A pale blue dawn draped itself carelessly across the sky, watching the flat plains impassively as a girl stumbled through the tall crops of a farmland far below. She glanced back at the path left in her wake, the light just kissing an edge to her eyes in the dim, refracting out a whiteish, ghostly green color from the irises, set below a delicate frown. The moon combed light through the tangle of her brilliant platinum hair as it bounced wildly across her shoulders in rhythm with her blind dash for safety. Her shoes pounded the earth, kicking up cascades of dirt. She flashed past a gnarled looking scarecrow, and a mere breath behind, a predator lumbered swiftly after her.

She would not waste a breath to scream toward the farmhouse, conserving as much as possible to pumping her arms and cutting a swift path to the barn, now only a few hundred feet before her. The tall plants brushed her roughly as she forced a path to the tall structure, staining her white collared shirt. She spared a brief second to pull the suspenders off her shoulders to hang from her waist after they snagged on yet another stalk of green. She tried to ignore the heavy breath growing steadily closer, tried to not to think about the warmth she would feel on the back of her neck when he closed the distance between them. The barn was only a few heartbeats away. If only she would reach the door handle, now glistening from beneath a bronze lamplight like a piece of treasure glinting in a shallow black pool.

The edge of the corn field before the barn was silent and unassuming, until she broke free from its hampering embrace, flying down the worn dirt path toward the personnel entrance beside the massive set of barn doors. Clad in slender white gloves, her hands slapped around the handle and wrenched aside the door, slamming it behind her as she dove into the blackness within.

Theoline gasped, sucking air into her lungs desperately. A slip of moonlight helped her orient toward the door as she backpedaled deeper into the shadows of the thick timbers above her. The dullest sound of running stopped almost at once, resolving into a slower, confident pace. The footsteps became yet more casual. Theoline watched the lamplight leaking in from beneath the door when shadows of two feet broke the steady line of amber light. She could hear his breathing. The sounds became more frantic, more excited. She felt her shaking back press into a rough post from behind, arresting her retreat. The handle clicked gently, and more light spilled into the barn as the door was wrenched away from its frame.

A man stepped into the barn. She could see a tall lean frame and a head turn across the space as he searched for her. Theoline stepped into the moonlight, crushing the soft straw beneath her shoes. She restrained the spasm coursing through her body. The figure before her stiffened, she felt probing eyes on her.

“You have very pretty hair.” She heard an older, hoarse voice whisper.

Slowly, Theoline raised both her hands away from either side of her body, palms facing out in invitation, as if presenting herself before an audience. In a swift motion, both arms darted, one before her, and one against the small of her back in a flourish as she bent at the waist into a low bow. She watched the straw at her feet, not daring to look up as she held her breath. Core pounding fervently, Theoline closed her eyes.

A snort of laughter bled out from the black space ahead. She felt her lips tug at the corners but mastered the impulse to let a smile slip, not this early.

Then her ears perked at the sound of something sharp being dragged clear and into the open. Steps started up again, this time, more arrhythmic, whether from excitement or something else she could not say.

“You don’t need to worry any more. I’ll keep your hair safe forever. Safe with me.”

Still, Theoline waited patiently. Suddenly, she heard the immediate rustle of crushed straw as steps quickened to meet her.

Then, a grunt of surprise and the slightest breath brushed the top of her head from above.

Letting the apprehensive lump relax from around her throat, Theoline opened her eyes and craned her head to see the point of a knife stuck in a frozen fist, inches from her exposed neck.

“Fuck.” She laughed, instantly feeling her shoulders ease from the tension that had been knotted their all afternoon. She righted herself carefully shuffling to one side and looking over the bewildered man before her, petrified but for his wild darting eyes. Theoline reached up and teased the knife handle out of his hollow grip, letting it fall into a plastic bag she procured with the other hand.

She pursed her lips, looking over the man admonishingly. He seemed just as out of place here as she did, clean-shaven, lean, and dressed in clothes that were more suited to a dinner party than a barn. Then, an idea, easily the worst but most devilishly exciting idea had come to mind. Not caring in the slightest, Theoline let the electricity coursing through her exhilarated body take the fore as she stepped under his outstretched arm and brought her lips close to his ear. She gripped the back of his neck in a perversely mocking play at affection.

“Curare,” She said quietly, letting the sound tickle out her mouth, “Has been used by several Indigenous tribes in South America… for hunting.”

