Chapter Text
After an…entertaining live performance of what Imogen’s sure is a wildly inaccurate depiction of the conquering of Tal’Dorei and a surprisingly effective series of sendings to Fearne’s mother, the rest of the group disperses. Laudna, escorted by F.C.G., leaves the table to browse the gift shop, undoubtedly to acquire an unnecessary amount of tacky souvenirs. Dusk slinks off, following Laudna, Imogen assumes. The little elf seems to glue themself to Laudna’s side at every possible occasion. Fearne, Ashton, and Chetney are at the far end of the table, chugging their friends’ abandoned drinks and popping luke-warm appetizers in their mouths. Hunched in her seat, Imogen traces the condensation on the fishbowl glass of her own Ashari Breeze. It’s untouched, alcohol serving only to lower her already frail mental walls. She can’t say she isn’t tempted though, as her eyes dart over to the gift shop, lingering on the rock chisel that peeks up from behind one of the shelves.
She pushes her glass forward with a sigh. Eyes still trained on the glass, following the beads of condensation as they drip onto the sticky table, Imogen catches the subtlest of movements. She glances up to find Orym across the table, tapping at his temple, concern pinching at the corner of his eyes.
Yeah?
You alright?
Imogen can’t help the dark little laugh that escapes. She thought she’d put up a convincing front, but Orym’s perceptive. His eyes, gentle and almost apologetic, seem to see right through her. She could pretend she’s fine, he’d let it go with only a solemn smile, but something stops her from reflexively dismissing his concern.
Can I be honest?
Orym nods earnestly.
This is so dumb.
Laudna and I…had a bit of a falling out.
It feels small, when she says it like that. Like the ache in her chest isn’t threatening to swallow her whole. Like she hasn’t tossed and turned in bed every night since The Incident, too warm without Laudna’s cooling presence in bed beside her, too afraid of a nightmare without Laudna’s hushed words to soothe her. Like she doesn’t hate herself for every cold shoulder and barbed response she’s thrown Laudna’s way the past few days.
I can tell.
You know - She just sort of did - She did something that broke my trust.
The rock. A sense of control and power. Shattered in the palm of Laudna’s hand. Broken like her promise.
It’s weird, because the longer it goes…after, it feels like it was almost a good thing that she did -
The rock. The constant itch, burning in the back of her mind. A desperate need to hold it, have it, use it. Be used by it.
But I can’t tell her that yet, because…I don’t know.
She knows why. A feeling, akin to anger rises like bile in her stomach.
Then, as soon as we get here, you know, Dusk shows up.
And all of a sudden, I’m hurtin’, and Laudna’s just living it up with this new person,
smiling and laughing like she doesn’t even care that we had a fight!
Despite the outburst being a telepathic one, Imogen’s out of breath. Her head aches. She inhales through her nose, slowly, chest aching as it expands. She glances across the table as she exhales, Orym’s kind eyes are wide with surprise.
Sorry, that was loud in your head, and I apologize.
It’s cool. It’s cool.
He reassures her gently, like he’s placating a wild animal. Imogen feels exposed under his watchful eyes. She rants and raves about her sudden baldness, anything to shift the focus from the raw emotion, the ugly jealousy that tumbled out. Orym lets her, complimenting her cheekbones and offering hope that it’ll grow back soon. Imogen’s running her gloved hands through the purple fuzz when Orym redirects.
I haven’t known you that long, but I watch you and Laudna together and…you guys are so close.
I see you get down on yourself and I think it’s coloring your thinking a little bit.
When you have a falling out with a friend, I don’t know…I think breathe through it.
Friend. It feels like too weak of a word. Two years on the road together, making homes out of hovels, sharing their dreams and their pasts, finding the love and support they never had in each other. Their lives are so intertwined, Imogen’s unraveling without her.
She - That dead lady’s got a lot of love in her heart.
I know.
For someone who has received so little, Laudna has so much love in her that it seeps in everything she does. Cool glasses of water, warm cups of tea. Hushed whispers, boisterous, contagious laughter. Endless support, despite the constant setbacks. Inappropriate jokes, perfectly-timed to keep Imogen from spiraling. There’s so much love and now it feels like Imogen is drowning in it. Imogen sighs, affection and longing apparent, even in her own thoughts.
She’s got a really good heart.
