When she didn’t answer, I turned away, fighting a scowl. Fine. She didn’t want to have this conversation. I wanted to have it even less. Crossing my arms against the chill, I’d just settled in for a long night of silence when Ansel’s fierce expression rose behind my lids. His fierce conviction. Lou is my friend, he’d once told me. He’d been willing to follow her to Chateau le Blanc before I had. He’d kept her secrets. Shouldered her burdens.

Guilt tore through me. Jagged and sharp.

Like it or not, Coco and I were friends.

Feeling stupid, I forced myself to speak. “All I’m saying is that after the Archbishop passed, it helped me to talk about it. About him. So . . .” I shrugged stiffly, neck hot. Eyes burning. “If you need to . . . to talk about it . . . you can talk to me.”

Now she did open her eyes. “The Archbishop was a sick fuck, Reid. Comparing him to Ansel is despicable.”

“Yeah, well”—I stared at her pointedly—“you can’t help who you love.”

She dropped her gaze swiftly. To my shame, her lip quivered. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do,” she said with a hint of her old bite. Fire lit her features. “I know it’s not my fault. Ansel loved me, and—and just because I didn’t love him the same way doesn’t mean I loved him any less. I certainly loved him more than you.” Despite her heated assurance, her voice cracked on the last. “So you can take your advice and your condescension and your pity, and you can shove them up your ass.” I kept my face impassive, refusing to rise. She could lash out. I could take it. Lurching to her feet, she pointed a finger at me. “And I won’t sit here and let you judge me for—for—” Her chest heaved on a ragged breath, and a single tear tracked down her cheek. When it fell between us, sizzling against the snow, her entire body slumped. “For something I couldn’t help,” she finished, so soft I almost didn’t hear.

Slowly, awkwardly, I rose to stand beside her. “I’m not judging you, Coco. I don’t pity you either.” When she scoffed, I shook my head. “I don’t. Ansel was my friend too. His death wasn’t your fault.”

“Ansel isn’t the only one who died that night.”

Together, we looked to the thin plume rising from her teardrop.

Then we looked to the sky.