Stepping away, Theoline extended a lazy finger and gently pressed it against the man’s forehead until, with a breathy squawk, he toppled onto his back, “Relax, soon the toxin will make it impossible for you to stand anyway. I had to distill the dose so it would work faster. What this also means is that the dose is so potent, it will eventually paralyze your diaphragm.”

Still shaking with adrenaline, Theoline flicked the light on her phone and stalked into a corner of the barn where she snapped the suspenders back up onto her angled shoulders, unhooked, and in a flourish, slipped on a black suit jacket.

She walked over to the door, tugged out a solvent-soaked cloth, and wiped the contact poison from the doorknob. With gentle care, she tucked the neutralized agent back into a plastic sealed compartment.

Theoline adjusted her collar, smoothed down the suit, and pulled a rucksack out from a straw covered alcove. She swung the door wide, letting the waking sky peek into the darkness of the barn.

“I’ll be out late,” She called over at the twitching man behind her, a wry smile playing on her face, “don’t stay up for me, mon chéri.”

They arrived before the sun. Theoline met the first of three SUVs outside the barn with the barest nod of acknowledgment. Doors began to open, revealing the insignia plainly, Federal Bureau of Investigations. A woman shorter than Theoline, wearing a blue collared shirt and black pants with a vest inscribed with the three initials stepped out from the first SUV. She had short auburn hair and a handful of freckles dotting across her petite nose. The woman caught Theoline’s attention, beamed widely, and raised an arm up in greeting as she approached.

“Freya!” Theoline ignored the extended hand and wrapped her friend in both arms, excitement still setting her limbs abuzz. She could hear a muffled exclamation of surprise then a clearing throat.

“He’s inside then?” Freya asked. Theoline tried not to laugh as her voice seemed to have dropped an octave, clearly an attempt at a more professional tone. This was confirmed as Freya glanced quickly around them at her gathering peers.

“Yeah.” Theoline said. She raised a hand holding a device that looked like a thin pen.

Freya shook her head ruefully, “Poison, again?”

"A harmless paralytic," Theoline countered, "Although I would administer the neostigmine before he suffocates."

Freya caught the eyes of another agent and jerked her head at the barn. They gave Theoline an unsurprised -even amused- look, took the antidote from her, and disappeared inside. Freya and Theoline returned to the van and climbed into the back seats. A thick envelope passed from Freya to Theoline who carelessly tossed it into her rucksack.

"Did you bring a dress?" Theoline asked.

Her friend gave a befuddled look and leaned in so as not to have the driver who had followed overhear them, "No. But that's beside the point. I'll need to process Marco tonight anyway."

They both watched appreciatively as the disgruntled man was dragged from the barn and packed into the cruiser beside them.

"Nonsense, didn't you just get promoted? Get a lacky to do it."

"We call them coworkers here -you know- among the commonwealth."

"Don't be boring, sweet." Theoline patted her rucksack sharing the seat between them, "It'll be fun."

"You brought a dress for me, didn't you.?”

"Like you said, it's beside the point." Theoline rested her gloved hand onto Freya's, "come away with me."

Freya's eyes widened as she let out an exasperated sigh, "Where?"

"The party of course, I'd told them I was just going to powder up."

Theoline watched in delight as Freya’s professional frown cracked slightly. Now was the time

to press her luck. With a flick of her wrist, Theoline teased out the knife she had bagged earlier, "I'll trade you, the murder weapon for a night with the FBI's rising star."

Then, like a dam breaking, Freya's frown dissolved into a snort of laughter. The driver glanced into the rearview mirror at them only to flinch at Theoline who shot a wink through the reflection back at him.

Following a handful of phone calls and quick apologies, Freya turned in her seat to Theoline, a now mischievous aura radiating off her. Grinning back, Theoline called to the driver in a remarkably identical play at the voice Freya used with them moments ago, "You can drop us off back at the Rehalan Manor house if you please."

***

"Where is everyone?" Freya asked. They were walking through the foyer, greeted by glittering chandeliers and paintings. So many paintings that Theoline could not say what color the walls were without getting much closer. An ornate silver marble fountain was softly babbling at the center of the room as they made for the nearest bathroom, Freya looked visibly more uncomfortable with her dress hanging off her shoulder in one hand.

"They are in the studio, painting."