Orym goes on to commend her for saving Dusk, for messaging Fearne’s parents. Trying to prove to her that she’s still capable of doin’ good things, even if it feels like she ruins everything she touches. Yeah, she saved Dusk, but look where that got her. And yes, she is happy for Fearne, the excitement the faun radiated was worth the spell slots. A small, wretched part of Imogen was jealous of it, but mostly she was worried. Worried that it wouldn't go well, that it'd cause more harm than good. Another hurt she can blame herself for.
You know, work through it, but when you’re ready, talk to her.
Orym implores, offering her a reassuring smile, showcasing his dimples.
I know, I know. I’m a little embarrassed, but yeah…
She won’t care…I don’t think.
A small hand reaches across the table, covering gloved hands, ceasing their wringing like Laudna usually does.
Also, I’m the new guy, but my door’s always open.
Without even having to skim his thoughts, Imogen can tell his earnest desire to help is sincere. Imogen feels her lips lift in the first genuine smile she’s managed in days.
Thank you.
Their heartfelt moment is interrupted by the self-proclaimed “Rimelord”, theatrically shooing them from their table. They stand, gathering their belongings and preparing to fetch the others.
“Imogen!”
Her heart stutters in her chest as Laudna calls out, finally returning from the gift shop with a nervous, bordering on manic smile.
“I got you - I was in the gift shop and I saw this pot holder and thought of you.” Laudna eagerly extends the embroidered pot holder forward as she continues softly, unsure, “It says “TOT” on it…”
“TOT holder…”
“And this pencil! It’s purple…like your once hair.”
Imogen laughs despite herself, despite her pride, despite the anger she’s been feeling, unsure if it’s even her anger to begin with. It’s the same fond but exasperated laugh that Laudna has conjured from her countless times over the years with her antics. Her chest feels lighter, the smile lingers as Laudna frantically checks the orb. The rest of the group runs to the gift shop to make a few last minute purchases, but Imogen hangs back, admiring the pencil in her hand, rubbing a thumb along the ridged wood. She rolls her eyes as Orym brings her back a shirt with “Whitestone is for Lovers” on it, but folds it carefully and places it in her pouch with her TOT holder. She leaves the pencil out, tucking it into her belt instead as the group departs. It pushes against her skin, not enough to be a nuisance, more of a constant reminder. She needs to fix this.
***
Of course. Of course Imogen would end up on stake out duty with Dusk. It’s been goin’ smoothly enough, smoother than planning went, anyways. Strategizing was never the Hells’ strong suit, but ever since Dusk started tagging along with their group, it’s been more difficult. It’s like the elf has something negative to say about every proposal that isn’t Laudna’s or their own. She especially loves to undermine everything Imogen has to offer. But it’s fine. They worked it out eventually, thanks to Fearne’s impulsivity and charm.
“She’s in the front!” Dusk announces cheerily.
Imogen startles, brow furrowing in confusion until realization dawns, “Laudna told you?”
“Yeah! Yeah.”
Imogen deflates, dutifully ignoring the disappointment swirling in her stomach. “All right.” She turns, heading back to the meeting spot out front, not truly caring if Dusk follows.
“Hey!” Dusk chirps out, speed walking to catch up, “Are you? Are you and Laudna a thing?”
Sweat beads on the back of Imogen’s neck. She must’ve misheard, she must’ve. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Are you and - are you and Laudna a thing?” Dusk barely manages to mumble.
Imogen’s heart leaps in her chest. “A thing?” She schools her features, wiping her face of anything but a confused curiosity.
“A thing.”
Oh, Gods. “Like, what do you mean?” Imogen braces herself, holding her breath.
Please drop it.
Please don’t ask what I think you’re -
“Like, romantically entangled? ” Dusk’s nervous thumb twiddling shifts into an obscene gesture, leaving no room for any more feigned confusion.
“Umm…” Imogen’s throat feels like it’s constricting. It’s an easy question. Yes or no. They aren’t…entangled. Imogen flushes, mind flashing to what that would entail. They aren’t like that, no matter how much Imogen - no, they’re not like that. “...no?”
“Okay! Okay, cool!” A grin stretches across their elven features, heaving a sigh of relief. “Good, because I was kind of getting some vibes and everything…”
Cold hands, warm heart.
You feel real.
Cold hands, warm heart.
You feel real.
