"Hey, baby girl," she cooed, burying her face in the cat's soft fur. "Still keeping this grump company, huh?"
Clover responded with a purr and a half-hearted attempt to wiggle free.
"I saw Noah leave," June said after a moment, casually, but her eyes flicked to mine in that way that told me she was paying attention to my reaction.
I looked away.
"Did he say anything?"
I took a sip of soda, the bubbles burning my throat in the best way. "He asked about my favorite book."
June blinked. "He what?"
"Yeah. While he was drawing blood."
She whistled, low. "That's weirdly... charming."
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
"See?" June grinned. "I knew it. You like him."
"I don't know him."
"You want to."
I didn't answer.
June didn't press. She just leaned back, hugging Clover to her chest, the cat purring like she owned the place.
We stayed like that for a while, eating chips and not saying much. The room felt different with June in it—lighter, like someone had cracked a window open in my mind and let fresh air in. And Clover, as always, seemed content with either of us, curling between our legs and occasionally batting at a stray chip crumb.
Eventually, June stood. "I should go before they catch me. But hey, next time you see Noah, ask him what his favorite book is."
I rolled my eyes. "Why?"
"Because." Her grin widened. "This is how stories start, Elena. One small question at a time."
She was gone before I could respond, the door clicking softly behind her.
I stared at the now half-empty bag of snacks. My heart was full in a strange, uncomfortable way. Like something was unfolding whether I wanted it to or not. Like maybe, just maybe, the silence I'd been wrapped in for so long was starting to tear at the seams.
And somehow, I wasn't sure I wanted to sew it back together.
Clover jumped back onto the bed, kneaded the blanket beside me, and curled into a warm ball at my side. I scratched behind her ears, and she tilted her head in silent approval.
Noah had smiled at me. June had risked getting caught to sneak me snacks. And for a moment, I'd laughed.
Tomorrow, everything might go back to the way it was. But for tonight, this was enough.
____
The morning, the room still held the faint scent of antiseptic and cotton. Clover purred softly on the windowsill, her green eyes blinking slowly at the rising sun. I lay still, fingers grazing the bandage on my arm. It throbbed faintly—more a reminder than a pain. Noah hadn't said much after I mentioned Jane Eyre, just gave me a look that lingered a second too long. I couldn't read it.
I sat up, careful not to jostle Clover, who flicked her tail but didn't move. The hallway outside buzzed with the usual distant activity of morning shift nurses and clipboard-wielding interns. I hadn't been summoned yet. That alone was odd. Normally, mother insisted on morning rounds to ensure I hadn't—what was the phrase she always used?—"let myself slip into idle melancholy."
I got dressed slowly, brushing my fingers through my hair as I sat on the edge of the bed. Still nothing. No knock. No Margaret. No breakfast tray. Even that was strange.
By midday, I opened the door.
Laughter echoed from downstairs. Not the dry, diplomatic chuckle of one of father's business dinners. This was louder. Younger.
I padded softly down the staircase, Clover trotting behind me like a tiny, determined shadow. From the landing, I saw them.
The grand dining hall had been transformed. Gold-rimmed porcelain, polished silver cutlery, crystal glasses that glittered like they'd been summoned just for a royal banquet. And people—young women in sequined dresses and men in tuxedos, a few I recognized vaguely from society pages or Cassandra's fleeting gossip.
Cassandra stood at the head of the table like a queen crowning herself, laughing too loudly at something a boy with bleached hair had whispered in her ear. She looked radiant in a blood-red dress, eyes lined in dark kohl, the attention of the room pulled toward her like iron to a magnet.
And no one had told me. Not even a whisper of a party.
Mother stood at Cassandra's side, nodding approvingly at something one of the guests said. Her hand rested lightly on Cassandra's shoulder—an anchor, a symbol. I paused in the hallway, every part of me burning.
I stepped back.
But too late. Cassandra saw me.
Her mouth curled into that smile I knew too well—part smug, part pitying.
"Oh," she said, voice pitched high for the room to hear, "Didn't realize you were up. You weren't invited, Elena. It's just a small dinner."
The chatter didn't die down, but I felt the shift. A few heads turned. A few smirks passed from face to face.
"It's not formal," she added, flicking her hair over one shoulder. "You don't have to make it weird."
"I wasn't planning to," I said, my voice low. Controlled.
Mother turned just slightly. Her gaze brushed over me like a scan, eyes narrowing.
"Why are you out of your room?"
Not How are you feeling? Not Join us. Just that.
I clenched my fists behind my back. "I didn't know there was a party."
"It's not a party," Cassandra repeated quickly, her tone sharpening. "It's a celebration. For me. I got an invitation to the Rothman Gala next month. Front row. Father pulled strings."
I met mother's eyes. "Oh I see."
Father wasn't present. Of course. He probably arranged the whole thing and disappeared into one of his impossible appointments. He loved rewarding Cassandra. It made him feel invested. Like his golden child had value he could brandish in front of others.
"Congratulations," I said, my voice flat.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "You can go back upstairs now."