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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

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Cora flipped through a copy of Harper's Bazaar, trying to ignore the conversation in the cabin over which despite being held in full view of her, was one she had been explicitly excluded from.

Logan had called Roman and Shiv forward to discuss the game plan for the donor event, leaving Cora in the sole company of Olivia, who spent the first haul of the flight documenting nearly every nook and cranny of the private plane she could without receiving the ire of Gerri or Logan. Cora had heard her filming a Tiktok in the bathroom earlier, instantly coming down with a pounding headache.

Shiv suggested water, eliciting a harsh bark of laughter from Roman. Cora side-eyed them both. Drinking in front of anyone was a no go, it went unsaid, but that hadn't stopped her from sneaking at her flask when she found herself unwatched. This remained to be quite a feat, given that Olivia had made it her mission to haunt Cora like a bad smell, making her the only person who was even mildly interested in keeping Cora company.

It was abundantly clear that everyone around her was trying to ignore the elephant in the room, or the plane, depending on how specific you wanted to get. Cora had become the equivalent of a bug that others were too polite to squash, lest it dirty their hands. She was Gregged, sequestered to the fringes until someone marched her out in conversation for some bitchy small talk. Only five minutes before boarding she'd overheard Hugo say "she's still here?" to Tom, who politely steered the conversation to a less polarising topic: the Gaza Strip.

She was being passive aggressively managed into non-existence. Cora had been not so subtly instructed by Gerri to dress modestly, this was a Republican event after all, there would be no skimpy slip dresses with aggressively necklines, no showing a little leg. Cora was fine with hiding the shame of the compression sock currently strapped around her ankle, but the rest felt personal, she supposed that was the point.

The end result was that she ended up looking like a Shiv clone in her tailored slacks and cashmere sweater, the pressed collar of her button up peeking out below her neck like the leaves of a houseplant, desperately snaking towards sunlight. It was very politician's wife, pragmatic and stifled.

Her one solace remained her fling with Kendall, a silent but aggressive 'fuck you' to the muzzle she was saddled with. The only downside was his radio silence over text, but she was about to change that.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she announced. Olivia glanced up from her phone, panic stricken. "To pee. I'm going to the bathroom to pee. What? Do you want to pat me down?"

Ok, not her only solace. She'd taken to being overtly antagonistic, especially to Olivia.

"N-no! I don't want to pat you down ... Maybe just, you know, empty out your pockets."

Cora huffed noisily, Roman glancing over his shoulder to observe the fuss. She pursed her lips, as they made eye contact, begrudgingly obeying the instruction.

"Nothing, see. Makes you wonder why they even give pockets to women." Cora muttered, garnering a smirk from Roman. "Unless you count my phone. Am I allowed my phone, Olivia?"

"Y-yes ... " Olivia replied, bowing her head. "I'm sorry, just, you know. After th-"

"I know. You don't need to rub it in."

"Sounds like someone needs to rub something," Roman said.

Cora ignored him, sliding her foot gingerly off of the table between herself and Olivia. It was quite a dance she had to do, reminding her of when she'd broken her foot during a horse riding accident as a child. Her crutches sat by her shoulder but she ignored them, there was no point in lugging them around while navigating the plane.

"My beautifully crippled Cordelia, tragically immobilised in her prime." Roman called after her as she hopped off in the direction of the bathroom.

With the door shut behind her, she breathed a huffed sigh, turning to face herself in the mirror.

If there was anything she knew about getting prompt responses from men, it was this: just send them your body. It didn't have to be sexy, Cora rarely found the photos she took to be erotic. Whenever she did this dance, she found herself becoming inexplicably sleepy, like part of opening the Camera app was to pop a Klonopin. God she could really use a Klonopin.

When she had discarded her sweater on the nearby toilet lid and unbuttoned her shirt enough to reveal the lacy white brasserie beneath, she pulled out her phone again and snapped a few pictures. Unfortunately in all of them, she looked like she'd been delivered some very bad news, more morose than alluring. Cora breathed a huffed sigh, only then spotting that she'd neglected to remove her ring.

Placing the phone down, she plucked it from her finger, examining it in the bright light thrown by the LEDs framing the mirror.

