WHEN. January 23, 2021, 8:45 PM
WHERE. Anniversary Event, the Savoy Hotel
No matter how many truce anniversary parties Jessica attended, and no matter how much she seemed to enjoy each one, there was always a small feeling at the back of her mind that made her think, Something’s wrong.
Oh, Ravi’s planning was exceptional, the three-course meal prepared and laid out in front of them exquisite, and yet, tonight—in pauses in conversation or slower moments—she found herself remembering Gabrielle Warden’s raised voice and the low rumble of her uncle’s answer through the doors. The way the chatter in the dining hall had tapered off for a moment, two, when the doors to the room finally swung open.
Trouble in paradise. Or as close to paradise as people going to hell could get.
Unfortunately, showing concern would’ve just made it feel even more real, even if all Jessica wanted to do was to whisper in her uncle’s ear and make him laugh, or pull Marcus aside to ask him what his instincts told him about the tension she could feel through the clinking of champagne glasses and silverware. So she didn’t.
Instead, she made it through the meal the way she normally did, with teasing and laughter and the full force of her smile. She shifted her attention to different Powers’ overheard conversations as the night progressed, and while sometimes her additions were trivial, her quips light, doing what she did—lightening the mood, or shifting conversations in a safer direction—was underrated. Soothing tensions before they could evolve into something else, something more dangerous, was the least she could do for her family tonight, even when they were apart.
But sometimes, even Jessica needed a break from that, which was why she had excused herself a few minutes ago. And as she emerged from the bathroom, where she’d touched up her makeup and her hair, she bumped into none other than Wren Lightfoot. One of Famine’s newest Angels, and someone she’d met at a couple of their underground fights and around the city.
“Wren!” Jessica’s lips widened into a smile, and she looked appreciatively at Wren’s outfit, a stylish jumpsuit in a gorgeous dark hue. The last time they’d seen each other, they had briefly talked about not knowing what to wear, but all things considered? This was great—stylish but comfortable. “You look good—that color looks great on you. Rustic red? And with your hair, too.” For some reason, she felt lighter seeing Wren—a distraction from her thoughts.
She motioned Wren over to where she was standing at one of the columns, shifting to tuck a nonexistent stray strand of hair behind her ear, then smiled. “So?” There was a laugh in her voice. “How are you liking the party so far? Your first ever truce anniversary?”
Jessica knew that the truce anniversary wasn’t easy for everyone; once upon a time, she’d been ready for the spectacle, but not its implications. But she’d adapted, grown, and done her best to make herself a home in Famine, and maybe, with a little guidance, Wren would, too.