The phrases echo in her mind, hitting Imogen like a punch to the gut. “Yeah,” she mutters, voice devoid of any life, “I could - I could see it.” And she could. Dusk seemed to make Laudna happy, which is more than she could say for herself at the moment. But the swirling in her gut persists. She should be happy for Laudna. Maybe if they were on better terms, Imogen wouldn’t be feeling so…insecure about her place in Laudna’s life.
“Good talk,” Dusk mutters, seemingly oblivious to Imogen’s distress.
They walk wordlessly, reconvening with the rest of the group, but Imogen is only half-present, mind racing. She has to fix this.
***
Imogen keeps her head down as she winds her way through the dusty street of Bassuras. Alone. The thoughts of the scattered citizenry, bustling about in the afternoon sun, begin to creep into her mind, threatening to overwhelm her already frayed nerves. Imogen grits her teeth and bears it, having no other choice. She’s handled worse crowds than this, in both numbers and disposition, but ever since The Incident things have been different. Hard. Painful. In their two years of travel, Laudna’s mind, a chaotic symphony of kindness and warmth and love, had been Imogen’s safe haven. From crowds like this, from her own anxious mind. Her cool arm intertwined with her own provided a steady, grounding presence. Having it withdrawn made Imogen realize how…dependent she had grown on it. A few days without Laudna by her side and Imogen felt herself slipping back into the person she was before that fateful day in Gelvaan. Easily overwhelmed. Quick to anger. Lonely. Gods, she was so lonely, and it was all her own fault.
Imogen crosses her arms in front of her chest, hands clutching the opposite bicep. Her gloved hands too warm to properly mimic the comfort she’s desperate for. She grips harder. She can do this. She’d handled crowds on her own before Laudna, and that turned out…fine. Imogen shudders as she recalls the nights spent locked in her room pleading for everything to just stop, only to wake in the morning with a pounding headache, wishing she hadn’t. Imogen shakes her head, forcefully clearing the familiar sense of doom that threatens to take hold. She needs to do this. The Hells need a receipt from this “River of Renewal”, and they were all too busy squabblin’ or making eyes at Laudna, in Dusk’s case.
Cold hands, warm heart.
You feel real.
Romantically entangled
Imogen grumbles under her breath and moves with more purpose, rapidly approaching the familiar marketplace known as the Bank of Renewal. She shuffles past the assortment of tents and hovels, ignoring the shouts of the various vendors advertising their wares, until she comes to a stop outside the tent Dusk had investigated earlier. Lifting the canvas flap, Imogen ducks into the River of Renewal. The interior of the pawn shop seems empty, barring two individuals matching the description Dusk had given, seemingly the operators of the establishment. They linger in the rear of the tent, talking amongst themselves until the older gentleman looks up, noticing Imogen’s arrival.
“Hello?” He puffs himself up, plastering on his customer service smile with practiced ease as he continues, “Hi, can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a present.”
Imogen slips into her newfound role as the smooth talker, hiding behind false intentions and a smile, as she inquires about the variety of cheap and tacky jewelry the shop has for sale. It’s going smoothly enough, though her disinterest seeps into her words more than she’d usually allow. Before she convinces herself to waste three gold on the junk, she remembers something Dusk had described when searching for Treshi’s ring, something nicer. Something that might make this trip across town worth it.
“And if…if I wanted to be serious and get something real?” Her façade flickers a bit, bleeding into sincerity for a heartbeat, before the carefully crafted persona slips back into place.
The shopkeep hums to himself, shoving himself off of his stool to guide her over to a glass case. “Well, I mean…” He reaches into the case, pulling out a variety of bracelets and rings of significantly higher value, the craftsmanship alone leagues above the costume jewelry he’s previously shown. A glimmer, a brief flash of red, catches her attention from the corner of her eyes.
“How about that little one?” Imogen points a gloved finger towards the ring Dusk had described. Golden snakes, expertly crafted and delicately intertwined, wrapped into a perfect circle, fanged mouths connected by a delicate red gemstone in the center. “With the ruby?”
“This would be sixty-five gold pieces.”
“Sixty-five gold…all right,” Imogen mutters, almost to herself. Expensive. This wasn’t the original plan, but Laudna would love it. Imogen knows she will, thought so when Dusk first described it hours ago. Besides, requesting a receipt for an item of value is more logical than for a shoddy piece of costume jewelry. Two birds, one stone, really. One beautiful stone. More confidently she continues, “Yeah. I’ll get that one.”
