“Laurel was younger. And hadn’t received nearly the education I had. I’ve always wondered… if I hadn’t gone to that cabin—if I hadn’t left her—would she have retreated so far into herself. When I finally came back, she wasn’t the same female I knew. She was cold, calculating. Strategic to a fault at times. And instead of trying to help her find her way back to herself, I mimicked her stoicism, though I couldn’t pull it off like she did. We became an impenetrable force, open only with one another. Neither of us able to move on from what happened. And now, three hundred years later, I’ve left her with no other confidants.” A sob chokes in my throat, and Genevieve rubs soothing circles on my back. Even now, with a female who has experienced more trauma than anyone should have to, I suffocate others with my grief. Shame courses through my body, making the sobs worse. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, and Genevieve lifts my chin, so similar to the way I had in my rooms when she’d told me of the Reshnar scholar.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I think you’ve been carrying this for a very long time. It’s good to let it out.” She smiles, and my heart squeezes in awe of this brave and open female. I wrap my arm around her and pull her in close to me, despite the risk of being so openly affectionate in public. She leans in, and the scent of parchment and vanilla wafts over me. It feels so much like home that my body aches to wrap myself around her and never let go. We finish watching the sunset, then lay on our backs to wait for the sky to fill with stars. When there’s no light but that from the moon, she shimmies away from me and stands. “Time for the main event,” she says with an excited mischief lacing her voice. I stand beside her and panic floods my system thinking about climbing back down the rope ladder in the dark.

“What do you mean? How are we getting down from here?” I ask, the fear in my voice obvious. She laughs.

“Not a fan of the climb?” I shake my head. “Lucky for you, we aren’t going back the way we came. Unlucky for you, the only way back inevitably involves heights.” With that, she turns and begins walking away, and I have to walk fast to catch her.

We stumble through the darkness for twenty minutes, rapidly dropping our elevation. Orbs of light twinkle in the distance, and the faint sounds of water splashing and people yelling tickle my ears.

“Where are we going?” I ask. She just wraps her hand in mine and keeps walking. The movement feels right, like we should never walk unless it’s hand in hand.