Should she? Shouldn’t. Definitely not. Her mother, Grena, would certainly disapprove, which is why Ashe hastily seizes the bottle of vodka from her friend’s hand and takes a swig. She squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches her nose, feeling the liquor burning at the back of her throat. She sticks out her tongue, turns her head to the side and all her friends laugh.
The van speeds along an empty road. The bass makes Ashe’s heart pound against her ribcage. Everyone’s trying to talk over the music, but nobody has the common sense to turn it down.
Ashe pulls the curtain to the side and watches as the city disappears behind a row of evergreens. The van drifts further and further into the countryside, and all those complicated thoughts and feelings rush to the forefront of Ashe’s mind. She’s supposed to hold a speech tomorrow in the town square at noon. She’s supposed to be meeting up with her mother before that. She’s supposed to be studying for her exams right now. Instead she’s in a smelly old van that she and her friends bought just before Christmas. They got rid of the previous seats and got new bedazzled leather seats and fixed bright blue neon lights to the ceiling and around the window frames. And they installed an impressive speaker system in the back.
All of this for a month of drinking and partying, and doing all the things their parents warned against.
Everyone in their final year is going to this party that’s being held far away from everything else. It’s the 16th of May now, which is why things matter, because the 17th is when the real celebration is, and everything between now and then is like a rite of passage, coming of age, or something like that.
Tonight will be long, tomorrow even longer.
Ashe sighs, letting the curtain fall to the side. The bottle of vodka has made its way back to her and she takes another swig. She thinks back to the weeks before all of this started when she and her friends had just gotten their blue russedress and were busy painting their own designs and ironing on patches, drinking IPAs on the terrace and bobbing their heads to the newest party music.
She’s got her last name Stormbringer printed on her right leg, her favourite cartoon character is painted on her back and there are frosty snowflakes running up and down her sleeves. She’s got some inappropriate patches on her left leg, and Ashe still remembers how Grena had rolled her eyes and made some snarky remarks specifically about the Playboy Bunny patch on her thigh and how wildly unbecoming it is for a young lady to walk around with. They’re just words sitting at the back of her mind now.
Ashe bites the inside of her cheek and rests her head against the car seat. She’d enjoyed the preparation part a lot more than the actual month of driving to parties, meet-ups and festivals. Every weekend is spent on the road, trying to catch the next big thing before it disappears. Petrol money. Money for drinks and drugs —and god, their group name is Ice Ice Baby and they’ve got ridiculous stickers of their name plastered everywhere. Someone’s stuck one on Ashe’s butt (but she doesn’t realise this until later).
Then there’s those silly tasks you’re expected to complete just to prove you’re worth something. Ashe’s got one of those skipper hats with a long thread dangling from the back. You get to tie a knot for each task you complete, but Ashe only has five. Five out of one hundred. The only ones Ashe has managed to complete are the ones for charity. The rest of her friends have at least ten or more.
The words Ice Queen are written on the brim of her hat, that’s the name she was given during the inauguration ceremony before the partying began. She remembers the day clearly, how everyone in her high school had shown up at the beach and dunked their head in the water, then had to do a shot and bite into a lime. The words stare boldly and blankly up at her. It doesn’t mean anything, and Ashe still doesn’t understand how she ended up with that name.
*
Ashe feels like she’s been dropped off at the edge of the world. They’re actually at the edge of a forest next to a shimmering lake. The grand estate in front of her feels ridiculously out of place with its faux attempt at regality; white columns, gold-railed verandas and white-pebbled pathway, which is why everything around her feels foreign and so far away.
Modified vans and buses are parked along the curb. People are dancing on the roofs. Someone hands Ashe a beer, which she hands over to one of her friends. She recognises the people from her high school, but then there’s others who’ve come from further away. Bigger names from meet-ups that Ashe can scarcely remember. K/DA. Heartsteel. Bladez. People in blue, red, green and black russedress flock towards the enormous front door, which has been left wide open.
Ashe and one of her friends carry a crate of lager up the pathway because it would’ve been rude not to bring a gift. They’ve also brought a bottle of akvavit.
They drop everything off at the back of the estate where there’s a patio, a large stainless steel grill, but the propane tanks have been hidden away (probably for everyone’s safety). There’s a space heater and plenty of tables and benches. There’s a rocky path that leads to the small pier that juts out into the lake. There’s boxes of pizza laid out on the long garden table. The speakers are being abused, people are huddled around them, fighting over their right to the next song.
