Page 56 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

Ronan snorts into his coffee.

"I don't write poetry."

"Thank every available god." Mikael's amusement fades. "You're taking it apart, aren't you? Putting away everything that reminds you of her so you can convince yourself none of it mattered."

I set down my fork.

Mikael's expression tells me that was answer enough.

"Don't do that, Soren. If she's gone, be angry. Be miserable. Sulk for a month and make the rest of us suffer with you if you must. But don't pretend you didn't want her there just because this went badly."

"Stop it."

Godric's voice comes from near the cold fireplace. I hadn't noticed him there, perched on the stone ledge with his wings tucked close behind him.

I leave before anyone else decides to diagnose me.

The cold outside is preferable to another conversation, so I cut around the back of the house and end up in Evander's garden. Most of the garden has gone dormant for the season, though Evander has somehow convinced the hedges that winter doesn't apply to them.

Gael finds me there within ten minutes.

She sits beside me without asking and says nothing. After several minutes of waiting for whatever lecture brought her out here, I decide to save her the trouble.

"I'm reopening my roster. The transfers can be reversed."

Gael looks out over the garden. "No."

I turn to her. "I wasn't asking."

"I know." She finally looks at me. "I'm still saying no."

Despite myself, heat gathers beneath my skin. "They were my clients."

"And you transferred them because you no longer wanted to do the work."

"I can do the work."

"I know you can. But your heart isn't in it anymore, Soren."

I look away.

Gael is quiet for another moment before she says, "You know what I find particularly irritating about this?"

"I suspect you're going to tell me."

"You spent such a long time refusing to become what your clan wanted, and one frightened woman walks out of your room and suddenly you're prepared to prove them right."

My jaw tightens. "This has nothing to do with my clan."

"It has everything to do with them. They taught you that caring too much made you weak, and Margot has spent most of her life believing that needing to be cared about makes her weak. She got scared and ran, Soren. You got hurt and immediately decided the problem was that you cared about her at all."

A thin curl of smoke escapes my nose.

Gael glances at it. "There he is."

"Careful."

"Oh, please. If you intended to incinerate me, you'd have done it three centuries ago."