The sadness in her voice shocked me. She’d always been so strong and in control, so sure of herself and of her future. I drew confidence from her by just being near her, drew inspiration from her every moment of every day. The night before, with Jack, jumping into the dark water and kissing under the moonlight—I never would’ve done that before I met her.

“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m going to make it,” she said with so much sincerity it scared me.

“What do you mean, if you’re going to make it?” I said. I’d never heard Elise say anything like that before.

“Out of here,” she said. “Out of this town, this state, this life.”

“Oh,” I said, relieved.

“Don’t you ever worry that this is it? That this is the one shitty life you’re going to have and there’s nothing you can do about it?” This didn’t sound like her at all. The Elise I knew was determined to make her mark on the world. She wasn’t worried about having a shitty life.

“Is this because of Christian?” I asked. “Because he’s not worth it. And you don’t have a shitty life.”

“It’s not because of him,” she said. “Well, it’s not just because of him.”

“What happened?” I crossed my legs so I could sit up straight, and she finally met my eyes.

“I know I always act like I know what I’m doing, but—” She took a deep breath. “But I don’t.” She held my gaze, and it was like I could see into her soul. “Don’t tell the others, but most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing. I just think about the person I wish I were and try to act like her. Fake it till you make it, you know?” she finished with a sad laugh.

I didn’t want to believe her. Maybe this was just a bad day, an aberration. All her confidence and swagger—that was the real Elise. But then I thought of the times Elise invoked the Bride. She wanted to be just as badass, just as tough. Just as impossible to defeat. It’s what the Bride would do. When she didn’t know what to do, the Bride was the one she turned to, the source of her courage.

“You know you never have to fake it around me, right?” I said. “You know that I love you, right? You never have to pretend to be anyone but yourself with me. Never.”

“Remy, I—” She burst into tears.

I didn’t know what to say so I scooted closer, put both hands on her shoulders and squeezed.

She pulled away, wincing.

“Sorry—” I said, worried I’d hurt her somehow.

“Do you ever feel like we’re stuck in the part of a movie where we’re getting beaten and it feels like we’ll never succeed?” she asked. “I mean, I know we’re not in a movie, but you know what I’m talking about, right? The part where the odds feel insurmountable and you’re exhausted and running out of hope and”—she hiccuped—“and somehow you’ve got to go on?”