Allegedly it had been Caroline's engagement ring from her marriage to Logan. It didn't surprise her that he had been petty enough to retain it. It had the largest solitaire diamond that Cora had ever laid her eyes on with a setting that reminded her of a crown, two gold leaves sitting either side the diamond and leading into an elegant band. It was ostentatious and Roman presented it as such, brandishing the box it sat in with a flourish. Thankfully he did not get down on one knee, but he did ask her if the sight of it was making her horny.

He had been doing that a lot recently, threaded overtly sexual comments into otherwise inane conversations, like he was hinting at something. If that was what he was doing, it was all going over her head.

She said no, and stopped herself short from stating that it made her feel wildly depressed. That was what she felt these days - depressed - and not just because she'd swallowed her pride enough to visit Frank. This whole situation made her want to cry, but her tears had dried the moment she had left the hospital. Now all she had was apathy, and the creep of dread that all of this was permanent.

Cora placed the ring next to the basin, sucking her cheeks in. She pushed the collar down to inch one of her shoulders into view, hobbled to her side profile, squeezed her arms together and managed a look that could be mistaken for sultry, if you squinted. There, that was better. Maybe he would reply and finally inject some emotion, any emotion, into her world of grey.

"Knock knock!" Roman called. "Are you being naughty in there?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Cora replied, hurriedly fixing her shirt. "Please can you just give me a minute." She saw the lock begin to squirm. "Seriously, Rome, fuck off."

"That's no way to talk to your fiancé." He replied back. "I'm going to bust down the door."

"I'm doing my business! Go away!" She huffed, scrambling to grab her sweater and pull it on.

"Nope."

Apparently aeroplane bathroom doors are not vaults Cora thought they ought to be. Roman pushed the door open. Thankfully she had managed to get herself back in order before he caught sight of her.

Roman pulled a comically horrified expression. "Damn, what'd you eat this morning?"

"Don't you ever get tired of confirming everyone's worst assumptions about you?"

"Uh, no. Though I could ask you the same thing." He replied, squeezing himself in enough to shut the door behind him. Cora scowled.

"Do you mind?"

"Uh, no." Roman repeated. It was evident he wasn't leaving any time soon. Reached up to lean his forearms against the doorframe, his face softening as his eyes came to rest on her. Cora swallowed, unable to stop her eyes from lingering where he'd rolled the sleeves of his shirt upwards. "Another bathroom off the bucket list, huh?"

"Yeah." She muttered in reply, brows knitting together. Roman's gaze had found its way to her bare finger, raising his eyebrows. Hurriedly she groped for the ring, sitting accusatory beside the sink. "I-I'm just freshening up, was about to wash my ha-"

He stopped her, his hand finding her wrist. Roman's touch was soft, Cora detecting a hint of hurt on his face. She swallowed, sucking on her bottom lip. Suddenly his eyes found her, peering curiously, like he was searching her for an answer to a question only he knew.

"So ... I came in here to ask you something." Roman murmured.

"And what would that be?" She asked, slightly breathless.

"Did you ... " There was an agonising pause. " ... wanna join the mile high club?"

Cora flushed violently. "I'm not fucking you while your father's within earshot."

"So it's not a no." Roman nodded. "Noted. C'mon, it'd be hot. Get his heart rate up, give Kerry a run for her money. And can you imagine the stories Karl would tell Frank?"

"Eugh! Jesus! My step-dad's in a coma, have some respect." Cora didn't know what else to say, suddenly repulsed. She yanked her arm away from him, fitting the ring back on her hand. "Freud deserves the bed rest Frank's getting without you trying to interrupt it."

"Freud would've loved me." Roman breathed wistfully. "Actually, I came in here to tell you that I called ahead and have an extra special present waiting for you on the tarmac. It's a surprise, but I kind of ruined it. Only slightly though, you're gonna love it. Trust."

The present, it turned out, was a chirpy woman awaiting them at the bottom of the plane's stairs with a wheelchair. After Cora had made the unsteady descent to the bottom, helped begrudgingly by Olivia, it took her every fibre of her being not to immediately whip Roman with her handbag.

"It's a sprain! I haven't lost a leg!" His response to her outburst was a wink before he quickly strode off in the direction of the cars that awaited them.

"Oh to be young and in love." She heard Karl say to Logan. He remained completely oblivious to the tension surrounding her, her last standing fan. She huffed beneath her breath, hiding the scowl that threatened to mark her face.