Freya’s mouth made a thin line, “Shouldn’t we be telling them about Marco?"

Theoline gave a conspiratorial wink before shutting her friend into the oak walled bathroom stall. She turned to the mirror and studied the scruffy look she acquired from the event of the afternoon. A pale, tall, haughty looking woman with white-blonde hair and cream green eyes stared back out from her reflection.

"They'll know soon enough. For now, we should enjoy the wealth of our generous, violent host." With meticulous care, her fingers pulled at the tips of her gloves until her hands were freed from the comfortable soft leather. She made no effort to clean up, in fact she tussled her hair, so it settled more wildly on her shoulders, "We both left around the same time... They'll likely be more surprised by my reappearance than by his absence."

Theoline lowered her pants just enough to expose the toolkit strapped to her right hip. As she carefully placed her gloves in a sealed compartment among an assortment of cloth wrapped ampules, sheathed needles, and capped brushes, her fingers brushed at her cell phone, but she resisted the urge to look at it again. Nothing will change the notification she received this morning. The missed call from a number she was wishing she had blocked.

Freya's voice from the stall became strained like she was extricating herself from a persistent wrestler, "Fine, but why am I performing yoga to slip into a dress that I'm only bound to get paint all over?"

"You'll see."

Freya shoved aside the door looking unimpressed. Theoline tried not to laugh. Freya, who for seven years of Theoline's experience was a woman defined by bluntness, stepped out of the stall in a slim white dress, accenting every curve in her petite form. Her short auburn hair was made more brilliant by contrast with the cream white cloth. She shifted her hips as her hands tried to tug the dress smooth, then noticed that Theoline had trouble looking away. Freya glared, as if recognizing Theoline’s outfit for the first time.

"Why am I wrapped in this ridiculous thing while you're wearing a suit?" She asked, her voice

heavy with envy.

Theoline shot an impish smile over her shoulder as she led them out to the studio, "Because, my sweet Freya, I look less hideous in this suit, and you, more stunning in that dress."

Like basking in the sun, Freya's sudden start of surprise warmed Theoline's heart. She was expecting something like that to happen when they entered the studio. There were people sprawled throughout the room in pairs, one among each pair was dressed in a similar fashion with Freya. Among them, those not in white dresses wore white shirts and pants that hugged the body just as closely. Partners in white were posed in numerous ways, one against a pillar, another laying across a chair, and so on. Their opposite wielded a brush and pallet. Theoline grinned. Clearly, the intended canvas was more animated than Freya was expecting.

Heads swiveled to mark the late arrivals and the throng of whispering ceased all at once. A man and women glided over to greet Theoline and Freya, both clad in half-painted clothes. The man smiled politely but his tone felt stiff. His eyes seemed to linger on her tousled hair, "Ms. Monet! We are honored to see you return, we... we were not sure if you retired for the night."

"Retired?", Theoline said sounding amused. She turned toward the tall windows beyond which the dawn light was fast overtaking the black sky, "Bold of you to think my fortitude so thin."

He opened his mouth quickly, but Theoline was walking past him with Freya in a sure step beside her, "I won’t be needing you any longer as I have brought my own attendant. Good night."

Freya stifled a grunt of approval as they picked out a space before one of the tall windowpanes, framed in curtains of soft yellow color. The wood beneath their feet was polished to an almost mirror like quality and painting stations were identified by wide disks of cloth placed regularly about the floor of the studio to catch wayward drops of paint. Atop each cloth sat a small table with a velvet organizer holding and assortment of brushes and small paint bottles.

The closest guest to them was a young woman with a soft, sepia tone to her skin and waist-length black hair in a woven plait hanging down one shoulder. She threw them both a bright smile while circling her male attendant. The man stood shorter than Theoline but was impressively built with corded muscles visible beneath the thin white cloth. Theoline turned to Freya to make an introduction but was met instead by the remaining, partnerless women who had trailed after them awkwardly, "Pardon me Ms. Monet. Do you know if Master Rehalan had retired to his chambers?"

Theoline raised an eyebrow and turned slowly to look at the remaining station in the studio littered with brushes of every size and an enumerable collection of small paint bottles, "Marcos? I fear he may be too preoccupied to join in the rest of the festivities. You should get some sleep, Cynthia."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The woman faltered for a moment, but Theoline did not miss the flash of relief that slipped out from her stoic demeanor, "A shame, nothing for it then."

