermarket honey in the apartment.

My chest tightens.

“You remember that?”

He turns.

“Sabine.”

One word.

As if the answer should be obvious.

He remembers.

Two years.

Thousands of conversations.

One passing comment about honey.

He remembers.

This is going to kill me.

The intercom chimes.

Xavier touches it.

“Yes?”

A voice answers from somewhere downstairs.

“The scones are on their way up, sir.”

I blink again.

“Scones?”

He ends the connection.

“You need to eat.”