With the announcement came endless unwanted attention—stares, rumors, and strange DMs. Violet did her best to ignore it all. She had other things to focus on, like her recovery. But it did not escape her notice how much time Augusta had started to spend at the Saunders manor.
And so she was radically unsurprised when her mother sat her down the week after she came home from the hospital and launched into an awkward speech about changes.
“I know it’s been quite a year for us,” Juniper said, “and I have promised you honesty, so in the interest of total transparency…”
“I know you and Augusta are dating again,” Violet said, which earned her a sigh and a rather rueful look from Juniper. “What? You expected me not to notice that she’s basically moved in here?”
“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Juniper said, wringing her hands. “I know that we have a lot of complicated history between us, and I know that the two of you haven’t always gotten along.”
Violet had been thinking about that a lot lately. May had shared the full truth of Augusta’s past, and while it was not an excuse, it still felt like valuable perspective. Juniper and Augusta had both lost so much. She was glad on some level that they’d found each other. She was leaving for college in a few months anyway, and she would not get in the way of the happiness that they had fought so hard for. As long as Augusta behaved herself, anyway.
“Mom, it’s cool,” she said gently. “Just tell her to stop trying to cook for us, because she’s really bad at it.”
And that was that.
There was one more thing, though. Something Violet had been studiously avoiding, something she had grown immensely gifted at shoving into the back of her mind. But it would not disappear forever, and it found her shortly after she talked to Juniper about Augusta as she sat at the piano, fiddling with the final notes of the Gray Sonata. She had originally planned for the last movement to be loud and furious, emphasizing the minor key before fading into an uneasy silence. But Violet had decided, now that she knew the whole story, that it was better to include a key change. To resolve the chords back to major, just for one brief moment—and then bring the minor chord back in again.
She didn’t want all of this to be forgotten. But she did hope that it could be forgiven.
Orpheus was curled up on the couch beside the piano bench, sleeping. She’d worried about him, but although the tether between them was gone, he seemed utterly fine. Whatever magic they had given back to the forest was clearly enough to sustain him—he belonged to Four Paths, and he seemed to enjoy the kind of second life it had given him, one where he was the permanent lord and master of the Saunders manor.
She was playing with the chord progression, thinking of those last few moments where the Gray had disintegrated around her, when Isaac walked into the music room. The wounds in her side ached as the November sunlight streamed in through the window behind her, emphasizing the sharpness of Isaac’s nose, the curve of his cheekbones, the way his undercut had grown back into a messy nest of curls behind his ears.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “I think we should talk.”
Violet’s heart stuttered in her chest.
She and Isaac had shared so much with each other over the last few months. But she’d mistaken human decency for romance before—she wouldn’t do it again.
So Violet had decided to give herself some space. To get over him. She had thanked his brother profusely for saving her life, of course, and she was polite to Isaac in person. But she’d deliberately stayed distant. Because it was the only way for her to handle this that didn’t end in humiliation.
“You could’ve called or something,” she said.
“You’re avoiding my calls. And my texts. I’ve been forced to resort to talking in person.” Isaac walked over to the bench and peered over her shoulder. “You finished the sonata?”
“Sort of.” Violet frowned at it. “It still needs a lot of work.”
“Still better than anything I could do.” He was so close to her. She could feel the edge of his flannel brushing her shoulder. “How’s the recovery? Are you doing all right?”
“The doctors say the wounds will probably scar,” Violet said, shrugging away from him and flipping the sheet music binder closed. “But I’ll be okay.”
“Scars aren’t so bad,” Isaac said, sitting on the piano bench beside her. She had noticed while trying very hard not to pay attention to Isaac that he’d started displaying his own scar. Not flaunting it, exactly, but not hiding it either. “Better than the alternative, anyway.”
“You mean death,” Violet said flatly. “You can just say it, Isaac. I think we’re both familiar enough with it by now.”
Isaac’s smile was rueful. “This is kind of what I wanted to come here for, actually.”
“To talk about death?”
“No. To thank you. You’ve made me think differently about the ways I’ve been handling my trauma over the last few months. It’s changed me for the better, I think. And I also wanted to tell you that I get it. Why you’re avoiding me, I mean.”
Violet turned her head sharply, horrified. She could feel her cheeks flushing. “You do?”
“Yeah. I put so much on you. You handled it really well, but, like, of course you need a little while to process it. Everything that happened to me… it’s a lot for people to deal with. I mean, I’m still figuring out how to deal with it myself. I found a therapist, and I’m talking to Gabriel about coming with me. But I have a long way to go. Anyway.” He shrugged. “I’m rambling. The point is, I understand why you took a step back.”
He was so off base, so adorably, absurdly off base that Violet couldn’t help herself. A laugh slid up her throat.
“Holy shit, Isaac,” she said. “You think I’m running away from you because of your baggage? Do you realize how much baggage I have, too? I’m glad you understand how intense the stuff you told me was, and you’re getting outside help for it. But I also know what a big deal it was for you to tell me any of it at all.”
“Oh,” Isaac said. “I just thought… I mean, I didn’t want to burden you.”
“You are not a burden.” Violet turned to face him. She hadn’t meant to hurt him with this; she saw now that she had, that she’d miscalculated. “There is nothing you can say to me that will scare me away. I promise.”
“Nothing?” he said softly, and suddenly he was looking at her with a fresh intensity, with something that looked a lot like nerves.
“Nothing.”
“Okay,” said Isaac, the next words tumbling out of him in a rush, like a dam breaking. “Because I want to ask you out, but I don’t know how. I just know that I want to do it right, and it freaks me out thinking how easily I could mess it all up.”
The ache in Violet’s chest transformed into a warm, incredulous rush of affection. Her mind rushed through the last few months, and for the first time, she told herself a different story. One where two people slowly let down their walls for each other, even though they’d been through enough heartache to last a lifetime. One where they figured out how to heal. One where they were both scared, but all that meant was that this mattered to both of them.