"Probably should talk," I say. "But want to? Not really." I come out, pulling a tank top over my head before going toward the cabinets to take out mugs from the one above the sink and then rabbit food from the cabinet beside it. Élan, at least, seems to be taking this whole mess in stride. Good for her. Someone needs to.

"It's more of the same for me."

I can still remember Thomas sitting on that couch with me after the city lost Isabelle. I'd confessed to him at the time that it felt as if I'd run out of grief, like I was too drained to mourn her after mourning so many others.

Now here I am again, missing Thomas. Missing Athos. And my grief is too tired, too numb.