I let her hug me, kiss both my cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.” She pulls back, eyes moving to Nova. “And who is this?”
“This is Nova.” I can’t keep the pride out of my voice. “Nova, this is Maria. She and her husband own this place.”
Maria’s face does something complicated—surprise, then understanding, then warmth.
“Nova.” She takes both of Nova’s hands in hers. “Welcome. Any friend of Rane’s…” She glances at me, sees something in my expression, and her smile deepens. “Come. I have the perfect table.”
She leads us to the corner—the quiet one, away from the kitchen, where my mom and I alwayssat.
Nova slides into her seat and looks around, taking it in. The cracked plaster, the old photographs on the walls, the handwritten menu on the chalkboard.
“This place is…”
“I know.” I sit across from her. “It’s not fancy.”
“No, I—” She shakes her head. “I love it. It feels real.”
Something loosens in my chest.
Maria’s daughter appears—Lucia, maybe sixteen now, when did that happen—and takes our order. I get what I always get, spaghetti. Nova asks what’s good and orders alfredo.
When Lucia leaves, it’s just us.
Nova’s fidgeting with her napkin. I want to reach across and still her hands, but I also don’t want to spook her.
“So,” I say instead. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you ever come around here? While you were… avoiding the system?”
She shakes her head. “I tried to stay away from anything the Nightmare Order was part of. And that included the Academy.”
“Makes sense.”
“Besides.” She shrugs, not quite meeting my eyes. “I knew I’d never be going to the Academy. So it didn’t make sense to come near here. I just focused on not getting caught. Staying invisible.”
The words land somewhere in my chest and stick there.
“How hard was it, Nova?”
“It wasn’t. Not really.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs again. “It’s all I’ve ever known. My memories with my parents, before they died—they’re not all there for some reason. And after, when I was on my own?” She picks at the edge of her napkin. “You get used to it, I guess.”
“That’s no way for a child to—”
“I know.” Her voice is soft but steady. “But it’s what was. So I learned. Made the most of it.”
I nod. I don’t want to push. Don’t want this to become something heavy and sad when she’s sitting across from me in white leather looking like a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
The food comes. Lucia sets down plates with practiced ease—her mother’s recipes, the ones that haven’t changed in twenty years.
I watch Nova take her first bite. Watch her eyes close for just a second.
