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Signy was not discouraged. She wouldn’t want to be observed in a state like this, either, but Cora was missing an important detail. “I won’t think any differently of you.”

“Yes, you will, you will. I am not of myself. I am wrong and I am altered and I am different, and you will see. Inevitable. Ruined.”

It was jarring to hear Cora speak in her own voice but with another rhythm. Despite her discomfort, Signy persisted. “All right, maybe I will think differently, but I won’t think less of you. My understanding of you might change, but so what? Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m broken. You’ll know I’m broken.”

“No,” Signy said. “You’re sick. You’re a human being, and you’re sick. It’s nothing to judge someone for.”

“This isn’t me,” Cora said. “This isn’t me.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t want you to . . . to . . .”

“To what?” Signy asked.

A sobbing cough. A hiccup. “To stop liking me.”

“Cora, I love you,” Signy said firmly. It was the first time she’d said those four words aloud in that combination, even though you weren’t supposed to say it like this. You were supposed to say it over low lamplight and paper flowers, or in bed with your clothes strewn artfully over the floor, or holding hands over a dinner neither of you could actually afford. You weren’t supposed to be kneeling on tiles dusted with potting substrate, stuck on the wrong side of a bathroom door while talking someone through a crisis. But they were the only words Signy had, the only words that made sense to say. And when she said them, they weren’t tied up in ribbons, and she wasn’t being sweet about it. “I love you,” she said again, hard and defiant, a retort to the suggestion that whatever was behind the door had any chance of changing the feeling that had been lacing itself through the entire fabric of her being for months now, stitch by stitch, thread by thread. She pressed her palm against the door harder, as though she could force her atoms through the gaps. “Please.”

After a long moment, the lock clicked back.

Signy opened the door carefully and found Cora scuttled out of the way. She was sitting on the floor next to the trash can, her knees pulled up to her chest and her face hidden against them. Signy went to her, and she, too, sat on the floor. She tried to pull Cora into her arms, but that was too much, too much. A single hand stretched out to stroke her hair, though—that, Cora accepted.

“Thank you,” Signy said, her own eyes stinging. “Thank you for letting me in.”

Cora continued to cry, but the sound was different now. Louder. Cleaner. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Stop that,” Signy said, smoothing Cora’s hair back across the curve of her head. “There’s no need.” She was desperate to hold her, but this would do, for now.

Cora reached up and held on to Signy’s forearm. “I can’t find them,” she said.

“Can’t find what?” Signy asked.

“The colors,” Cora said. “These . . . these colors are all wrong. I can’t find the ones I need.”

Signy processed this. “You don’t need those colors,” she said.

“Yes, I do, I—”

“No,” Signy said. “What you need to do is breathe.”

Chapter 790 Cora, Lodestone

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

It wasn’t ideal, having her brain glitch while she was away from home, but she and Signy had a standing plan of action for when this happened on Lodestone, and besides, this episode was just a baby one. A headache that was already fading, a general wash of confusion, a bit of visual fuckery Cora knew how to tolerate. The world was a little too sharp and a little too monochrome, but it would pass. Her symptoms still knocked her on her ass sometimes, sure, but not today. Even when it did, she knew how to manage it now. It didn’t scare her anymore.

“Better?” Signy asked.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s not so bad,” Cora said. She took a sip from the cup of mint tea she’d picked up in the med clinic’s waiting room before they’d headed to the garden together. This was not the first time they’d done this, and the staff there had waved them on through with an understanding smile and a reminder to come get them if Cora did need a doctor. It was good, to have a doctor who knew about this. Everybody in town knew about this. Riding her symptoms out was so much easier when she didn’t add the fail condition of “nobody can know” to the mix. God, she didn’t miss that part.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.