Ashe expects the host, Katarina Du Couteau, to make an appearance at some point. But she’s nowhere to be seen. Instead it’s Samira from Katarina’s bus group (Bladez —Ashe reminds herself) who greets them and helps distribute the beer. Samira has more knots than anyone, but before Ashe can remark on it, a can of beer is shoved into her hand. She quickly swaps it for a mix of vodka and lemonade. Some people are making jaegerbombs, others have come up with a horrible concoction of beer, cider and blackcurrant syrup —and when Samira suggests any of these drinks, Ashe vigorously shakes her head and laughs.
There’s still time to complete more tasks. Drinking challenges, more intimate challenges that involve lots of kissing and touching, but then someone in her group suggests skinny dipping.
Ashe turns beet red, then ducks out of the way before someone can grab her by the shoulders and convince her that it is an entirely reasonable thing to do.
It’s not even eight yet and people are stuck in the trees. Some are swimming fully clothed in the lake. A table’s been flipped over. Some have taken up space on the sofa in the living room, others have passed out on the lawn. There’s beer pong. Never have I ever. Another drinking game. People are smoking all kinds of things and more dubious things are going on in the corner far away from everything else.
Mud and grime have all been tracked inside and those beautiful tiles are now covered with dirt.
The orange sun hovers over the lake in the distance, but summer is right around the corner which means they only get four hours of complete darkness. The sun goes down just before midnight, then rises again at 4AM.
Ashe is inside. She’s undressed, slightly, and the top half of her suit is tied around her waist. She’s wearing a black tank top. Someone’s stuck a glow stick crown on her head. A white handkerchief’s been tied around her arm by someone trying to be funny. Another knot has been added to her hat: She managed to drink a can of beer with her hands tied behind her back, which is worthy of something, apparently.
She’s sipping her third vodka lemonade when this great big oaf of a boy tries to talk to her. He’s drunk, or high —maybe both. His name’s Tryndamere and he’s been chasing anyone with blue eyes and blonde hair because that’s his type. He’s got tree trunks for arms, hair black as coal and his pathetic excuse for a moustache looks more like a trail of ants walking over his upper lip. He towers over everyone and is usually quite nice, but now he’s touchy and keeps apologising, stumbling over his words saying he doesn’t know how to talk to pretty girls.
Ashe isn’t sure if he’s flirting, but what she does know is that there’s nothing going on in his head, and there’s nothing interesting going on between them.
His voice drifts to the back of Ashe’s mind. She’s too busy eyeing the pictures along the edge of the credenza under the flat screen TV. The Du Couteau children through the years. Katarina, Talon, and Cassiopeia all lined up like trophies. Ashe suddenly thinks how cold and lonely it must’ve been to grow up in this place.
She stands, stretching, and Tryndamere gently pulls at the sleeve wrapped around her waist. He makes some sort of remark, a weak protest, but Ashe doesn’t care and walks out into the corridor. Two people have fallen asleep on top of each other and Ashe carefully steps over them as she makes her way up the staircase. More photographs. The Du Couteaus seem to love putting their children on display. Katarina’s smile fades as the years drag on and her eyes grow more and more striking as she gets older.
Ashe pauses by the portrait at the top of the staircase, leaning closer. She gently presses the tips of her fingers against the glass, studying the outline of Katarina’s jaw which has grown more defined in her last year —but it doesn’t mean anything because Katarina looks miserable.
They used to be in the same class. Biology. Was that it? Ashe distinctly remembers wearing this oversized apron and some blue lab gloves as they had to dissect an entire cod. Her safety goggles kept moving because the strap had broken, but then there was this sudden flash of red and green, and it must’ve been Katarina Du Couteau who’d readjusted them for her.
It must’ve been. And it had meant something to Ashe at the time because Katarina Du Couteau’s this elusively alluring type who keeps to herself and her handpicked bouquet of people, which is probably why she hasn’t shown herself at this party that’s being thrown at her own house.
Katarina’s family is filthy rich, of course. Horribly. Drastically. Life-changing rich. Their money just sits in stocks and grows over the years. Neither of Katarina’s parents really work; Marcus Du Couteau spends most of his time at the golf range practicing his swing while Soreana Du Couteau is an art collector of sorts. So they’re not really the inspiring-type-of-rich-people.
