A/N: Alrighty, people, don't judge me based on the title of the chapter, I really don't have a feet fetish...
Trust.
The memory faded, and the present bled back in the chatter of the café, the smell of roasted beans and sugar, the faint sunlight spilling across the table.
Liam was still there. Still smiling, still glowing like some divine protagonist blessed by the gods themselves. The same silver hair. The same violet eyes. The same infuriatingly peaceful expression.
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. Of course, he was happy. That's what protagonists did: bounce back, no matter how many times you tried to crush them.
"Sebastian," Nora's voice cut through my thoughts, soft but firm.
I blinked, turning toward her. "Yeah?"
She gave me that look—the one that said she'd been talking for at least a minute and knew damn well I hadn't heard a word.
"I was saying," she continued, her tone effortlessly composed, "that our excursion to Hollowveil Forest starts next week."
