She shifted, drawing one knee up, curling tighter. The urge to reach for her pulled hard in my chest. I stayed where I was.
“I hate what he did,” she whispered. “I hate what he allowed. But part of me still remembers him before all of that. Before Marr. Before the Council. Before…” Her voice broke. “Before I knew what I was.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.
“That doesn’t make you weak.”
She went quiet, breathing through it. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller.
“What if missing him means he still has power over me?”
I took a moment before answering.
“It means he mattered,” I said. “That’s not the same thing as power.”
She glanced at me, just barely.
“And if I choose to forgive him one day?”
I met her eyes.
“Then that’s for you,” I said quietly. “Not for him.”
Something in her expression eased—just a fraction. Like a knot loosening. She lay back on the bed and tapped the spot beside her. I climbed beside her and sat.
“Tell me something, Dev,” she spoke after a pause.
I lay down. “Like what?”
“Anything. Something. Distract me.”
“Ok. I hate carrots,” I said finally.
She turned to me in disbelief. “That’s what you lead with?”
“Carrots are gross,” I said. “And you said anything.”
She snorted despite herself — a sharp little laugh that felt like a victory.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “No one just hates carrots.”
“I do,” I insisted. “They’re deceptive.”
“Deceptive?” She propped herself up on one elbow, studying me like she was reassessing everything she thought she knew.
“They pretend to be sweet,” I said. “Then they’re not. It’s unsettling.”
She laughed again—softer this time. Real. The knot in her shoulders loosened another degree.
“That might be the strangest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Give it time,” I replied. “I’ve got a lot of opinions.”
She rolled onto her side to face me. There was still sadness in her eyes, but it wasn’t swallowing her anymore.
“Alright,” she said. “My turn.”
I raised an eyebrow.
