Céline waited until she was out of earshot.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was low.
I stepped closer and pulled the passport from my coat.
Her face changed.
I had seen every version of her face for eleven years, I could see her face turn from guilt into surprise, even when she tried to control her features.
“You found it,” she said, with a smile.
I almost laughed.
“You kept it under your bed.”
“Katherine—”
“You watched me cry.”
She swallowed. “I was fifteen.”
“So was I.”
The words landed between us with a force neither of us could soften.
Rain moved down her hair, clinging to the edges of her face. Around us, students passed under umbrellas, glancing once and then away.
Céline noticed the glances.
“Not here,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“Of course you do.”
Her eyes flashed. “Katherine.”
“Don’t.” My voice cracked, and I hated that too. “Don’t say my name like you’re trying to calm me down.”
A student slowed near the entrance.
Céline’s hand closed around my wrist.
“Come with me.”
I tried to pull away. “Don’t touch me.”
She leaned closer, voice tight. “If you want to destroy me, at least have the dignity not to do it in front of half the department.”
The audacity of that almost stole my breath.
Dignity.From her.
Still, I let her pull me up the stairwell, away from the corridor, away from the students, away from every witness except the rain and whatever version of God Bellamont had buried beneath all its stone.
The terrace doors opened with a hard metal sound.
