A sigh deflates her slightly, makes her smaller than she already is, and she sets talk of pity aside for now. She looks at her hand, at the lines Bastien traced, the same lines Derrica had traced many times before while they sat and they talked and they knew nothing of the mess they'd find themselves in mere months later. Fingers curl into a loose fist and her hand drops to her lap.

"We said we wouldn't avoid each other," she says, unsure whether it's a defense or an indictment. "She said she was sorry for doing that to me, and we agreed, back at the start, that we wouldn't do that again. She said she had to do better, to try to figure out what's best for us, but—"

But that was months ago. That was after Churneau, and since then how much effort has been spent on trying to find where they fit in each other's lives? Athessa has been trying and failing to ignore the way she feels about Derrica, trying and failing to be a good friend, to leave off any compliments or topics that stray too close to flirtation or memories of what they used to do to pass the time together.

Athessa sniffs, but doesn't allow herself to cry any more tears over this. Not now.

"—It feels like this isn't as important to her as it is to me."

Translation: It doesn't feel like I'm as important to her as she is to me.