Page 175 of What Remains

Julian: I don’t know if I can forgive Zoey. Some days I think I do. Some days I don’t.

In the same . She already lost the love of her life, which is a pretty big punishment, and she’s about to lose him all over again. The pain of knowing she sacrificed everything for a traitor . . .

He can fill in the dots.

Julian: Maybe it’ll hurt her now to hear the truth, but she should know.

I agree. And, Julian? You’re a good guy to care so much, even for someone who hurt us all. I hope one day you find someone who makes you happy.

Julian: Yeah, yeah. The girl I want is in love with someone else, and I’m happy for that couple, so I’ll move on. Besides, it’s not like I’m the commitment type. I would have inevitably broken your heart, because I suck at relationships, then Easton would have had to kill me, and I’m about to test out the whole not-being-dead thing again, so that would suck.

Julian: Orrrr maybe you would have broken mine? Who knows, and we’ll never know.

Wow. That’s a lot to process.

But I also hope and pray one day he will find true love and not run from it.

Before I can type back anything, he cuts things off with a quick message—his way of letting me know not to respond to what he said.

Julian: I’m good, promise. No stressing. Tell Easton and the others hi for me. Talk later :)

I text him back a goodbye, then set aside my mobile as Camila slips through the doorway.

“That Julian?” she asks.

I blink in shock. “How’d you know?”

She lifts one shoulder and closes an eye, as if worried about what she plans to share. “The medicine has been less effective ever since that vision last month. I tried increasing the dose, but that went . . . badly.” Her hands fly up, outward facing. “Don’t tell Carter, please.”

Shit. I walk over to her. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not.” She settles her hands at her sides. “Carter and the others wouldn’t be here if not, so . . .”

True.

“And my visions aren’t like they were before. I can touch people without seeing their future. I just know things again. Here and there. Not always. Not sure why it happened this time. Maybe it’s temporary? Or permanent, who knows. Only time will tell.” She angles her head toward the desk. “But yeah, I could feel Julian’s presence somehow and knew you were talking to him.” She shrugs. “Maybe this is a happy medium solution?”

Talk about a glass-half-full approach. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“Let’s not tell Elaina. I’m worried she’ll get an idea or two, if you know what I’m saying.”

My stomach drops. “I do.”

She clasps a hand to my shoulder. “Now come on, we have a girls’ night out to get ready for.”

“At the White House,” I say with a laugh. “Minimal chance of anything wild happening.”

She chuckles. “I think that was by design.”

Two hours later, we’re gathered in the family dining room beneath soft chandelier light. Crystal prisms scatter reflections across the long table, and the chairs feel like they belong behind velvet ropes instead of being casually occupied by eight of us women.

“So, with the race tightening up between our parents now that that jerk dropped out after colluding with Molly,” Diana begins, eyes flashing to Natasha, “it’s looking more and more likely we’ll be back in the White House again next year.”

“Which means the teams will most likely continue either way,” Natasha says with a nod.

“Too bad I have a conscience and morals, or I might consider rigging the election so my mom loses,” Diana says with a laugh, then covers her mouth and glances around the room as if worried we’re being recorded and someone might take her seriously.

Politics might be messy, but tonight it feels personal—like the future of our families is sitting right here at the table with us. And technically, it is.