Page 100 of The Reckoning
He’s usually the first one to crack a joke when things get serious, but tonight, his gray eyes hold something thoughtful.
Salem shifts on his lap, adjusting the skirt of her burgundy dress. “It brought us together,” she says simply. “That has to count for something.”
The conversation flows easier than it has in months as we eat and drink and watch the sun sink lower in the sky. We talk about small things—the way the champagne bubbles feel on our tongues, how ridiculously formal we all look sitting on blankets in the grass, whether the LED candles will last all night. Normal things. Human things. The kind of conversations we might have had all along if we hadn’t been drowning in secrets and lies and the weight of everything we were trying to survive.
Arson is quieter than the rest of us, but I catch him watching our friends with something that might be wonder in his dark eyes. He’s not used to this—the easy camaraderie, the way we can just exist together without having to perform or protect or pretend. He reaches for a macaron from one of the towers, examining the delicate pink shell like it’s some exotic artifact.
“These are almost too pretty to eat,” he says, and Bel laughs.
“Almost,” she agrees, biting into a lavender one. “But not quite.”
As the sun sinks lower, the candles become more important, their warm light pushing back against the gathering dusk. The air grows cooler, and without thinking about it, we all shift closer together. Lilian ends up pressed against my side, her warmth seeping through the fabric of my jacket.
The ruins of the Mill House loom behind us, dark and broken against the star-studded sky, but here on the lawn with candlelight dancing across our faces and champagne making us all a little loose and honest, it feels like the darkness can’t touch us. Like we’re protected by the circle of light and friendship and all the love we’ve been too afraid to admit we feel for each other.
Drew stands as the last light fades from the sky, his glass raised toward the burned skeleton of the house. The candlelight catches in his green eyes, and for a moment, he looks older than his years, weighed down by all the history this place represents.
“To the Mill House,” he says, voice carrying across the lawn with quiet reverence. “For all the good times and bad times, for the memories we made and the ones we’d rather forget. For bringing us together, even when it nearly tore us apart.”
We all raise our glasses, the crystal catching the flickering light, and I feel the weight of the moment settling around us like a blanket. This is it—the end of one chapter and the beginning of something new.
I clear my throat, surprising myself when I stand beside Drew. “To friendship,” I add, looking around at these people who’ve become more than friends—they’ve become family, in all the messy, complicated ways that matter. “To finding each other in all the chaos.”
Arson lifts his glass higher, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, almost vulnerable. “To family,” he says simply, meeting each of our eyes in turn. “The kind you choose. The kind that chooses you back.”
We drink, and the champagne tastes like possibility, like new beginnings, like the future we’re going to build together from the ashes of everything that came before. The Mill House stands behind us, dark and broken, but we’re here on the lawn with candlelight dancing across our faces and the promise of tomorrow stretching out ahead of us.
For the first time in my life, surrounded by the people I love most in this world, I think we’re going to be okay. Actually, we’re going to be more than okay.
Not perfect.
Nothing is ever perfect, and we all still have so many things to figure out, but once we do…we’re going to be extraordinary.
