She nods and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Well, I wanted to know if you would like to go to breakfast with me.” She pauses a moment, then adds, “Since it’s our last day in the city.”

I hold back a laugh of disbelief. After what happened last night, she wants to go to breakfast? What for? More public humiliation? ‘Hey look, there’s the guy who got pounded by that girl! Ha-ha!’

“I was going to eat here,” I say. “Probably not enough time before we get our apartments.”

Glacia bites her lip and rocks on her heels. “Please? I need to talk about something.”

“What about Ellin? You guys like each other.”

“No, I—”

She stops talking, looks at her feet, and takes another deep breath.

“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. I wanted—”

“I have a huge bruise,” I say, wincing when I hold my palm to my ribs.

She crosses her arms, uncrosses them, and then re-crosses them the other way. “Sorry. Like, I am sorry.”

Her bright hazel eyes plead with me, hoping I’ll accept the apology. I should forgive her—I have a lot more to say sorry for than she does, anyway—but I can’t make myself say the words. So I choose a different route.

“Let me get ready.”

We go to the Shady Barchan and eat for several minutes without talking. Honestly, the change is nice. Eating cereal and Killari beef sandwiches every morning and afternoon got old. Stacks of pancakes topped with fruit dressing and chilled berries, a side ham, and a glass of juice. It’s refreshing, even more so than wearing a self-cooling uniform in Undil’s heat.

I glance up for a second and see a dab of whipped topping smeared on the corner of Glacia’s mouth. She sees me staring and perks an eyebrow, so I touch my finger to the side of my lip. She gets the idea and licks it off, then takes a sip of bright red seedberry juice.

“Have you called back home at all?” she asks.

I shake my head. The thought didn’t even cross my mind.

“Did you?”

Glacia nods. “My parents weren’t home, but Jaston and Sophie were.”

“Sophie’s his…”

“Fiancé, yeah.”

She drops her eyes to her half-empty plate and distractedly runs her fork through the gooey fruit dressing. I’m about to ask how he’s doing when she says,

“I need to buy them a wedding gift.”

“When’s that?”

“End of September.”

She cuts the rest of her pancakes into small chunks and arranges them into a smiley face. Even so, her mouth remains flat.

“What are you going to buy?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I was hoping you could help me.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You definitely should’ve asked Ellin.”

“I need a guy’s perspective.”

“I’ve never been to a wedding.”