"I'm still relevant," Raven snapped. "I don't need Krimson Khaos to prove that."
There was a pause. Then Henry said, carefully, "Is this about Alissa?"
"This has nothing to do with Alissa."
"Because she's not part of this. It's just the four of us. We thought you'd be more comfortable…"
"I'm hanging up now."
"Raven, wait—"
She ended the call and set the phone down, her hand trembling slightly.
For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the coffee going cold in her mug.
A reunion tour. Massive venues. Millions of pounds. The chance to prove she wasn't washed up, that she was stillRaven, still somebody people wanted to see.
She looked down at the notebook, at the half-finished lyrics about home and light and beginning again.
"No," she said aloud to the empty kitchen. "Absolutely not."
But the unease lingered anyway, stubborn and uncomfortable, settling into her bones like an old ache.
THAT EVENING, ANNABELLE arrived with takeaway from the pub, fish and chips wrapped in paper, still hot and smelling gloriously of vinegar and grease.
"Can’t leave me alone?" Raven said, opening the door to her.
"If I don’t check on you once a day, you might disappear," Annabelle said.
Raven stood back to let her in, heart filling up at the sight of her. "I’m not disappearing."
"So say you. You might catch a case of the regrets, in which case, I want to be here to remind you of what you shouldn’t be regretting."
Closing the door, Raven caught her arm, pulling her close enough to nuzzle a kiss onto her cheek. "No regrets. Not yet."
"Good," Annabelle said briskly. "Now come on, let’s eat, before it gets cold."
"Yes, ma’am."
"Arty says hello," Annabelle announced, setting the food on Raven's kitchen table. "And that you're a 'dark horse,' whatever that means. He winked when he said it, which was both charming and slightly unsettling."
Raven felt the corner of her mouth twitch despite the weight still sitting on her chest. "Arty's a menace."
"He really is." Annabelle smiled, but Raven could see the exhaustion around her eyes, the tightness in her shoulders. "Sorry I'm late, by the way. Gloria called me three times about the skit for the children, and then Mrs. Henderson had concerns about the raffle prizes, and then I had to rewrite half the script because obviously eight-year-olds can't be trusted with long monologues—"
"Annabelle," Raven said gently. "Breathe."
Annabelle stopped, blinked, and let out a long breath. "Right. Yes. Breathing. I'm doing that."
They sat down to eat, and for a few minutes there was comfortable silence broken only by the sound of cutlery and the occasional satisfied hum from Annabelle.
"This is exactly what I needed," Annabelle said, stealing one of Raven's chips. "Comfort food and good company."
"You can have your own chips, you know."
"Yours taste better."
"They're literally the same chips."
