“I was going to come for you,” Tavia said. “As soon as I found out where you might be. But then Karam left and the buskers were so uneasy.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Wesley said. “It was too dangerous and you—”

“Excuse me,” Tavia interrupted. She slammed the bottle down hard enough that a puddle spilled out onto the floor. “I’ve been leading a horde of buskers while you were gone. I can handle myself.”

“I just meant that it wouldn’t have been worth the risk,” Wesley said.

She heard the sound of the curtain drawing back.

What he’d meant to imply was that putting herself in unnecessary danger would have been stupid. What he’d actually said—what Tavia had heard coating his words—was that he didn’t think he mattered enough for her to try.

He didn’t think he was worth saving.

She thought back to when she’d seen him in the clearing, shirt torn and his feet bloodied with dirt.

She’d had to try so hard to keep from crying.

“You’re worth the risk, Wesley,” Tavia said.

She turned to him, finally, dressed in the best suit she could find. It fit him snugly and though, yes, it was a little too tight around the shoulders, if he hadn’t said it, she wouldn’t have noticed. He looked like he belonged in that suit. He looked like himself in it.

Except for the bruises.

Except for the bags under his eyes.

Except for the way he smiled, like he didn’t mean it at all.

Tavia hated Ashwood and Zekia more than anything in that moment.

“You should let Saxony heal you,” she said.

“I can heal myself.”

“You shouldn’t need to.”

Wesley didn’t answer. He just sighed and adjusted his cuff links, as he always did when he was trying to distract his mind.

“I have something for you,” Tavia said.

She slid the bone gun onto the floor beside the bottle of Cloverye.

It had been the only thing of Wesley’s she’d had to keep her mind calm and her heart alive, but now that he was back, she could feel the old gun calling to its owner, begging to go home.

When Wesley saw it, his smile turned, far more genuine than the one he’d given her just seconds before. It was the smile he’d had when they were kids running from the amityguards with possibility in their pockets, and the smile he’d given her when they got rooms opposite each other in the busker dorms, and the smile she’d savored when they created their first crystal ball together.

It was her favorite thing in the world.

“Damn, I missed this thing,” he said.

Wesley took the gun from the ground and sat beside her. His feet dangled next to hers, close enough that they could touch if they were ever so careless.