Shiv arrived behind her, Tom carrying her crutches. He apparently couldn't hide his distaste as he handed them to her.

"Thanks." She muttered, watching him silently stalk away. Cora turned to Shiv. "What's with him?"

"Oh, you know, scared about prison food." Shiv replied, utterly disinterested.

"Wow, you sound sympathetic," Cora replied. She was grateful that Shiv had the grace to keep in tow with her as she moved across the tarmac, hovering her foot above the ground.

"Yeah, well, sympathy's hard to come by when you're headed to the obstructionist orchestra," Shiv said darkly. "If I wanted to see someone suck off my dad, I'd just interrupt one of his meetings with Kerry. Watching a bunch of Republican men line up to do it in public's not exactly my definition of a fun weekend."

"So you're certain he's ... You know."

"She laughs at his jokes, which aren't even jokes, they're just -isms laced with obscenities. Yes I'm certain." Shiv swiped away some of the hairs that had strayed from her sleek bob. She glanced over her shoulder, resting her eyes on Olivia who was ghosting the pair. "How are you holding up? You know, with the, uh ... "

Shiv was yet to directly reference the engagement, and Cora didn't know if this was because she knew it was fake and wanted to keep up the façade or if she was genuinely in some form of denial. She hadn't been angry, per se, but she'd eyed the ring on Cora's finger like it was a grenade someone had pulled the pin on and tossed in her direction. She seemed intent on talking around the subject, like saying the words 'ring' or 'engagement' threatened to suddenly magic a pastor into existence.

"Great. Can't hardly lift my hand up from the weight of this thing." Cora replied with a tired sigh. "I mean, if I'm being honest, this whole situation is just ... Well it's making m-"

"Hey! Hold up dad!" Up ahead, Logan had reached his car. Shiv waved her hand towards him as she called out, looking back at Cora apologetically. "Sorry Cora, I just need to have a chat with him."

"Yeah, totally, of course." Cora muttered, watching Shiv dart off ahead of her. Deep in her chest, her heart sunk, and she slowed to a mere crawl. In the distance, Logan placed a hand on his daughter's back, the warmth of the gesture sending a striking pain through her chest.

How had she let herself become so alone again?

The car ride to the Future Freedom Summit started fairly non-descript. Despite never having been to Virginia, Cora was in no mood for sight seeing. She took the time to sneakily send through the photo she'd taken earlier, chewing her lip as her eyes darted upwards to check no one was watching her. Thankfully Olivia was keeping Roman distracted by asking him about every notable visual landmark, his voice increasing in irritation with every 'You know, I actually don't know' he replied with.

[TEXT: To Kendall] Just here for my Marilyn-JFK moment

She squinted at the blue bubble as she read back the message. Maybe she should have given that one a little more thought, but it had been the only thing she could think of without cringing. Proclamations of lust were so brutally cringeworthy when stamped out in text.

[TEXT: To Kendall] If you were JFK, btw. Idk if that was implied or not

[TEXT: To Kendall] Reply soon or I'll Lee Harvey Oswald myself

[TEXT: To Kendall] I feel like I should drop this metaphor

[TEXT: To Kendall] how do I unsend

This wouldn't be happening if she could drink more than once every three hours, she thought to herself.

She turned away from her phone as she realised that Roman was clicking his fingers at her. Olivia was staring at her expectantly. Cora blinked.

"Yes?"

"You ... didn't hear any of that, did you?" Roman said.

"I was busy." Cora's cheeks flushed. "What? What do you want?"

"So feisty." He motioned his hand like a cat's paw towards her, hissing under his breath. Cora rolled her eyes.

"You're going to give her the ick." Olivia whispered beneath her breath, shooting him a look.

"Oh, that's not an ick, I'll show you an ick." Roman turned to Cora, raising his eyebrows. "The question I asked was whether or not you've voted before."

Quickly Cora sat back in her seat, arms crossing her chest. She could feel Olivia's gaze glued to her, brown eyes pulled wide as she waited expectantly for a reply. Cora knew that her neck was likely turning as scarlet as her face.

"You've never voted?! Voting's so important!" Olivia chirped. "Don't you care about the future of the country?"

"I don't ... I don't think it's that big of a deal, ok? I mean I'm one person, how impactful can my vote really be?" Cora responded, her voice wobbling.

