Page 214 of Carousel

Eric, my baby brother. Always so anxious the world was out to get to him – and it did. I haven’t even begun to process his loss yet. He was so young. So good. It’s not fair.

Cosmer’s mother. A thoughtful, hardworking woman.

And Riss.

My reluctant friend.

Looking out at the blue sky, whisked with the occasional wispy cloud, it’s like I can hear her.

I hope you’re not going to start mourning me, Girl in Love.

At some point, I’m aware of Drake’s presence beside me. It hits me he’s the only person I don’t completely hate in this room. And that is a feat, considering I hate him, to an extent, too.

“I really don’t want a conversation,” I warn.

“Neither do I,” he counters. “I just wanted to offer you condolences. For your losses today.”

I wait for him to smirk. Turn this into a secret joke of some kind only he understands.

He doesn’t.

Gradually, I realise the truth.

I cast a glance along the table. Meg is grappling with the radio bands, trying to get them attached to the ship again. The others are engrossed in their own conversations, or concentrating on the controls or the sky.

I get to my feet, holding his gaze.

“You’re sad, too?” I ask, quietly. The gentle whirring of the ship swallows my words.

“I did not know your grandmother, or your brother, or the people in your village. And I’m sure it does not come as a surprise that I did not sympathise with Cosmer, or really understand your relationship. But Riss had kindness and humour,” he states, matter-of-fact. “And a quiet strength. She deserved a better death than what she received.”

She did. She absolutely did. And we will get vengeance for her.

I stare at him. The morning light is flooding in now. Pooling us in a dewy yellow. I find myself taking all of his face in, the way I don’t let myself do usually. His lips are thin, but look soft. It’s a bizarre, and probably inappropriate thing, to be noticing right now, but I do.

“Thank you,” I say, stilted, and forcing myself to look into his eyes again. “For your condolences.”

“Always,” he replies at once. “Your losses are mine. I feel them deeply.”

He’s being sincere.

How much can he feel through the bond?

“It’s been the worst day of my life,” I say, deciding I need to be honest right now. “I don’t even know how time is still going. How I’m still going.”

My face threatens to crumple. I can’t start crying again. Not in front of these people I don’t trust.

I stay strong.

He steps closer. Our noses almost touch. I resist the urge to pull away from him.

I’d forgotten how speaking to him was like trying not to fall down a hill.

“I can ease the pain you are feeling,” he whispers, turning his palm over, as though inviting me into it. “Erase it, even. If you wanted.”

“No,” I say quickly. “My feelings are…” I struggle to find the right word. So I just say, “Mine. I want to feel them.”

“But they’re—” He winces. “Overwhelming.”