I brush my hands off on my thighs. “It never is.”
Walking back out into the hallway, I’m greeted by Elle as she shoots up out of the plastic waiting room chair. Sabrina sits cross-legged, watching, but I don’t give her a second glance.
“Everything okay?” Elle asks, approaching slowly, still limping. Still bruised as fuck, covered in dirt and sweat. She cringes, a blush staining her cheeks. “Well, I knowokayprobably isn’t the right word, but?—”
“You should go back to your dorm,” I interrupt. “Get some rest.”
She blinks, frowning. God, that gesture stirs an ache in my chest, but I’m too exhausted—too fucking numb—to acknowledge it.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” she says, fidgeting. “I figured I’d just wait for you?—”
“I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving, so you don’t need to wait.”
“Ah.” Her entire face falls, and she retreats a little, her throat bobbing on a swallow. “I see. Um, okay then, I’ll just head back to campus.”
Pain splits my head in half, meandering its way down to my heart. My hand twitches, itching to reach for her.
Instead, I turn toward the room, allowing the defeat to settle heavily on my shoulders. God, what a fucking disaster everything wound up being?—
A hand on my bicep tugs me back in the opposite direction, and before I have a chance to even blink, Elle’s leaning up on tiptoe and pressing a rough kiss to my mouth.
My hand comes up, cradling the back of her head, but she doesn’t give me time to fall into anything before she withdraws, despair written all over her face even as she gives me a little smile.
“I love you,” she says. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll be around.”
When she walks away, meeting up with Sabrina and heading down the hall, I watch until she’s turning the corner, disappearing without looking back. Once she’s gone, I head back inside, touching my fingertips to my lips as I settle in beside my mother, letting her put her head on my shoulder.
It’ll be the last time we’re in a room together anyway.
And when Jean-Louis takes his last breath, I think maybe it wasn’t all a disaster.
EPILOGUE
ELLE
Openingnight for Othello somehow goes off without a hitch despite all the lost rehearsal time, the injuries, and the fact that our director doesn’t show.
We consider waiting, but as the amphitheater on the far edge of campus begins filling up with all the people who bought tickets, it becomes clear that a delay will only make us look bad. The Visio Aternae students step up, guiding everyone through the scene and costume changes, tossing lines as needed, and running around to make sure the production is a massive success.
Which it is, surprisingly. Still, when the curtain’s brought down after the final act, it’s hard not to feel a little disappointed when Sutton doesn’t join the cast onstage.
In the week and a half since his brother’s death—and his father’s, interestingly enough—I’ve barely seen him at all. At the hospital, I said I’d wait, but I had no idea at the time that it meant he’d withdraw from me completely.
I mean, I get it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t totally suck.
I’m sulking when my parents come up to congratulate me on the show. Mom’s long, dark brown hair spills elegantly overher shoulders, even as she’s glued to Dad’s massive side. Behind them are my aunt Violet and uncle Grayson, his hand around her waist at all times, and Foxe trails the pair with his hands in his pockets.
“You were fabulous, as usual,” Mom says, throwing her arms around me. Luckily, I’ve mostly healed up from the night in Tartarus, so her overcompensation doesn’t hurt anymore. “How in the world did we get so lucky with our talented kids, Kallum?”
Dad smiles softly at her. “All you, my little Persephone.”
She blushes, and my heart aches a bit.
“Actually,” Grayson says, shoving them aside, “I’d say it’s all me. We know where the performing genes come from.”
“You’re not even a blood relative,” Dad replies glibly.
“James genes are that powerful,” Grayson says, waggling his brows at Dad.