Du Couteau’s not even a common name in Norway, not at all, and apparently they’re more Swedish than Norwegian, having moved into this estate when Norway was handed over to Sweden as a gift from Denmark. All to do with the Napoleonic wars, of course. So how much they are of anything is up for debate. But then again, Ashe is a Swedish-speaking Finn stuck in the heart of Norway, and even her last name isn’t particularly Finnish.
Ashe is brutally self-aware now and needs to sit down somewhere before she passes out. She walks along the carpeted hallway with her ear pressed close to the wall. She doesn’t want to walk in on anyone trying to complete task sixty-nine, which is a task that doesn’t need to be explained.
*
She ends up in some kind of music room. Ashe presses her back against the door, carefully pushing it shut, and slowly sinks to the floor. The drink in her hand nearly spills across the hardwood floor.
There’s a Steinway piano in the middle of the room. The ceiling’s slanted and Ashe wonders if it has something to do with the acoustics. Music stands and instrument cases have been pushed to the side, along with a bunch of vases, relics and trophies. Bookshelves line the walls. There are pictures here too, friendlier ones where everyone is smiling and the Du Couteaus actually look like a happy family.
At the other end of the room is a window that spans the entire length of the wall, which overlooks the back garden. The view stretches all the way to the lake that looms dark and blue in the distance.
There, in the middle of it all, standing right in front of the window is Katarina Du Couteau who’s been slipping through everyone’s fingertips the entire evening.
Ashe can’t help but frown, can’t even force the words back down her throat before they burst on her tongue.
«I’m starting to wonder if you even like these sorts of things.»
Katarina whips around, staring directly at Ashe.
She’s wearing a red russedress and a black bandanna that keeps her bangs out of the way. Her family’s name is ironed onto her leg. Her bus’ logo is painted onto the rest of her onesie in a splatter of colours. There are patches here and there; more obscene than the ones Ashe has.
«What makes you say that?» Katarina huffs.
«It’s your party.» Ashe pushes herself off the floor, her drink wobbles, swishing, nearly spilling over the edge.
«Is it?» Katarina raises an eyebrow, then smiles.
One too many vodka lemonades. One too many beers. Ashe shouldn’t have taken that shot, or had that cheeky sip of someone else’s drink. Everything’s swirling around her. The only thing that isn’t upside down is Katarina, who moves like a ghost.
Katarina smells like cigarettes and sage.
Ashe swallows thickly. «Why aren’t you participating?»
«I am. I’m letting everyone use my house for this party.» Katarina explains as she circles Ashe. «It wasn’t easy to convince my parents to stay in the city for this one night to happen.»
«And your siblings?» Ashe taps her nails against her plastic cup.
«They’re doing their own things with their friends.» Katarina stops behind Ashe, then she reaches for Ashe’s arm and yanks at the handkerchief, pulling it off and tossing it to the side.
«And you?» Ashe whips around. Some of her drink spills across the floor.
Ashe swears and kneels, trying to wipe up the spill with the sleeve of her onesie. She watches through the corner of her eye as Katarina slowly steps to the side.
«I’m here, aren’t I?» Katarina whispers.
Ashe narrows her eyes, but she isn’t trying to be deceptive, or judging, or do anything that’ll push Katarina up against a wall. The last thing she wants is for Katarina to withdraw even further.
«Do you want me to go back downstairs?» Ashe mumbles.
«Up to you.» Katarina shrugs.
Ashe looks up at Katarina who’s caught in the sunlight. Shadows splay across the floor. Katarina looms tall above Ashe, but when Ashe finally stands up, they’re eye to eye with nothing in-between them.
«You don’t care if I stay?» Ashe challenges.
Katarina throws her head back, laughing. «I don’t mind, I really don’t.»
*
Yes. They did end up in the same biology class at one point, and Katarina had adjusted Ashe’s safety goggles. Neither of them decided to take biology in their last year as the teacher and all the excursions they went on weren’t exciting or tempting enough, even for those extra study points. Those excursions were dreadful and everyone was wet, cold and shivering, and the only good thing was the bus ride back to school because the bus had heated seats.
Something neither realises until it’s mentioned, is that both have horribly controlling parents. Katarina’s expected to take over the family business (which isn’t really a business at all), and Ashe’s supposed to follow in her mother’s political footsteps (which Ashe isn’t really interested in doing).
