"Yes."
"That requires pure iron with no additives."
Briar studied a display of iron plant hangers, avoiding her sister's sharp gaze.
"Are you secretly a blacksmith? Is this a weird hobby thing? Oh my god, are you LARPing?" Allegra's eyes went wide with delight. "That's it, isn't it? You're totally LARPing! Do you have a character? Is it medieval times? Can I see your costume?"
"I'm not LARPing."
"Because if you are, that's actually kind of cool. Way cooler than I thought you were. No offense." She bounced again. "Can I come? I could be your squire or something!"
"Ally—"
"Or are you into that Viking stuff? Wait, is this why you needed pure iron? For historically accurate weapons?" Her excitement was building. "Oh my god, do you have a Viking name? Please tell me you have a Viking name."
"I don't have a Viking name."
"You're no fun." But Allegra was grinning. "Fine, keep your weird iron secrets. But you owe me."
"I owe you?"
"Shopping assistance fee." She linked her arm through Briar's. "Payable in ice cream. Immediately."
The mark pulsed warm on Briar's wrist. She only had two days left. She should go home, keep researching, keep looking for answers that didn't exist. But Allegra was tugging her toward the exit, chattering about flavors and toppings, and Briar found herself following without protest.
"Can we go to the place with the waffle cones? The one near the beach?"
"That's forty minutes away."
"So?" Allegra looked up at her with those eyes that had always been able to destroy Briar's resolve. "I've been unconscious for a week. I deserve fancy ice cream."
They drove toward the coast with the windows down, Allegra finally getting her playlist privileges. She sang along to pop songs Briar didn't recognize, dancing in her seat, occasionally reaching over to poke Briar's shoulder.
"You're not singing."
"I'm driving," Briar said, not wanting to admit she didn’t know the words.
"You can do both. You used to."
"That was before I knew how terrible my voice was."
"Your voice isn't terrible." Allegra said, her voice thoughtful. "It's just... unique."
"Thanks."
"Uniquely terrible."
"Brat."
Allegra laughed, bright and free, and Briar white-knuckled the steering wheel to keep from crying.
The ice cream shop was exactly as Briar remembered it—tiny, crowded, with barely enough room to stand in line. The walls were covered in photos of happy customers and hand-drawn signs advertising flavors.
"Marionberry cheesecake!" Allegra pressed her nose to the glass case. "And look, they have that lavender honey one you like."
"I don't like lavender honey."
"You got it last time."
