EMBER’S POV
We eat terrible ice cream in Rayana’s hospital bed. Three women, three plastic cups, and the steady beep of a heart monitor keeping time like a metronome.
And the conversation that follows is the most honest I’ve had with anyone other than Knox.
Rayana starts it. She puts her ice cream down and looks at me, and the performative energy drains from her face like water from a tub.
What’s left is just a woman in a hospital bed who needs to say something that has been sitting on her chest for weeks.
“I owe you an apology,” she says. “About Rafael.”
I go still. Queenie goes still.
“I brought him into your life. I co-signed that trip. I sat in his living room and drank his champagne and listened to him talk about fate and mate bonds, and I thought he was charming and romantic