Ashe has to remind herself that she doesn’t really know Katarina Du Couteau that well, and that this is the first time they’ve spoken. Yet, somehow, it feels like they’ve known each other for years. And suddenly it feels so strange to have gone to the same school and never talked or acknowledged each other —other than fleeting glances because they may or may not have been intrigued at some point (but neither one of them are brave enough to admit it).
So, Ashe decides to recite tomorrow’s speech with extra bravado because vodka makes everyone a little silly.
Katarina listens quietly, and proclaims she doesn’t care about anything, but that can’t be true because she’s listening too intently to not care.
*
Ashe ends up sitting on the footstool with her legs against her chest. Her drink’s forgotten on the floor somewhere by the door. Her crown of glow sticks is slowly dying. The crown slides further down over her brow, pushing her golden hair over her eyes.
Katarina’s leaning against the window. She fiddles for something in her pocket. «I’m surprised you’re here, you know.» Katarina confesses as she pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
«What’s that supposed to mean?»
«Means nobody took you for the partying type.» She places a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, then raises a brow at Ashe. «You mind?»
Ashe shakes her head. «What type do you think I am?»
Katarina quickly lights her cigarette, then turns to open the window so the smoke isn’t trapped in the room with them.
«The quiet type.» Katarina admits, then smirks, which makes her green eyes shimmer. «A good girl? The type who listens to her parents and is usually back by nine o’clock —or ten if she’s being accompanied by someone sensible.»
Ashe gasps and fights back her laughter. «My mom’s version of sensible? Or mine?»
«Your mom’s.» Katarina takes a drag.
Ashe has all the words sitting at the tip of her tongue, but then they just stay there because she’s too busy looking at Katarina’s pretty face. Ashe can see that Katarina’s thinking about something, and just as she’s about to ask, Katarina turns to her, tilting her head.
«Tryndamere likes you.»
Ashe’s shoulders drop. She rolls her eyes. «He likes anyone with— »
« —blonde hair, blue eyes.» Katarina finishes for her. «Doesn’t everyone?»
Ashe bites her lip. «Do you?» She laughs.
Katarina just smiles and turns her attention back to her cigarette.
«I think I understand why you’re here and not down there.» Ashe tries, watching Katarina carefully to make sure she hasn’t crossed a line.
«Alright, I’ll bite.» Katarina takes the cigarette out of her mouth and places it on the windowsill. «Why am I here and not down there?»
«Well, first of all, you’re not hiding.» Ashe lowers her head, feeling Katarina’s intense gaze becoming too much for her. «And I think that you…»
Ashe’s voice dies on her tongue. She takes a deep breath not knowing what to say or where to go next because Katarina’s looking straight at her now. Ashe feels like she’s being pulled apart and that her heart is now on the operating table with Katarina’s slender fingers poking and prodding at her.
«You’re just making sure no-one gets too close to you,» Ashe finally says, «and you’re also making sure no-one messes around with your family’s stuff. The important things.» Ashe gestures to everything in the music room; from the piano, to the pictures, to the vases and trophies all pushed into one corner. They’re heirlooms, they’re valuables.
Katarina gives Ashe a satisfied smile.
Ashe hides her blush behind the plastic cup as she takes a sip.
«Yeah.» Katarina breathes, turning to look out the window. A frown crosses her face then. «And I completely forgot about my father’s golf clubs.» She grumbles.
Katarina drops the cigarette onto the floor and smothers it beneath the heel of her tennis shoe. She takes a step backwards, holding Ashe’s gaze before she turns and sprints out of the music room.
*
Three boys have lined up across the lawn, swinging the golf clubs and laughing as they watch the balls disappear into the thicket of trees and shrubs.
«What the fuck ?» Katarina yells as she marches closer, waving her arms. «Give me that!»
She yanks her father’s prized golf club out of a boy’s grasp, then gives him a push, pointing accusingly at him. They scuffle back and forth, but before Katarina swings, she senses movement from one of the shrubs.
A boy steps out of the bushes.
More and more of them appear.
Katarina’s face falls. She recognises them from the year below.
The tone of the party shifts.
Unwelcome. Uninvited. There’s a strict rule against anyone else except for those graduating who’re allowed to party. Exceptions exist, of course, but an invitation is always needed before showing up.
«Who’s that?» Katarina points, then turns to Samira who’s jogged across the lawn to stand beside her.
«Three guesses and the first two don’t count.» Samira mumbles.
