Chapter 4

I eyed Julian.

"I can sleep in the other room."

"The other room hasn't been lived in. It's not set up."

"I don't mind. I'll sort it out—"

Julian was immovable. "No."

Eighteen-year-old Julian had been the kind of cold I didn't dare challenge. Twenty-eight-year-old Julian was simply more difficult to read.

What surprised me most was that he let me have his bed without debate — he made up a spot on the floor himself.

I couldn't sleep.

The room was lit by a small nightlight. I noticed it after a moment: it was mine. Old now, worn at the edges. A little moon-shaped lamp I used to keep by my bed.

"Julian," I said quietly.

He looked up.

"I'm sorry."

He knew exactly what I meant.

Julian sat up slowly. His eyes, always dark, looked at me directly.

"What were you thinking that day, Ivy?"

I was embarrassed.

"I read that boys your age can get... restless," I started awkwardly. "And I thought maybe you'd want to. And you were probably... it would probably be fast, since it would be your first time, so it couldn't hurt that much. And it had been seven days since my last period..." I made myself finish the sentence under his gaze. "The books said that's the ovulation window."

Julian went silent.

His expression deepened. Darkened.

A long pause. Then he turned his face away. The tips of his ears went pink.

He cleared his throat. "I was asking about the day of the fire."

I pulled the blanket over my head.

"You called me," he said quietly, from the other side of the fabric, "and I didn't answer. I've spent ten years asking myself — if I had, could I have gotten you out in time?" A pause. "Do you blame me?"

Oh. That's what he meant.

I let out a muffled sound. "No. Julian, I couldn't have gotten out. It wasn't your fault."

I said it, and then something snagged.

Couldn't have gotten out. Why?

There was something I'd forgotten. Something important, hovering just out of reach.

I tried to pull it back. It didn't come.