Theoline turned her attention back to the brushes at Marcos's station, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek, "Cynthia, would you be an angel and fetch me a plastic bag before getting some shut eye?"

Cynthia nodded once and departed from the studio.

"Don't think I missed the part where you had me dress like the servants." She heard Freya's hot breath hiss into her ear.

Theoline looked aghast, "Servants? I wouldn't dare. We call them attendants here -you know- among high society."

She picked up a wide palette and began to prepare two sets of paint mixtures into wide gradients of blue and green. Freya watched; her lips pursed again into a thin line.

"Perfect just stay like that for a bit," Quick as a viper, Theoline's brush darted out and dabbed the smallest dot of royal blue onto Freya's nose. She immediately retreated in a fit of giggles, placing the palette between them like a shield as Freya scoffed and made to snatch at the brush, "Hey now, I said don't move Freya!"

A soft laugh came from the woman beside them. She, like many of the remaining guests, was adding the finishing strokes to her work. The man seemed a statue, unaffected by her brushing the outlined ridges of his abdomen. She looked to Freya sharing an apologetic expression, "Theoline can be a bit of a free spirit."

"Oh, I know," Freya said, "we met in university. I'm Freya, Freya York."

The women glanced back at Freya suddenly, "Forgive me! I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Ryhlen Edwin."

"Ryhlen and I usually attend these gatherings together. Makes them less stifling." Theoline said.

"That's very generous of you Theoline," Ryhlen shook her head and stalked over to whisper, "I don't usually get out unless it's with an escort and Theoline is far better company than the families hired protection. We Edwins know her... from way back." She paused and gave Theoline's shoulder a brief squeeze before returning to her station.

Freya watched, absently scratching at her stained nose.

"Ryhlen is sweet." Theoline sighed and got started, painting Freya's shoulder with concentric blue and green rings.

"I already like her more than you. Can you switch partners in this, whatever this is?"

"Sure, I will warn you to avoid Mr. Bullenthou, the small fellow with the beady eyes."

"The one staring at us?"

"...oh, yes that's the one -now we smile, and a small wave. ok very good," Theoline said.

Without warning, she had begun a sudden trace from shoulder to stomach. Freya took a sharp breath through her nose but was otherwise a stone.

"Why should I avoid him, aside from the fact that his staring makes me want to throttle someone?"

Theoline craned her head up from her knelt position, eyes squinting at the direct contact with the ceiling lights. She then looked concernedly at Freya's hands opening and closing the air in mechanical jerks, "Well, he likes to keep pets."

"Now when you say pets, wh-"

"Yes."

"Say no more."

"Consensual of course."

"Yes. Of course."

"You're looking a little flushed Freya."

"Me? Don’t be ridiculous."

Theoline stood and gazed down at Freya with a knowing smile as Cynthia reappeared with a plastic bag an awed expression, "Your request Ms. Monet."

Theoline grunted in concentration, but Freya gave the curious women a nod and directed her to place it on the windowsill.

"No moving." Theoline said.

"What are you painting anyway?"

"You will see."

"I'm beginning to hate when you say that."

Theoline laughed until she noticed the smallest twitch like shake was rooted in her painting hand. It had just broken what was to be a perfect line with a spike quite like a heart rate monitor. She filed away the observation for later.

Only the adrenaline she thought.

She heard Freya call out.

"What's that?"

"I was saying that you're growing a reputation at Quantico. You should-"

"I am not applying." Theoline said stoutly, and in a softer tone she added "Anyway, I doubt they'd like the look of an applicant who didn't finish her school program."

Freya fell silent, letting the conversation slow to an uncomfortable stop. Not much sooner, the rest of the guests seemed to have completed their work because they had begun to excuse themselves to their prepared accommodations, a few even making a round of polite farewells to their peers. Without hesitation, the attendants had all carefully removed their painted clothes and changed back to their professional attire, allowing the paintings time to dry. The beady-eyed Bullenthou became rooted stubbornly beside Freya and Theoline until Theoline talked him into a firm dismissal. Finally, Ryhlen was the last. She planted a small kiss on either side of Theoline’s face and gave Freya a sleepy wave as she climbed the stairs and rose out of sight.

Theoline was frowning hard at her work when Freya yawned pointedly, "I wouldn't mind a soft bed either if you ask me."

