EMBER’S POV
And what do you say to that?
I, of all people, who spent the whole morning learning exactly how much a person needs the fantasy sometimes, the silly unreal thing that isn’t another catastrophe.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Yeah, of course. We stay in the fantasy.” I link my arm back through hers, and I bump her shoulder, and I pitch my voice deliberately light, giving her the off-ramp. “Besides, we’re not done humbling Knox. We’ve barely scratched the surface. A man that rich, Queenie. There’s so much more spiritual damage to do.”
She laughs gratefully, and squeezes my arm, and the door closes again, gently, over the thing beneath, and I let it, because she asked me to and because some doors you only open when the person’s ready to hold what’s behind them.
“Okay,” she says, scru
