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I couldn’t get my mind off of the future: what it would take to win a Fright Night, what I could do with the money, how I was going to survive another month of Cyrus. But the longer we sat, the more reflective Nash grew.

At first, it was simple things: stories about her parents, songs she remembered from childhood, nostalgic recipes she’d been meaning to look up.

But eventually, as all things did, the conversation led back to Heirs of Promise.

“Fuck that place,” Cyrus scoffed, taking a swig of her beer.

Blade shook her head. “They’re lucky we didn’t burn it on our way out.”

Nash’s arms tightened around me, and Blade’s grizzled expression softened as soon as she realized the implication of what she’d said. “Sorry, Tess, I⁠—”

“I wish you had too,” I took a sip of my drink. “Maybe I’d have wandered out into the woods to find you sooner.”

“I don’t know…” Nash shrugged. “I’m not sure I can say I hate the place. Not purely, anyway.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Cyrus balked. “That place was a prison.”

“More like a mind-control experiment,” Blade frowned.

Nash just held her hands up, though. “I’m not saying it was great. I’m not even saying it was mostly good. But I don’t know… some of the best things in my life came out of that place.”

Cyrus rolled her eyes, while Blade snickered into her beer can, “Gayyyyyyy.”

I turned over my shoulder, pursing my lips at Nash.

“What?” She smirked back.

“Just you. It’s a very ‘you’ way of looking at things. Always seeing the bright side.”

The grin that broke over her face made my stomach turn. Butterflies weren’t just fluttering — they were beating against my ribs, desperate for a way out.

“Get a room,” Cyrus muttered, earning a kick in the shins from Blade.

Nash wasn’t bothered though. Her voice grew wistful as she wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You know, I wish I could have both.”

“Both?” Cyrus asked.

“My parents and this. It kind of fucks me up to think a world where I got to keep them is a world where I’d be giving up all of you.” She swallowed hard, picking at a loose thread on my pants.

A moment of solemn silence settled over all of us. My heart ached for everything that Nash had lost and everything that she’d become in spite of it. All I wanted to do was wrap her in my arms and protect her from the harshness of the world.

But she didn’t need my protection. Only a second later, she was laughing. “Well, I guess I’m glad I don’t have to choose, I guess.”

“Jesus, Nash,” I shook my head. “Talk about morbid.”

Blade chuckled back. “You’re a sick fuck. Keep pining all you want about Heirs. Personally, I’ll take this without the side of religious trauma, thank you very much. I’m glad that shit’s in the past where it belongs.”

“Maybe not, actually.” Cyrus cleared her throat.

All of our heads whipped around to her as she took a long sip of her beer.

“What?” Nash frowned.

“Heirs. I, uh… I got a tip from Tracer the other day. Looks like Pastor Harris is still alive.”

“That old fucking frog?” Blade balked, but Nash just scowled.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”