He wraps it up, a pleased smile pulling at his lips at the dramatic increase in sales price. Imogen forces herself to refocus on the mission, the actual reason she made the trek across town.
“Could I get a receipt, please?”
“Oh, yes, yes.” The merchant begins scribbling onto a sheet of paper.
“And what’s your name, sir?”
“Adon. Adon Hiro.” Adon begins folding the receipt, tucking it in the cloth wrapping with the ring, Laudna’s ring. Imogen repeats the name in her mind, committing it to memory.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
He doesn’t look up from his work as he dryly responds. “Pleasure. And your name is?”
Imogen cycles through the list of girls she knew in Gelvaan, “...Jenny.”
“Here you are, Jenny.” Imogen eagerly accepts the offered package, thanking him. “Feel free to come by should you require anything else.”
Imogen traces the metal ring through the wrappings. “Thank you, very much.” She nods in acknowledgment and turns to leave. She makes it a few steps before she pauses and opens the wrappings. She pulls the receipt out and tucks it into her shorts pocket, carefully rewrapping the ring and placing it in her pouch. There. Now she could hand the receipt over to the group without having to pull out the ring. No prying eyes or pesky questioning. With a protective hand over her pouch, Imogen retraces her path back to the group.
***
Imogen couldn’t sleep. She’d startled herself from a nightmare an hour or so ago, covered in a sheen of sweat and bathed in the orange light of Ruidus’s flare. It was always hard to sleep after her nightmares, but usually she could lay in bed and at least try. Tonight was different though. Her dream was different. A woman was there, untouched and unblinking, in the eye of the raging storm. An army behind her. F.C.G had done their best to fill Laudna’s usual role. Jotting down notes in the dream journal, trying to comfort her as best he could. About the dream, about Laudna. But there was no glass of water, no cool hands wrapped in her own. Laudna slept right through it, drifting peacefully on the other side of the tent, wedged between Fearne and Dusk. Imogen couldn’t wake her, undeserving of her comfort.
So now Imogen’s awake, hunched over her notebook in a sliver of brown-red light that peeks in through the tent flap. She rereads the most recent entry, shaky script out of place compared to the other entries, filled with Laudna’s flowing handwriting. She flips to the back of the book, pulling the TOT pencil from her belt. Tapping the eraser against her lips, Imogen tries to organize her thoughts.
She writes and writes until the lead is dulled pointless. Guilt-ridden apologies and pleas for forgiveness rapidly fill the page. Variations of “I love you” litter every other line. It feels good to get it out, all the things that have gone unsaid for days, weeks, months. For years, if Imogen’s being honest. She tears her eyes from the page, unable to stomach seeing the hidden corners of her heart scrawled out in lead. Calculating the risk of F.C.G. or Laudna stumbling upon her entry, Imogen hesitates for a moment before tearing the page neatly from the spine. The paper in her grasp and the throbbing ache in her chest the only evidence she wrote anything at all.
“You alright, over there?” Orym’s voice is gentle as he whispers from across the tent, but Imogen still flinches at the sound.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you or anything, I was just surprised to see you awake.”
“I - I’m fine, Orym. Just had a nightmare, still jumpy I guess.” Imogen begins folding the parchment, trying to be subtle. “I can take this last watch, if you want some extra shut eye. Not like I’m gonna be able to sleep anyway.”
“That’s alright,” Orym clambers over Fearne, tucking into a casual somersault before popping up a few feet in front of Imogen. “I’ll stay up with you, if you need some company.”
“I - uh,” Imogen rustles with the paper, stuffing it into her back pocket. “Sure, Orym. I’d appreciate that.”
He flashes a boyish smile her way before he drops into a plank. “So, how long have you been awake?”
“A few hours, I reckon. F.C.G. was on watch, helped me with the journal since Laudna - ” Imogen’s eyes dart over to the sleeping witch. “ - was asleep,” she finishes lamely.
“Right. How are you doing, with all of that?” His voice is steady, showing no strain from his morning workout routine.
“Um, fine, I guess.” Imogen blinks, shifting her gaze from Laudna to her own hands, scarred fingertips picking at the leather seams of her gloves. “I-I’m figuring it out. Been working on an apology, and stuff.”
