A pot of sencha steamed on the coffee table. Phoebe gratefully took the cup that Cat had poured for her; normally she would have taken it with a spoonful of honey, but left the jar alone this time.

“Phoebe, why do you want to join Quill?” Cat wasn’t wasting any time. His own cup sat untouched in front of him. Before she could answer, he stopped her. “To be clear, I’m not asking why you feel like you need to join us. I’m asking why you want to.”

“I want to fight. I can help you.” She found it difficult to meet Cat’s steely eyes. It had been a few days since the attack on Julia’s home, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d felt content at the end of it. She’d jumped off the edge and into a violent death at Silver’s hands and it had left her feeling at peace.

Content like pulling yourself out of the water and sun-drying on a warm rock while a mountain waterfall roars behind you. Content like the bus ride home after a day of 200-foot roller coaster drops. Like a shower after a hard run. Content like all the energy built up inside you had finally been bled out.

Drop by scorching, red drop.

“I heard you talking,” Phoebe continued, “about how you need more people because Connell is going to come back. And it’s not like I’d really be in danger.”

“You don’t have to use yourself as a weapon. We don’t want you to see yourself that way.” Asmeret sipped their own tea.

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3.6.2024
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