Ramona managed a small smile despite everything. “Of course he did.”
Zara crossed the room, set one mug on Ramona’s nightstand, then sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the fox.
“All right, we don’t have the grimoires, but we can figure it out,” Zara said.
“I failed us,” Ramona whispered. “Again. Always.”
Zara shook her head. Her eyes were honey-warm as they watched Ramona. Not like she was a barely contained explosion, which was how a lot of people looked at her. She watched Ramona with intrigue and patience and affection.
“You’ve been staring at that page for a while,” Zara said. “I can feel it. Through the tether.”
“What can you feel?”
“Everything.” Zara’s voice was soft. “The anger. The betrayal.” She paused. “The grief.”
Ramona’s throat went tight. “I’m not grieving.”
“You are.” Zara’s hand found hers, careful not to jostle the grimoire. “You’re grieving the person you could have been. The life you might have had.”
“I don’t know who that person would have been.” Ramona’s voice cracked. “I don’t — I’ve been this person my whole life. The one whose magic doesn’t work. Who fails at everything. Who’s broken and wrong and—” She stopped. “Except I’m not. I never was. Someone just made me think I was.”
“I know.”
Ramona’s hands were shaking harder now. “Iris watched me fail. Watched me get expelled. Watched my marriage fall apart. Watched me loseeverything. And she knew. She knew the whole time that it wasn’t all my fault.”
“Yes.”
“That’s—” Ramona couldn’t finish. Couldn’t find words big enough for the betrayal.
The fox shifted, pressing closer. Ramona’s free hand found its fur automatically, stroking without thinking.
“Fucked up,” Zara finished. “It’s fucked up.”
“I’m so angry,” she whispered. “I’m so angry I can barely breathe.”
“I know.”
“At Iris. At my mother. At—” Ramona stopped. “At myself. For not seeing it. For not questioning it. For just accepting thatIwas the problem.”
“You were eight when it happened,” Zara said gently. “A child. You couldn’t have known.”
“But later. When I was older. I should have?—”
“Should have what? Suspected someone had cursed you?” Zara’s thumb traced circles on the back of Ramona’s hand. “Ramona, you trusted your family. You trusted that they would tell you if something was wrong. That’s not a failing. That’s just — being human.”
“It feels like a failing right now.”
“I know.” Zara wrapped her arms around Ramona, letting Ramona fall limp and loose and messy against her chest.
They sat in silence for a moment. The fox’s breathing was steady, warm against Ramona’s legs. The grimoire sat open between them, Iris’s handwriting mocking in its precision.
“What if I break the curse and nothing changes?” Ramona asked quietly into Zara’s shirt. “What if — what if twenty-seven years of damage is too much to undo? What if my magic still doesn’t work right because I’ve spent so long thinking it wouldn’t?”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” Zara said, kissing her head. “Together.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.” Zara shifted closer. “Ramona, look at me.”
