Qeya River dance the ghost with me

‘Not much happens up here anyway,’ a scoff. Faux indifference. Silvertongue had divulged a bit to him—had Silvertongue divulged to her?

Not likely—the thought of him being a dirty secret would have amused him, had he not been raking his eyes over Wren, his emotions wrapped up in an untidy clusterfuck of emotion.

Wren gave excuses—instead, his gaze was searching—all he had ever wanted to know…

“I really just needed my goddamn friend, Wren,” he murmured, his ears sliding back. Finally, he cast his eyes upward. “I only just needed to know you were okay.”

Because I sure as fuck wasn’t.