"Don't move so much!" Theoline gave Freya a small pinch on the back of her neck where she was working. Freya grunted in annoyance.

"Are we almost done?"

Theoline stepped back, "Oh we've been done for about fifteen minutes."

Freya glared in disbelief.

"Now remember," Theoline said quickly, "You’re my attendant so-"

"So when I get my hands on you," Freya began walking with a coiled-up grace, "I'm going to give you my resignation."

"There must be a less violent way to say that." Theoline said. She was dancing back but with an impish grin plain on her face.

Freya laughed, breaking her composer. She spun in place slowly, shooting an inquisitive glance at Theoline, "What did you paint anyway?"

"You'll have to take off the dress to see."

"Can you help me? I don't want to mess it up."

Together they took a few minutes to extricate Freya from the outfit. It was set on a clothes hanger among the rest. Theoline, unlike her peers, used the white in the dress as an added color while the rest of the painters made in effort to cover it. A large rose was set at a diagonal with the green and blue stem starting at Freya's right leg and the petals -a fragmented clash of purple and cherry red- blossomed from the left shoulder. Stretches of greenish black vines sprouted along the stem and seemed to wrap loosely around the waist, neck, and right arm, all adorned with thin black thorns.

Freya studied it with unexpected fondness while Theoline handed over her original clothes. Theoline watched Freya who was visibly struggling over something unspoken. Against her own impulse, Theoline said what her friend was thinking, "I am my father's daughter."

Freya turned and nodded.

"Put on some clothes." Theoline smiled uneasily.

"Oh, right." Freya looked hungrily down at her more familiar uniform and began to tug on her pants as Theoline walked to the windowsill where Cynthia had left them the plastic bag.

"You're not going to question me about this?" Theoline asked.

Freya laughed dryly, "And give you the spotlight? No."

"So you know why?"

"Sure," Freya scanned the empty studio, "I'm guessing you located some more evidence."

"It's just a hunch but yes. Do you know what it is?"

Freya stared at the station that belonged to Marcos Rehalan, laden with an excessive plethora brushes and paints. With a resigned sigh, she gave a curt shake of her head.

Theoline walked to the station, one hand gloved in white leather, "He really likes my hair," She hinted, stopping before the brushes, and turning to give Freya the look of a teacher expecting her pupil to perform.

She watched a grimace set into Freya's face as her attention focused on the brush tips. Those unused bristles had been sorted by color. Yellow, black, red, and shades in between.

"You may be onto something." Freya said.

Theoline deposited as many brushes as she could fit into the bag, sealed the top, and tossed it to Freya.

They were silent as Theoline led them to her guest room. It was more like an apartment, fitted with a small kitchen, a bathroom and a balcony facing the rising sun. They drew the blinds to shut themselves into the dark. Theoline turned on the television and dived under the welcoming softness of the blanket. She could never fall asleep easily in the silence, her mind never allowed it. Freya sat on the floor with her back to the bed and performed a series of stretches as they watched the TV drone on.

"What are you doing Theoline?"

Freya's voice was carefully gentle, but she did not turn from the TV as she asked.

Theoline frowned, "Right now or in general?"

"Take a guess."

"I thought we had this conversation a dozen times."

"I'm going to keep asking until you give me an actual answer," Freya finally stood and eased herself onto the bed, sitting cross-legged beside her, "I'll take anything at this point. You can't just stay in this... purgatory."

Theoline bit back a venomous retort. She took a moment to meet Freya's gentle but persistent gaze.

"I know." Theoline said.

Freya waited expectantly.

"What do you know about the Isle of Red?" Theoline said. She could not help but hear her attempt at a casual tone fall to pieces. She watched her friend with a silent intensity, nonetheless.

Freya raised both eyebrows and squinted into the air as if trying to spot a fly in the dark.

"It sounds familiar." She said with a shrug.

Slowly, Theoline let out a long breath, "Indulge me, will you?"

She pulled her phone out and opened the map’s application, secretly hoping Freya did not spot the missed call reminder that gave an angry flash at being ignored. She focused the screen until they were both looking at New England. She brought the coast just south of Boston into view and to make sure she was being exact, she plugged away the coordinates, 42 degrees north, -70 degrees west. She felt Freya's eyes on her and she silently wished she were back in that barn with a murderer instead of opening this door to the judgement of her friend. With a shallow breath, Theoline pointed at the screen.

