Page 80 of Rogue’s Mark

I take a sip of the coffee. It's awful. It's perfect.

"You did it," Mara says, quieter now. "You actually did it. Your dad, the whole thing. You said you would, back at the very beginning, when you didn't have anything but a stack of papers and a look on your face that scared me a little. I didn't say so then, but I wasn't sure you'd survive it, let alone finish it."

"You're allowed to say it now."

"Well, I'm really glad I was wrong."

I look at her, my oldest friend, the one constant in a life that lost every other constant it had. People talk about the family you're born with and the family you find, like they're two different things. Mara is both. She knew me before any of this, before the Rot, before my father, back when we were kids with skinned knees and big plans. And then when the whole world fell out from under me, when everyone else backed away from the mayor's cursed daughter like the bad luck might rub off, Mara came looking. She didn't have to. She came to find one person, found me, and stayed.

I've never properly thanked her for that, and I'm not going to start now. We don't do that, the two of us. But she knows.

"What?" she says, catching me looking.

"Nothing." I take another sip. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

"Speaking of dangerous." I set the cup down and let a slow smile spread across my face, the one I've been saving for this moment. "So. You and Kade."

And there it is. Mara, who has never in her life been at a loss for words, is suddenly extremely interested in her coffee.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says to the cup.

Oh for Christ’s sake.

"Mm-hmm."

"We're friends."

"Mm-hmm."

"He's helpful. Around the Rot. With things."

"With things." I lean back. "Yeah, I bet. Mara. I saw you. By the food court, the night we got back. And you were not having a little conversation with the man. It was a full-on make-out session. I bet that tongue is really… helpful, as you say."

The color comes up her neck, which on Mara is a big time confession. "You said you weren't going to make it weird."

"I never said that. I said no such thing. I have, on the other hand, kept my mouth shut for days, which is way too long with something this juicy. So now, I’m collecting what’s due me."

She puts her face in her hands. "All right, all right. Jesus. It's pretty new," she says, muffled. "I don’t know what to make of it so don't make me name it. The second you do name something like this, it gets all fucking weird.”

"Fair," I agree.

She peeks at me through her fingers, surprised I'm letting her off the hook. And I am, because I know what it is to have something new you’re not ready to talk about out loud. I’d no more poke at her personal business than I'd want anyone poking at mine. Actually that’s not true. I’m nosy as fuck. But hey, we're not going anywhere. We’ve got all the time in the world.

"He's good to you?" I ask, and this part isn't teasing.

Mara lowers her hands. "Yeah," she says simply. "He is."

"Okay. Then I like him."

“You’re letting me off easy.”

"You're the best person I know," I say. "Anybody who's good to you is automatically on my list of acceptable humans. It's a short list. He should feel honored."

Mara rolls her eyes, but she's pleased, actually borderline blissful, and I think about how long it's been since I've seen my bestie just plain happy. There’s no bullshit hanging over her, nothing bad she's bracing for, and seeing this is the best part of my morning.

We came here basically the same way, the two of us. Desperate. Out of options. Two women with nowhere left to go, walking into a place everyone warned us about because the alternative was worse. We were hoping it would be temporary. We were supposed to survive it and move on, if we survived it at all.