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“Maybe it’s, like, a mental illness.” She bites her lower lip and looks to the side. “But this isn’t really about Aurora, is it? Are you really worried about her, or is she reminding you of someone else?”

“It’s about…” I suppose I can be honest with Farrah. She’ll likely see through me in matters of the heart anyway. “Both.”

“You’re worried about Aurora, and you’re seeing the pattern of what’s going on, then?”

I nod slowly. “What if my magic⁠—”

“No. You’re not a teenager with undefined, chaotic magic anymore.” Her expression hardens. “Your magic hasn’t harmed anyone in years.”

What she’s saying makes sense, but I’ve been through enough therapy to know how difficult it is to use rational facts to convince the irrational mind. It’s still important to do so, but I don’t always want to believe it. Even if I should. Even if it’s true.

Then again, how am I supposed to know what’s true?

“But I spend more time with her,” I whisper, leaning closer so as not to be overheard. “More than I ever have with anyone. More than with Wendy.”

She takes a slow, considering sip. “You can’t know what’s wrong with Aurora until you actually talk to her.”

“She won’t talk to me.”

“Ah.” She grins and sets her coffee down. “But she’s talking to me. Do you see what’s happening?”

I shake my head. No, I have no clue what she’s talking about.

“She isn’t sick at all. You upset her.”

I recoil, blinking. “I did what?”

I think through everything—all the things we’ve said, all the things I didn’t say. Yes, I told her about what happened. Yes, I’ve stopped going inside the cottage. Aurora didn’t seem upset about either of those things. She was compassionate. Understanding. It seemed real that she still cares about me.

Was that all a lie? Is she afraid of me and finding a way to cut me off slowly?

“She knows about the cottage,” I say slowly. “But she didn’t seem upset about that.”

“No, I think most magical folk would be empathetic about that.” She taps her nails against the table. “Must be something else. It isn’t healthy for her to be avoiding you rather than talking about it, or even just asking for space, but you have to decide if that’s something you’re willing to work with or if it’s a dealbreaker.”

“If what is?”

“Bad communication? Duh.”

Nothing is a deal breaker for me, not when it’s Aurora.

I run my fingers through my hair. “What should I do? Keep giving her space?”

“If she asks for it. Has she?”

“No… not exactly.”

“Then go talk to her and stop thinking so little of yourself. If you did make her sick… bring her to Jewel. Don’t run away this time. We have to find a solution.”

“I-I’ll try.”

“She’s not Wendy. You’re not a kid anymore.” Farrah leans across the table, a stubborn gleam in her eyes. “So, be different.”

Be different.

I didn’t know how to handle Wendy’s passing. The day she became ill was the day my magic was finally defined. I was labeled as a reaper, even if I didn’t want to be. When her parents said she was sick, that the doctors couldn’t find a cause, it became clear that the cause was me—and to me, it made sense that if I left, she would improve.

But she didn’t.