Katarina bites the inside of her lip, then turns to the boy. «Darius, that better not be your fucking brother!» She looks at him now.
The boy, Darius, backs up with his hands in the air, feigning innocence.
«How was I supposed to know?» He hisses and adjusts his cap.
Katarina watches as Darius’ brother comes closer, but not too close, because suddenly Katarina’s jammed her father’s golf club into the boy’s chest and has him flat on his back on the ground.
«Get out of here, Draven! No kids allowed!» Katarina yells.
«What?» Draven looks up at Katarina. «I ain’t gonna tell.» He whispers, the corner of his lips tug upwards into a dangerous smirk.
Katarina refrains from punching him, and it takes everything within her to move the golf club from his chest to let him sit upright.
«I know you got some.» Draven says as he brushes the grass off his chest.
Katarina runs her hands through her hair as she tries to think.
A crowd’s gathered. The music thrums around her. She spots Ashe standing at the edge of the crowd wearing that ridiculous glowing crown.
«No.» Katarina turns to Draven. «Go crash someone else’s party or wait your fucking turn.»
«Cops are only one call away.» Draven sneers.
Katarina squeezes her eyes shut and groans. Empty threats don’t scare her, certainly not the cops, but Draven’s grinding her gears and the sound of his voice scrapes and scratches the back of her mind.
«Darius.» She turns to the older brother, waving the golf club in his direction. «Fix this. Now.»
Darius’ version of fixing things is vastly different from Katarina’s.
He lunges, twisting his entire body before he punches Draven in the jaw.
*
In the middle of it all, some poor boy gets his face smashed in by one of the clubs.
There’s blood in the grass.
There’s blood on one of the golf clubs.
Everyone’s sobered up now.
*
They don’t call the cops or an ambulance because they’re teenagers and teens are terrified of consequences.
«Fuck.»
«We gotta get out of here!»
The boy’s clutching his nose as some of the other kids carry him towards one of the buses. Darius’ group is going to drop him off at the hospital. No name. No documentation. They’re gonna leave him on the doorstep and drive off.
No-one knows who swung the golf club, but Katarina’s currently the one holding it by the hilt as blood seeps down the shaft and drips onto the grass.
«Assholes.» Katarina mumbles as she turns her back to the driveway where people are running towards their vans and buses. She walks back into the house, which is now deathly quiet.
*
There are empty cups everywhere and glass bottles scattered across the lawn. There’s a pool of crimson near the tree line where blood has seeped into the dirt. The music’s been lowered to a whisper. There are muddy tracks across the tile while the carpet has cigarette burns and stains. Every room except the music room’s been turned upside down.
«Are you scared?»
Katarina turns to see Ashe sitting down next to her.
They’re outside on the patio. The heater’s been switched on and the flames flicker behind them.
«Should I be?» Katarina shrugs. She brings a bottle of champagne to her lips. «I know I didn’t swing the golf club —that wasn’t me.»
Katarina says it with such urgency and conviction that Ashe suddenly realises that Katarina is terrified.
Ashe finally removes the glow stick crown and shakes her head, running her hands through her hair. She takes a deep breath, sighs, then pouts as she looks at the lake and the water reflecting the setting sun.
«You know, I actually never liked any of this.» Ashe admits as she swings her feet off the patio.
It’s the first time since the beginning of this month that Ashe has voiced her frustration towards all of this —this rite of passage that’s supposed to be this beautiful, disastrous symbol of holding onto the last straws of youth.
Ashe feels like she’s just been reminded that she’s still a kid in many ways.
«I mean, it sounded fun and exciting when I was in middle school. All the planning and preparation was something I did enjoy, but as soon as May hit, everything just sort of fell apart.» Ashe carefully turns to look at Katarina.
«Parties. Meet-ups. Festivals. I hate partying on the road.» Katarina says quietly, then takes another long swig. «I haven’t studied properly either. It’ll be a miracle if I pass my exams, and it’ll be fucking embarrassing if I don’t.»
Ashe grimaces.
Katarina laughs.
«And these stupid fucking knots.» Katarina swears, then throws her hat into the grass. «All these patches that don’t mean anything. It’s all superficial. And here I thought I was actually doing something important, something people would be talking about for years, and whatever happened at this party would be this golden secret between us.»
Katarina shrugs out of her onesie, letting the sleeves pool by her waist. She tugs off her bandana and throws it into a rose bush.
