“Besides. Forget Lachlan, Erin’s still dealing with a lot. Testimony from some of the Fallen came out through the courts, they were pretty open about stuff they pulled. Manipulation, covering up crimes within the compound, some of the stuff they were up to were things that I would have thought even more extreme people like my aunt and uncle wouldn’t be happy with. Her parents are…”

He trailed off, floundering.

“Taking it hard?”

“No,” Rain said, quiet. “Not taking it at all. Refusing to listen, shrugging it off. Saying there’s a greater meaning. Doesn’t feel like the right time, even if I had the balls to say anything on the perfect opportunity.”

“Seems to me like she’s spending all her time taking care of others. Managing her parents, helping Lachlan—”

“Helping me,” Rain said. “Great. Now I feel guilty.”

“But she gets the movie nights, right?”

“That’s for me too. Catching me up on everything I missed by being the little boy who was raised off the grid. The classics according to Erin.”

I considered for a moment.

“Which?”

“Uhh, Sixteen Candles, Oil and Vinegar, Not So Sweet Seventeen, The Lovecats, Metropolitan Girl, Ring Finger, uh, the live action Peanuts with the actress from Sixteen Candles as the red-haired girl, ummm…”

“I’m sensing a trend. I’m pretty sure that the movie selection is partially for her own benefit.”

“I hope so,” Rain said.

“Those seem like comfort films to me,” I said. “The kind of thing you watch over and over again.”

He nodded.

“We should get you up to date on films of other genres, sometime.”

“I’m up for anything. I want to get caught up in everything, and get to where I know movies well enough I can recommend something Erin will like, or… just have a conversation without feeling like I’m a step behind. I’m tired of always being the one who needs help.”

“We’ll see what we can do. If you want to help, I know Ashley needs you to look at her hand. Don’t let her forget or pretend she’s fine.”

“Oh, for sure,” he said, distracted because he was glancing Ashley’s way and simultaneously paying attention to Byron and Moonsong getting up off the bench.

The pair hugged, and I saw Rain make a little fist, as if hopeful.

No, Rain, I thought. No.

The pair approached, and as they did, Byron flipped his hood up. He became Tristan, and the distinction between details like jacket, jeans, and frame were subtle enough that only someone looking head-on at their face and the hair beneath that jacket hood would notice.

“Thanks for coming,” Moonsong addressed our group. Her smile looked a mite forced, and she looked very much like someone who had had a long, hard conversation with someone else. “Did you let them know you’re all here?”

“Do we have Sveta?” I asked.