Though. I climbed up beside her.
The city stretched out below us, smoke threads still rising in the distance, the two moons sitting pale against all that overdone blue. She leaned sideways until her head found my shoulder, and her hand found mine again, fingers curling around it and gripping tight.
I sat there with her weight against me, the wind still moving steady across the rooftop, and let my mind wander somewhere it probably shouldn't have.
Wait hold on. Looking down at the dark hair resting against my arm. I think I actually figured this out.
The mornings— the confusion, the trembling, the shenanigans, the complete lack of memory about anything that had happened the day before.
And then the switch, sudden and total, somewhere in the evening or whenever the trigger actually was, back to the sharp, calculating, real version of her.