“Good, that’s good.” He begins his push-up sequence, lithe body rising and falling with graceful fluidity Imogen can scarcely dream of. “I know it’s been…hard for you, lately. Me and Will had our share of disagreements over the years, so I get it.”
Imogen is thankful Orym’s eyes are fixed in the dust between his palms. Her face flushes at the comparison, equating her relationship with Laudna to that of a spouse. The ring sits heavy in her pouch.
“How did y'all get through it?” Tumbles out of Imogen’s lips.
“Time. Space.” Orym ceases his push-ups, dropping to a seated position on his knees, feet tucked underneath his small frame. “The hardest part is swallowing your pride enough to apologize, to be honest about your feelings. And you’re already working on that, so the hard part is over.”
“Ye - yeah.” Imogen’s voice catches in her throat. The paper in her pocket burns, threatening to brand her affections on her skin. “Hard part’s over.”
Her words must sound as unconvincing as they felt, based on the concerned look Orym sends her way. He opens his mouth, but is cut off by a yawn.
“Good morning guys!” Dusk greets too cheerily for someone still shaking off slumber’s grasp. They stretch, movements exaggerated. Fearne and Laudna stir. “Hope I didn’t miss anything too exciting while I was asleep!”
“Nope.” Imogen blurts quickly. “Orym here was just wakin’ me up.” She fixes Orym with a look.
“Uh, yeah! I was, doing that. It’s time we got goin’, we have a long day ahead.”
A deep groan reverberates in the small, enclosed space. Ashton, presumably. The group slowly rouses, sorting their things and finalizing plans. They step out of the tent, desert heat refreshingly mild at the early hour. Imogen watches from a distance as Laudna chatters away with Ashton. They both shoot glances her way before turning back to each other. It feels wrong. This whole morning has felt wrong without Laudna by her side. As the Hells and Dusk begin to separate into their groups, Imogen can’t stop herself. Hand in her back pocket, she reaches out for the mind more familiar than her own.
I had a dream last night.
I wish you were there when I woke up from it.
It was fucked up.
It was fucked up.
Laudna turns, wide eyes meeting Imogen’s. She looks startled, concerned, confused.
What?
It’s good to have you in my head again.
I’ll tell you about it later.
Imogen’s heart shatters at the desperate little nod Laudna gives, seemingly relieved to be on speaking terms again, even if it’s only for dream discussions. As the groups depart, heading to various destinations across Bassuras, Imogen keeps the connection to Laudna for as long as she can. She says nothing, and hears nothing, but she can’t bring herself to sever it after the length she’s gone without it. She can’t imagine going without it again. She’s gonna fix this. Later.
***
“Can we talk?”
After days of fighting, snapped words and empty bedrolls, the ache in Imogen’s chest finally outweighed the burning itch of anger in the back of her mind. She did it, or was going to. Any minute now, Laudna would follow her out to the hall. Any minute now. Imogen rubs her hands together, barely resisting the urge to pace the halls, to pop her head back into the room, to reach out with her mind. Any minute -
The door creaks open. Laudna, somewhat disheveled and clearly nervous, shuffles into the hall, closing the door behind her.
“Hi…”
“Hi…”
Imogen sighs, relieved to hear Laudna’s voice again. Laudna sighs, too, and Imogen can’t help but smile. Despite everything, she and Laudna are still in sync. A few days of tension weren’t enough to undo years worth of trust and connection.
They both begin babbling, gushing about how much they missed each other, how tired they were of fighting. Imogen stammers her way through her apology, not nearly as eloquent as what she hoped for. Laudna doesn’t seem to mind, though, wrapping her arms around Imogen and squeezing with the little strength she has. Imogen sinks into the embrace, reveling in their closeness for a moment. Their intertwined limbs remind Imogen of the ring in her front pocket, pressed between their bodies. She takes a small step back.
“Thank you, for the pencil…” Imogen reluctantly untangles herself from Laudna, reaching into the pocket of her shorts. “I - uh I got you something, too.”
Orym’s voice, flashes from their previous conversation, creeps into her mind.
Swallow your pride and apologize.
Done.
Be honest about your feelings.
Not quite, yet.
Holding her breath, and the ring between her thumb and pointer finger, Imogen tries.
“It’s two snakes and a ruby… intertwined, ” The last word sticks like honey in her throat.
“I just…”
I wanted to show you how much I love you, no matter what.
I knew you would love it, and wanted to make you smile.
