Chapter 472 | A Toast to Not Dying

Chapter 472: 472 | A Toast to Not Dying

"I bought one decorative cow. ONE." Addison crunched a cherry lollipop between her teeth and spat the stick into a cup she was apparently using as a disposal unit. "One cow. As a joke. About the thing."

"What thing?" I asked, knowing exactly what thing.

"The THING thing." Addison waved her hand in a vague circular gesture that encompassed her own chest, my mouth, and the concept of lactation as a survival mechanic. "The milk thing. I bought one decorative cow and Belle saw it and lost her entire mind."

"I did not lose my mind." Belle’s voice climbed half an octave. "I saw an opportunity to commit to a theme. That’s called event planning."

"That’s called being unhinged."

"You bought the hay bales."

"For AMBIANCE."

Aurora sipped her champagne with the serenity of someone who had started a fire and was now watching it consume the building. She’d changed out of her combat gear and into a cropped white sweater and tiny shorts that I was going to have opinions about later. Her orange hair hung loose past her shoulders, and her green eyes tracked the argument between Addison and Belle with open delight.

"I just want to be clear," Aurora said to me, catching my arm and pulling me inside while the other two continued their debate. "The cow print was Belle’s escalation. I wanted a simple champagne toast and a nice card."

"There is nothing simple about you."

"Thank you."

Naomi closed the door behind us and immediately went to the food table, where she began arranging plates with the focused attention she brought to everything she cared about. She’d changed into a soft grey sweater at some point during our walk, though I had no idea when because Naomi apparently possessed ninja-level wardrobe logistics. Her pink and black braid caught the string lights, and she hummed something her father probably sang on his boat while she set out forks in a row.

Addison intercepted me on my way toward the cake. She wore black jeans torn at both knees, a band shirt I didn’t recognize, and the look of someone who had spent an hour decorating an apartment and would deny it with her dying breath. Her black lipstick was fresh. Her violet contacts were in. The purple highlights in her hair caught the warm light, and the way her tank top hung off one shoulder revealed the training scars she never bothered hiding.

"You look alive," she said.

"Disappointing, I know."

"Extremely." She punched my shoulder. Not lightly. "That’s for making me walk through a hospital in a trench coat."

"You chose the trench coat."

"Sakura suggested the trench coat. I chose what was underneath it." She leaned close enough that I caught her perfume, dark floral and warm, and dropped her voice. "You still owe me three coffee jellies."

"They’re on the table."

"Those are MINE. They don’t count as repayment if they were already mine."

Belle appeared at my elbow with a plate of food she’d assembled without asking, which included grilled chicken, a slice of chocolate cake, fruit, and a chicken salad sandwich cut into triangles with chips arranged separately so nothing touched. The sandwich had a tiny paper flag stuck in it that read SIR SUCKS A LOT in Belle’s handwriting.

"Eat," Belle said.

"Did you just make me a custom flag?"

"Addison drew it."

"I drew the skull," Addison confirmed. "Belle did the lettering because she’s a control freak."

"I am not a control freak. I am someone who understands that legibility matters in food-based signage." Belle set the plate on the table and then straightened the flag with a degree of focus that undermined her entire argument.

Aurora pulled a chair into the center of the living room and patted the seat. "Sit. You’re the guest of honor."

"I feel like a cow at a county fair."

"That’s the theme."

I sat. The chair was positioned so I could see all four of them at once, which felt deliberate in a way that probably was. Aurora draped herself across the couch to my left with one bare leg dangling off the armrest. Belle claimed the kitchen stool to my right, close enough that her knee bumped mine when she shifted. Naomi settled cross-legged on the floor in front of me with her plate balanced on her lap, looking up with those pink eyes. Addison sprawled across the second couch with one boot on the cushion and a fresh lollipop already in her mouth, looking like she’d been asked to attend her own funeral and found the catering acceptable.

"Okay," Aurora said, raising her glass. "A toast."

"Do we have to?" Addison groaned.

"We have to. I organized this."

"Belle organized this."

"Belle organized the food and decorations. I organized the people. There’s a difference."

"The difference is I did the actual work," Belle said, but she picked up the glass of sparkling cider Naomi had poured for her.

Naomi raised her glass with both hands, and the way she held it, small and careful and close to her chest, made something behind my sternum go tight. She wore her mother’s shell necklace. She always wore her mother’s shell necklace. It sat against the soft grey sweater and caught the string lights, and I could see the spot where the cord had been retied once, carefully, by hands that were not hers.

Mine. I’d retied it for her in the farmhouse. She’d told me the clasp was failing, and I’d fixed it while she sat in front of me with her back to my chest, and neither of us had said anything about it afterward.

"To Jace," Aurora said, and her voice lost its usual playful edge for exactly one sentence. "Who jumped off a cliff for someone he doesn’t even like, killed something that shouldn’t exist, burned through enough lifespan to terrify every single person in this room, and then asked for a burger on national television."

"Forty-one million views," Belle added.

"Forty-three million now," Naomi corrected, because Naomi tracked everything.

"To not dying," Addison said, and lifted her glass with the minimum possible enthusiasm.