In the days following my birthday, the ache in my chest finally dwindles into a dull discomfort.
Astraea eventually permits us to shift, and things slowly return to something resembling normal.
In some ways, it is almost as if it never happened.
Landry and I slip back into being quietly dismissive of each other, interacting only when necessary during photography. Our usual hostile edge is there just enough that no one would think to question it. He is also still saying some irritatingly insightful things.
I can almost pretend the training hall hadn't happened. But every so often, the pang still hits me.
Not pain, exactly, but more of a hollow awareness.
A quiet, inescapable knowledge that my one chance at a divine match had arrived and ended within seconds.
Mutually.
Cleanly.
Acco