In the way that most people inherited the politics of their family, Cora had never known which way, or if at all, her mother voted. Reagan had been aggressively apolitical, the only point of discussion that was ever banned at her dinner parties and Cora held onto this same unwavering ignorance into adulthood. "I've voted ... For other things before."

"Oh yes, like American Idol, right?" Roman smirked.

Try X-Factor, she thought, though she didn't dare open her mouth.

Shiv had already made her fully aware of how embarrassing her disinterest was. What little she did know, which was a very tenuous grasp on what was considered left wing versus ring wing, had been mined from back and forth pseudo-debates between Shiv and Roman. Perhaps this had also contributed to her political apathy, always forced to play the silent middle ground whenever the siblings warred over some fragment of news they'd caught on ATN.

"W-Wait you're a Republican?!" Olivia had evidently discovered Roman's inclination while Cora had been tuned out. He shrugged in response.

"I prefer the term ... 'free thinker' and 'provocateur'." His tone was lofty, flourishing his hand with the flick of his wrist as if presenting something mystical. "You'd appreciate that if you didn't get all your ideas from millennial video essayists and Deux Moi, Olivia, because it's all dirty rotten liberal lies."

"Deux Moi blind items aren't lies!" Olivia sniffed, pouting her lips. "Everything they reported about Cora was literally fact."

Eventually they pulled up in front of the convention centre, the driver holding the door open for her and popping the boot to retrieve her crutches. She stood, balancing precariously with as little weight on her ankle as possible, watching over her shoulder as a steady stream of very old, very white donors flooded through the entrance. Slowly she tested her weight on her foot, a harsh pang shooting up from her ankle that made her grit her teeth. With some coaxing, she found the sweet spot between usability and abject torture.

"You can just give them to whoever's taking my things up to my room." She said when the driver turned to her.

"Our room." Roman corrected, examining the ground at her feet. "You're just going to prolong it if you start putting regular weight on it."

"I don't suppose you're going to let me retire early to our room?" She rested her case when he didn't try to contradict her. "I want the ability to move quickly when I inevitably get felt up by a congressional candidate."

"Welp, you already know how to deal with senators, I'm sure you could still use that strategy, even if they were only running for the House." Roman realised that Olivia was lingering nearby. She had gone turned quite red. "A joke, by the way, you guys are about to hear a lot of those, let me tell ya."

"Oh great!" Olivia chirped. "Jokes!"

For the first hour of the conference Cora was forced to do the rounds with Roman on the main floor, leaning on him for support while she did her best to hide her painful gait. She was thankful that Roman was mostly distracted by the topic of conversation, namely the question of who would make the best candidate to run for the Republican party, to prod at her and she was otherwise left with her own thoughts. Then again, this probably had less to do with a grace period and more so that neither of them could catch a break.

Apparently when you become very publicly engaged, everyone and their mother wants to tell you just how positively chuffed they are for you. They could barely shuffle forward more than five feet before being flagged down again by some random person, always introducing themselves with their title despite the fact Cora doubted their paths would ever cross again. It struck her as bizarre that their engagement was such a big deal. Was marriage not entirely mundane? The vast majority of the conference's population had probably been married at least once, yet the enthusiasm they were receiving was like they had just invented the concept.

Eventually Cora broke away, citing the fact that she had to go lean on something to give her ankle a rest. Conveniently this was the perfect excuse to visit the bar.

With Olivia distracted by a few of her father's old colleague, because even Olivia was better ingratiated in politics than Cora, she retreated safely to the bar, steadying herself with a propped arm as she awaited her extra strong old fashioned. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone to see if Kendall had managed to reply to her.

[TEXT: Kendall] Sorry, big morning

[TEXT: Kendall] Fired my lawyer

She screwed up her nose. Had the photo not sent properly? Nope, it definitely had. Ok, so he was just ... Unimpressed?

[TEXT: To Kendall] Do my tits make you feel litigious?

The smell of whiskey and citrus greeted her senses and she thanked the bartender, taking a thin swig. The taste melted against her tongue, a shiver running down her spine.

[TEXT: Kendall] Oh, right

[TEXT: Kendall] Yeah, super hot. Really sexy. God, that body.

