Page 129 of Revenant

“I need to talk to her about my mom, anyway. I’ve got most of the picture now, but she’s really the last piece of this whole fucked-up puzzle. And I want my best friend back. I’m so tired of going through all this without her.”

It’s exhausting. All of this. I miss her. I want to talk to her about everything like I’ve desperately wanted to so many times, but didn’t think I could. Didn’t think she’d understand.

Turns out, she’s the only person who does.

I pull on a heavy charcoal pleated skirt and tights, layering a cream silk blouse beneath a cashmere cardigan. Pryce steps into the closet just as I’m fixing the small pearl studs into my ears, and he presses a kiss to the crown of my head.

“Well, I’ve got errands to run that I’d rather not drag you along for. So the timing works out.”

I tilt my head, brows knitting together with this new information. “Errands?”

“Errands.”

I meet his eyes, and whatever this is, it’s something he doesn’t want me near. And the second I really think about it, I realize why. Eryx.

I check my phone for the first time since last night.

Moriah: hey. I know it’s early. coffee? usual place?

Moriah: no pressure if not.

I’ve been giving her space the last couple days, and she’s been taking it. Both of us, I think, are scared that the second we sit across from each other we’d have to confront the lies between us.

Me: ofc. wanna meet in ten?

Moriah: <3

The uncertainty of where we stand makes my heart hurt a little before I slip into my boots and step back out into the bedroom.

When I enter, Pryce is at the foot of his bed buttoning a fresh shirt, and the corner of his mouth tilts ever so slightly.

“Take a jacket.”

“I’ll be fine.” I shrug my shoulders as though it’s no big deal.

“It’s spring in Wickham. Take a jacket.”

I roll my eyes hard enough to strain something, grab a peacoat, and step into the hall.

It only takes me a few minutes to find the Ivory Roast Cafe—thankfully I know this campus a hell of a lot better than I did a few months ago.

The place is covered in dark wood and leaded glass windows, brass lamps throwing gold over tables, the air thick with espresso. Moriah’s already waiting at a table tucked in the back corner, her blowout perfection, a camel wool coat dropped over a pleated mini and a fine knit sweater.

“Hey, babes.” She lights up the second she sees me, and the guilt hits me like a freight train that it took me a few days to put myself in front of her.

“Hi.” I slide into the chair across from her, and the leather creaks under me. There are already two mugs on the table.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know.” She wraps both hands around her cup like she’s trying to syphon the heat. “I wanted to.”

For a second neither of us says anything; we just sit in awkward silence as other students hum around us. Moriah breaks first.

“I’m sorry, Alicent.” She turns the mug in her hands once. Twice. The ring I never paid much attention to in the past rests on her pointer finger, catching the light. It’s a quaint silver band, minimal and discreet—probably why I never took much interest in it before—but seeing it now, I remember all the times I’ve witnessed her thumb working it around and around.

A nervous tic I’ve watched her do and never read correctly.

“Can I just—” She pulls in a breath. “Can I just say it? All of it? And then you can hate me, or yell at me, or throw your coffee at me, whatever you need to do. But let me get through it once. Please.”