I just wanted to see my ring on your finger.
I wanted Dusk to see.
“It reminded me…”
Of us.
Sharing a bedroll in the early days on the road.
Sharing a bed in cheap inns and Zhudanna’s place.
Arm in arm in the markets, in the gondolas.
“I don’t know why…”
Why the words won’t come.
Why I can’t just be honest.
Why I thought this time would be any different.
“It’s kind of like us!” Laudna finishes for her as she slips the ring on her middle finger.
“Yeah…” Imogen can’t tear her eyes from the ring; it looks almost perfect.
“The ruby kind of reminds me of - ”
“I know, like a rock coming between us. But it’s not gonna!”
“It’s not. No more rocks! Between us, at least. There are more rocks…”
Imogen had missed this, Laudna’s infectious energy and reassuring presence. Her world had grown dim without it.
“It’s felt so weird with this thing goin’ on, and we can’t talk to each other about it.”
“It’s been so much, and we just haven’t stopped going since we got here.” Laudna grows increasingly distraught, clutching at her head. “And then, Dusk is here now.”
“Dusk is here.” Imogen murmurs stiffly.
“Did she just hit on me?” Laudna’s obliviousness to the elf’s obvious interest would be comical if it weren’t so painful, so relatable. Dread churns in Imogen’s stomach.
“She did?!” Laudna truly must be distraught if she didn’t pick up on Imogen’s faux-surprise. Or Imogen’s gotten better at hiding her own pain.
“She did ask - ”
If we were “a thing”
The word “no” has ever tasted so bitter
“I got the impression she was interested…”
“What do I tell her?” Laudna practically begs, desperate.
Tell her no.
Tell her you aren’t interested.
Tell her you already have me.
“What do you want to tell her?” Imogen utters, voice neutral despite the burning, aching need to know what Laudna’s thinking. She holds her breath.
“I don’t know. I’ve just been so…really just wanting to make sure that we were okay.”
“Yeah,” Imogen murmurs, cautiously hopeful, a weight lifting from her shoulders.
“And just, you know. I don’t think - I haven’t accessed that part of my brain in like fifty years. So…”
Oh.
Imogen swallows down the bitter taste of loss before it can appear on her face. “It would be strange, I know, to access that.”
I know, because I went over twenty years without accessing it until you.
I know, because you rolled into town and changed my life, saved it.
I know, because now I can’t imagine a future without you by my side.
I know it’s strange, and I’m sorry.
“Yeah, I don’t want to hurt her feelings or anything.”
“Oh, no. I’m sure.”
I’m sure I can never tell you, now.
“She seems sweet…they seem sweet.”
The loss and disappoinment and jealousy and love and fear and embarrassment that swirls in her stomach, that’s made a home there the past week, threatens to pull Imogen under. Luckily, Laudna asks about her dream and Imogen loses herself in the familiarity. Recalling the details, the woman, the storm, the flare. Laudna meets her with her usual enthusiasm, earnestly asking questions, desperately hoping to figure out the pattern, the reason, the way to make it stop.
“I think, you know, F.C.G. wants to try this thing where he’s watching us sleep. Not in a creepy way.”
“Creepy.”
“No, yeah, it feels kind of creepy. But he says that maybe if he sees when I start to dream, he can try to access my mind and he can be there, too.”
Laudna nods along.
“But I remember at one point when I had the stone, I had it in my dream right? When I was holding it in my hand.” Imogen grows frantic, voice rising in pitch as her words tumble out. “And I talked to you about this before and we just haven’t been doing it.”
Because I hurt you.
Imogen heaves a breath, running out of air as she continues to ramble. “But I really think maybe I should just hold onto you and then -”
And then, you’ll come into the dream with me.
And then, I won’t be so scared.
And then, I won’t have to go another second without you by my side.
“Maybe I could be there…” Laudna finishes for her.
They hypothesize about moon cities and teleportation and it’s all so absurd, but it’s so them. Imogen allows herself to be swept up by it, by Laudna’s passionate speculating and imagination. She feels lighter, and heavier, but mostly lighter. Everything is back to normal; their version of normal, at least. Everything’s not fine, but Imogen’s gotten good at lying. If she can convince F.C.G. that she and Laudna are still fighting, maybe she can convince herself that she’s not in love with her best friend. The folded paper burns like a hot coal in her back pocket, a sharp reminder of the truth.