«What a fucking mess.» She hisses.
«I hate the knots too.» Ashe confesses, then throws her hat into the grass as well.
«Ice Queen.» Katarina laughs as she eyes Ashe’s hat.
«I know, it’s terrible.» Ashe groans, leaning back on the palms of her hands.
«Not as bad as mine.» Katarina lowers her gaze, then whispers. «What do you think is going to happen now?»
«I don’t know.» Ashe tries to remain calm for both their sakes, mostly because she can see how worried Katarina is —and who wouldn’t be?
«Darius said he was gonna dump the kid at the emergency room.» Katarina’s hands twitch.
«Then what?» Ashe looks at Katarina, frowning.
«That’s it.» Katarina explains, tired. «There is nothing more.»
Katarina puts the bottle of champagne down by the edge of the deck, then turns to Ashe. She huffs and groans before she manages to say anything.
«Why haven’t you left yet?» She asks. Her brow knits into a frown.
«My group deserted me.» Ashe explains.
«Should I call you a cab?»
Ashe shakes her head, biting her lip.
«I think I should stay.» Ashe is quiet this time, searching Katarina’s face for a reaction. Anything. Even just a twitch. «If you don’t mind.» She adds gently.
«I don’t.» Katarina says quickly.
Ashe reaches out and places her hand over Katarina’s shaking ones. «It’s still the 16th.» She whispers.
«So what?» Katarina mumbles. «I want this night to be over.»
Ashe understands. She does. And feels for the first time that her youth belongs to her and that this whole coming of age thing has been a scam and all the drinking and partying hasn’t meant anything. Not then. Not now.
This time, Ashe actually does feel something deep in her chest. It swells. Ashe’s throat is so very dry. Her hands are shaking as well. She stands on wobbly legs and makes her way towards the lake. She kicks off her shoes that get lost along the rocky path, and when she looks over her shoulder, she sees Katarina not far behind her.
«This isn’t…» Ashe starts, then carefully shrugs out of her onesie. She pulls her tank top over her head, standing only in her bra and underwear. «This isn’t for some stupid knot.»
Ashe is serious. Her gaze is like steel. Her heart is ablaze. She feels the cool wind brushing against her back and her thighs. She sits on the pier, then lowers herself into the lake.
The water rushes to her jaw and ripples around her. Ashe takes a deep breath, then ducks under.
Katarina steps closer. The pier creaks and groans beneath her. Katarina leans against a pillar, watching as the waves in the water grow still.
Ashe shoots back up, gasping for air and feels the icy cold water against her skin. «Nobody has to know.» She says with urgency, looking up at Katarina. She feels the rocks grazing the underside of her feet and can feel the reeds brushing against her bare legs.
«It doesn’t need to be anything meaningful, Kat. Just two teens doing stupid things.» Ashe shrugs.
Katarina looks back at the Du Couteau estate. Then, in a flash, her onesie has pooled by her ankles. She pulls off her t-shirt and places it on the wooden pillar. She dives headfirst into the water and resurfaces beside Ashe.
She pulls Ashe closer by the waist, then brushes those golden wet locks out of Ashe’s face and sees those icy blue orbs staring back at her.
«I want to kiss you.» Katarina breathes.
Ashe nods frantically, throwing her arms around Katarina and kisses her like her youth depends on it.
*
Someone sensible would be Katarina Du Couteau, Ashe muses as she falls asleep with her hand draped across Katarina’s chest. Grena would approve, not that Ashe would ever need her approval for anything because very soon Ashe is going to graduate, and she’ll be able to make all of those big and important decisions herself.
She smells Katarina close to her. It doesn’t stop her from squirming. The warmth of Katarina’s body next to her lulls Ashe back into a deep sleep, so when Katarina nudges Ashe in the early morning, Ashe protests.
«It’s the 17th.» Katarina whispers in her ear.
Ashe is awake, but doesn’t open her eyes. «Already?» She groans.
She feels the tremor of Katarina’s laugh and falls back asleep, wrapping the hoodie tightly around her.
When Ashe finally does open her eyes, she sees Katarina Du Couteau sitting in front of her, having tied the sleeves of her red onesie around her waist. She’s wearing a white t-shirt. There is a constellation of hickeys across Katarina’s neck. Her eyes are a vibrant green, sirens blare in the distance, and the orange sun is drifting over the forest and the lake.