EMBER’S POV
Queenie and I exchange glances.
“We’re not conspiring,” I call back. “We’re bonding. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Rayana appears in my doorway, a champagne bottle dangling from one elegant hand and a smile playing at her lips.
She’s changed into something silky and expensive-looking, a loungewear set, and she moves with the particular grace of someone who has never doubted her right to take up space.
“I wanted exactly this,” she says, refilling both our glasses without asking. “Three women, some alcohol, and absolutely no men allowed. This is how healing happens, darlings. Trust me.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Queenie asks. “Healing?”
“Among other things.” Rayana settles onto my bed with the casual possessiveness of a cat claiming a sunbeam. “We’re also celebrating. Bei
