[ It's hard to hear. She feels her muscles turn to stone, her lips tense, reality descending with the weight of something awful enough to be inevitable. She and August spoke of death before, mostly her fear that she might die at the hands of someone she loves, and that that might make them disappear. All the hints he dropped — years ago for him now, just last month for her — are painting a picture colored in blood and the flames he relies on so much.

Cellar nods. It's something she and Theo can think about together, if he wants her to help him. She hopes so. ]

I don't want you to keep secrets from me, Theo. I don't know why he wouldn't tell me, [ Because we are not the friends I thought we were— ] But. Uhm. Thank you.

[ For being who I believed you were. ]

Whatever it is, maybe we can figure something out. And if we can't, then. Then we're here for him.