"'You didn't do anything wrong,'" Celia said.
Celia's voice.
Preet looked up.
Celia was standing at the edge of the group. Not inside it — not quite. The specific, standing-outside-of-it position of someone who wanted to be in the circle and wasn't fully going there yet. But her voice had been immediate. No hesitation.
"'You didn't,'" Celia said again.
Preet looked at her.
Looked at the underwear.
Looked at the hickey she could see the edge of if she turned her head a certain way.
She laughed.
It came out wrong — the specific, half-laugh-half-sob of someone whose emotional processing had overloaded and was distributing output indiscriminately.
"'I know,'" she said. "'I know I didn't. I just — I don't—'"
She stopped.
Breathed.
"'Did you—'" Nara, from somewhere behind the group. Her voice flat. Specific. The voice she used when she was asking a question she already knew the answer to and was asking it anyway for a different reason.
Everyone looked at her.
