Estelle squeezed her eyes shut and stumbled along with Sophie, leaning on the other woman as if she were a hundred years old. “I didn’t think it would be so hard.” Which was a stupid thing to say. She had known it would be awful. She just hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it while she was still with Aviva. Hadn’t dwelled on the very real possibility that she would never see Aviva again.

She stopped and wrenched herself away from Sophie and retched into a pot of withered flowers. When she was done, she put her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath.

“Here.” A handkerchief appeared in front of her.

Estelle wiped at the tears that had leaked from her eyes and then swiped at her mouth. “I’m fine.”

“I can see that. Just be a little more fine before we leave here,” Sophie said. “We don’t need a reason to draw any more attention than necessary.” She slipped her arm back into Estelle’s.

Estelle tried to return her handkerchief.

“Keep it,” Sophie said.

“Where are we going?” Estelle croaked.

“Back to your place.”

“Right.” Estelle tried to get her thoughts in order but her mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything. “You need me to start—”

“I don’t need you to do anything now, except come back with me to your apartment, where you will grieve properly.”

“I don’t need to grieve. She’s not dead.”

“No, and nor will she be. But gone hurts just as much as dead. This I know.”

Estelle sniffed, feeling slightly ashamed. This woman knew better than most what grief was. And yet still, she was the one who was comforting Estelle.

“And when you are ready, we will discuss what happens next. What we will do to help end this all.”

When Estelle woke, she was alone in her bedroom. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep when they had returned, just rest for a moment to collect herself and her thoughts. But she had found herself weeping for Aviva, weeping for Jerome, and, somehow, she had fallen asleep despite her best intentions. Light now streamed through the breaks in the curtains, telling her that a night had passed and morning had arrived, and Estelle had slept through all of it.

She crawled out of bed, pulled on a sweater against the cool air, and deliberately did not look at the wardrobe. She wandered out of her bedroom and came up short in the dining room.

The ice princess was sitting at her dining room table, once again wearing the green dress Estelle had first seen her in. Laid out before her was the old rifle that had once resided in the trunk in the hidden room. She had placed a blanket on the table to protect the surface and was working a rag over the barrel of the gun. A sharp, oily scent hung in the air.