Quinn POV
Aurora used to say I built things to avoid feeling them.
I told her she was wrong. I told her a lot of things that weren't true, back when I still believed saying something with enough conviction made it so.
"You're doing it again," she said once, watching me redesign a containment lattice at two in the morning instead of sleeping. "Building instead of grieving."
"There's nothing to grieve," I told her. "I'm fine."
"You're the least fine person I've ever met."
She chose Ariston three months later. I redesigned the lattice four more times that year. It never once occurred to me those were the same activity.
"Quinn." Tiffany's voice, sharp, present-tense, dragging me out of a memory I hadn't meant to fall into. "You're not listening."
"I'm listening."
"You're standing there, but you definitely aren't here."
