Page 214 of His Drama Queen

I take clothes, laptop, documents. Photos of Julian from before he left. My acceptance letter to Northwood that meant everything once and nothing now.

The furniture was here when we moved in. Ashworth family pieces, expensive and cold. Let Eleanor keep it.

"You're sure about this?" Corvus asks, appearing with his laptop bag and a single suitcase. "No second thoughts? No regrets?"

"Are you?" I counter.

"I ran probability assessments all through the performance," he admits. "Success rate for our pack surviving in New York without family support is approximately forty-three percent."

"That's terrible odds."

"It's also forty-three percent better than our chances of survival if we stay here and keep being what our families want us to be." He adjusts his bag. "I'll take those odds."

Oakley appears with his belongings. "Vespera's already done. She's waiting downstairs."

"Already?" I check my watch. "It's only been thirty minutes."

"One duffel bag and a backpack," Oakley says quietly. "That's everything she owns."

The contrast hits hard. I'm deciding which expensive things to abandon. She owns so little she packed in minutes.

But by the time we reach New York, we'll all own the same amount: each other.

We load my BMW—a high school graduation present—until every space is crammed with bags and boxes. The Victorian mansion behind us looks imposing and cold. Not a home. Just a building.

Vespera is leaning against the passenger door, changed into jeans and one of Oakley's hoodies, her duffel at her feet. The claiming marks we're all wearing are hidden under scarves and collars, but I can still feel mine throbbing.

"Ready?" she asks.

"More than ready," I say.

She looks at me for a long moment, studying my face. "Your mother found you."

"How did you—"

"I could feel it through the bond. The conversation. The choice you made." She touches my chest, right over my heart. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For choosing me over her," she says simply. "I know what that costs."

"She cut me off," I admit. "Financially. Socially. Completely."

"I know." Vespera's hand slides up to cup my jaw. "And you chose me anyway."

"I'd choose you every time," I say, and mean it with every fiber of my being.

"Good." She kisses me, hard and possessive, tasting like victory. "Because we're about to be very poor and very stubborn and very much in love."

"Sounds perfect," Corvus says, loading the last bag.

"Let's go before security figures out we're missing curfew," Oakley adds.

We pile into the car—Vespera in front with me, Corvus and Oakley in back with bags stacked around them. I take one last look at the pack house in the rearview mirror—the Victorianmansion on Ashworth property, the place where we lived as who we were supposed to be.

Then I pull onto the road at three in the morning, carrying everything we own and nothing we'll miss.

Behind us, the Auditorium is still lit up. I can see students streaming out, phones glowing, no doubt watching and rewatching the video of Vespera claiming us on stage.