Wren did not know whether she was avoiding Phina, or whether her new position had just left her too busy for them to interact. She hadn't made friends with the other girls, for the same reason that she never made friends in the caravan and never reached out anywhere else, either. People left. Things changed. Friendships got abandoned. 

But she wouldn't deny it left her terribly lonely. There was no one to talk to when she found out the man she'd met in the brothel had taken Seltus' place. No one to agree with her or make her feel better about it, especially since apart from that, nothing had changed. People still killed marked ones in the streets, or beat them bloody if they were too squeamish. Rannok still had no job, because there was nothing he could do other than beg, and he would not subject himself to it.

The man had come in a few more times, though people had parted around him like he was poison, probably because they expected Seltus. He always asked for her, and it always made her feel vaguely uncomfortable, although she didn't have the heart to tell him no. He was always just as gentle and kind and understanding as the first time, and their encounters were pleasant enough, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was being used. 

For a leader, he reminded her far too much of an injured sparrow, and the bits and pieces she learned about how he did not love his wife and would leave, if he could muster it, only served to make her feel worse instead of better. It bothered her that he still had not told her his name, though by now it had percolated through the rafters and into her ears in a way she could not avoid. Issac. She cringed every time she heard it.

The sun filtered into her window and across her face. She'd only returned to Ittra's a few times since she'd killed seltus. The memory was too rich and painful, and the scars too much to bear. Instead she and Rannok spent time in one of the city's gardens, when light had fell enough to make it safe, or they ordered wooden bowls of boiled noodles and ate them under the soft light of the gas lamps. It did not happen often, and she missed him terribly.

Someone knocked on her door. She jumped, then settled down into the cushions on her bed. It was much nicer and softer than the ones in Ittra's dingy little apartment.

"Come in," she said. The door opened a fraction, and Phina squeezed in and shut it behind her. Wren's face flushed. The walls constricted around her until the space felt too small and tight to move. Phina fixed her with dark, soft eyes. Wren brushed a strand of hair out of her face and sat up against the far wall, propped up by her wings.

"Your hair has gotten long," Phina said. Wren toyed with a strand of it. It nearly brushed her chin. She nodded and stared out the window. 

"I want to cut it," she said. She let a thin smile make its way across her face. One too small for Phina to see. She'd only kept it the way it was because she didn't trust herself with a razor. Phina strode over to her desk and pulled out the chair, then gestured at it.

"I can help you, if you like," she said. Wren's cheeks grew warm. She shifted from her bed to the chair. There was a rustling as Phina removed the blade from the waistband of her skirt. She pulled a chunk of Wren's hair away from her head and sliced at it with the edge. Wren tried not to flinch as it pulled at her scalp. She relaxed as chunks of it fell to the floor, like memories not worth repeating.

She cut Wren's hair in silence, occasionally moving to push down the tip of a wing, or move a piece of hair in one direction or another. Wren's skin prickled under her touch. Hair fell down her shirt and itched uncomfortably under her clothes.

"It suits you," Phina said, when she was finished. She took a seat on the edge of Wren's bed, so close they were nearly touching. Wren sucked in a tiny breath. She nodded her head and folded her arms.

"You've been avoiding me," Phina said. Wren looked away. She could feel the heat in her face. She did not know why she scuttled around her in the hallways like an ant from a broom, or why they had stopped meeting on the rooftops at night. She only knew it felt safer that way. Like she had a great secret, something she did not want herself to know.

"No one has to know but us. I won't do it again." Her voice was quiet as a dove. Wren knew she was talking about the kiss on the rooftops. The one she'd been trying not to think about, and the reason she'd been avoiding going up there. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she grabbed Phina's hand. Phina jumped a little.

"I don't know what to do." She'd seen the way people looked at Elyn. How they threw things at him and Michael when they weren't looking, made comments even when they were. She remembered the comment she had made, in that deadly trip to Agatine. It scared her more than Phina ever could. 

"I can't tell you," Phina responded. She gave Wren a serious look, one in which her eyes lingered a little too long. Wren's heart jumped into her throat and started pounding. Her hands shook again, but not in the same way they shook when she killed someone, or when she tried to fly. 

She closed the gap between them and tangled her fingers in Phina's hair, then kissed her, messy and unplanned and terrified. Phina let out a surprised gasp, but did not stop her. She pulled Wren closer and wound their fingers together until they were tight, and Wren felt her steal the breath from her lungs. 

Phina placed a hand on her chest and pushed her away, then fixed her with a wide-eyed stare. Wren's face fell. Her heart began to hammer again, with a different sort of fear. Suddenly she understood exactly how Armand felt, when he'd stormed out of the tent, and exactly why he'd done it.

"I'm sorry," Wren said. "I'm so sorry."

"No," Phina responded.

Wren wanted to cry. She folded her arms and turned away, not willing to let the tears sting her eyes, or to let Phina get the best of her yet again. It was just another trick. Another reason for Wren to give her a little piece of herself she could not get back.

She took Wren by both her shoulders. "Don't be sorry. There is nothing to be sorry for. If I wanted you to be sorry, I would not have trained you. I wouldn't have gotten you drunk or given you a dagger, I wouldn't have made sure you were okay when that man came. And I would not have pinned you to a wall and kissed you."

Wren opened her mouth to say something, but Phina shushed her with a finger. She kissed Wren's cheek, the sort of soft kiss that felt like a butterfly on a flower. She closed her eyes and leaned into her. 

"I am not angry with you. Though sometimes I wish you were a little less naive." Phina pulled her down beside her on Wren's bed, so their arms were tangled. She shifted Wren around so her wings pressed into Phina's chest. It was warm and soft, in a way that nice blankets and soft pillows weren't. Her wings were not in the way. The sound of soft breathing made Wren's heartbeat slow.

"Sleep," Phina said. "The sun is getting low." 

And they did.