"Do you see it"

From the glow of the television, Theoline watched Freya's eyebrows knit together. She opened her mouth with what looked like an easy answer just as the screen flashed. The flicker was so quick, but Theoline caught it. Not many would notice the disturbance unless they were looking for it. Her eyes locked back to Freya's which seemed to glaze over.

Freya laughed, "It looks almost like a broken tiara from this angle."

Theoline remained still.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, of course not. How did you feel just now.”?

"Well, like I had been staring at the open fridge for too long and just suddenly found something I'd like to make for dinner." Freya spoke slowly as if she was discovering the words only as they left her lips.

Theoline lips quirked up at that, "I thought your cooking was basically a war crime."

"I've gotten much better since then. Asshole."

"I don't see it, the Isle of Red."

Neither person was smiling now. Freya cleared her throat, "What do you mean?"

Theoline scanned the phone again but just as it had always been, a perfect rectangle of unobscured ocean was the only thing visible, "It's only a hypothetical but I think there is some variation of a change in anyone who hears about the island or sees it. I think there was a time in the past when this thing wasn't here. When anyone talks about it, they may be unintentionally spreading and cementing its existence."

"And all this conjecture is because you can't see it?"

Theoline shut her eyes at the overly sensitive pitch Freya's voice was now assuming, "Now, I know I need more data..." She trailed off at the hard look of concern Freya was giving her.

"Theoline, I love you, but this is less about the credibility of your claim and more that I simply worry about you and your future."

Theoline froze up, those words belonged to someone else, "So you've been talking with my father."

Freya winced, "He visited on his way back from Quantico."

"Why was he- is that why you keep bringing up Quantico?"

"I didn't ask him to! He held a meeting with the director, and they are willing to leave a door open for you if you want to... we’ll settle into something with a little more solid footing, that's all." Freya said.

She quickly reached for Theoline's limp hand, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just assumed you don't want to talk about it, with everything that's been going on."

Theoline placed her free hand atop Freya's and gave it a soft squeeze, "tell me about these things from now on. If it is not the right time, I'll let you. I'd rather be miserable with knowledge than happy and kept in the dark. Elected ignorance is folly, Freya."

"I can do that."

"Well, what did he want?"

"He wanted to know you're all right. I told him you work as an independent contractor with my unit. He offered to pay your salary."

"Which you rejected."

"Which I rejected, but you'd make almost double what we pay you."

"Only I wouldn't have earned that money."

"Fine, but fair warning, if he offers again, I'm probably going to say yes and keep it for myself." Freya stuck out a tongue wickedly.

Theoline gave her a serious look which disarmed her friends attempt to lighten the mood.

Freya reclaimed her hand and began to fidget with the bed sheets, "It's been four years since you left. Are you sure you are happy?"

"There are happy moments," Theoline said in a monotone, "I needed to get away, you understand."

"I do. It's just since she had been moved to the hospital, I thought you'd go back and spend more time with your mom."

Breathing became more of a chore for Theoline. She sniffed and shook her head, "I visit on her birthdays, after he leaves the ward."

"Is that still enough -for you- I mean?"

"Yes."

Freya looked like she was about to dig her heels in on the topic, she had her sharp jaw jut out in that familiar stubborn look. Theoline saw the stance and decided for a feint in their dueling topics, "How did he look. Healthy?"

"Your dad? We didn't speak for long and I haven't seen him in what, two years? He seemed tired, Theoline."

"So more of the same." Theoline cocked her head at Freya who looked like she was chewing on a puzzling memory, "Was there anything else?"

"Actually yeah," Freya murmured, "He had this white handkerchief tied around his arm, just below the shoulder, I think. Funny thing, I thought it looked odd. Theoline? What's wrong?"

Freya halted abruptly at the drained empty look on Theoline's face.

"I need a flight to Boston now." Theoline said, "Can you make it happen for me?"

"What is it? What's wro-"

"Please Freya," Theoline croaked.

Freya nodded, "Of course."

Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek until something warm trickled in her mouth, Theoline rose and snatched her phone from the bedstand. Freya's voice could be heard from the balcony, with the curtains dragged aside and the sun breaching into their room. She stared at the notification again. The missed call from her father. She heard herself whisper as a knot formed itself in her throat, "Deuil blanc."

It was time to return home after all.