Ok fuck you too. Cora shoved her phone back in her pocket quickly, a weak attempt at saving face, cheeks rosy and not just from the liquor. She became keenly aware seconds later that she was being watched, a man having slotted into the space beside her.

He was clean cut, tall, dressed in a stiff tailored suit that crinkled as he leaned against the bar. Naturally arched brows above a pair of large blue eyes gave him an intense gaze. He was the sort of person who, with a single look, could make you feel as though you'd just missed out on the punchline. Cora regarded him cautiously.

"Hello." She said stiffly, taking another gulp of her drink. "Can I help you?"

"You look familiar." The man said, raising a finger shaking it. For a moment he looked deep in thought, clicking his tongue. "Oh, wait I know! 'Oh, you think my observations are sparkling?'. That's you, right?"

She bristled, turning her body back toward the bar. Maybe if she behaved anti-socially, he would just leave her be. Of course, her attempts were to no avail.

"That was you. I know it was. Got me glued to my fucking screen, I tell you. I loved your work. Really roughed up Iwobi's saccharine socialist agenda, the fact she was messing with utter tabloid fodder. Lot of talk about how it was ableist to drag a clearly mentally unwell woman onto a live segment. She's been torn to shreds all over my timeline at least. But those algorithms are deceiving, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know. I deleted my Twitter." Cora couldn't help herself from replying, her voice clipped.

For the first time in a while, she felt herself relax at the appearance of Roman by her side. He slid an arm around Cora's waist as he greeted the man with a handshake.

"Romulus Roy." He gave Roman a quick once over. "Congratulations on the wedding."

"Thanks, but you're putting the cart before the horse. We're just engaged. Jeryd Mencken, isn't it?"

"You'd be correct." Mencken replied, chuckling. "Although I think you misunderstood me. Your mother is Caroline Collingwood, right? I just had an ... Exhilarating conversation with a chap about Brexit and he mentioned having spotted you earlier and- Oh, don't tell me this is the first time you're hearing about this?"

"No, no, nope, I've definite- I've heard about this." Roman's nodding alone, like a flag waving in a violent wind, was enough to discredit him. Mencken smiled, his pearly teeth reminding Cora of a shark's.

"Right, right. Well good thing you came over here, I've been wanting to pick the brain of a Roy and, well, something tells me I'm not going to get any play with your sister."

"Astute. This man's perceptive, don't you think, Cora?"

"I don't think it's all that 'astute' to hazard a guess that an ex-Democratic political consultant would be ... Unpickable." Cora mumbled, though she was impressed that she'd managed to string together a sentence that sounded somewhat coherent.

"Riddle me this, Cordel- It's Cordelia right? Enlighten me though, which party has your vote?" Mencken asked, cocking his head to the side.

And just right when she'd felt a glimmer of confidence, her mind drew a blank. Roman swooped in to the rescue.

"I really wouldn't ask her. Honestly this is probably a bit of a trip for Cordelia, finding out all these new words. Republican, Democrat, polling boot-"

"I know what a polling booth is." Cora mumbled, eyeing him darkly from her peripherals. She could tell Mencken was amused, eyeing them both with the hunger of a predator who'd smelt blood.

"Be honest with me, if you will." He said, gesturing to them both. "How real is this, exactly? I mean, the timing's a little convenient. One minute Logan Roy's interim is spiralling into abject degeneracy and the next, well, you need only look at the shift in presentation."

He gestured up and down her body. It was blatantly evident that while he might have initiated the conversation with her, Mencken now only intended to address Roman.

"We all need our day in the sun." Roman replied, his hand gripping her waist tightly. "But, you know, she figured it out in the end."

There was a discordant note underlying the conversation, a vein her relative sobriety would not allow her to ignore but that she was ultimately ill-equipped to identify. She could see a shift in Roman too, like something had darkened around the edges of his face.

"She cleans up well, I'll give her that, especially after being wrung out on national television." Mencken chuckled. "After that circus, I'm sure she'll appreciate the quiet. I trust you plan on running a household with the right set of values?"

"Right, right, totally. Values, traditional values, no degeneracy." Roman replied, nodding. "But Cordelia's ... Wilful, on principle. I like it. Keeps me on my toes."

"There's ways to suppress that." Mencken replied, as though he were talking about taming an animal. "Pregnancy, for one, has this wonderfully pacifying effect on women. Really centres them on where their attention should be."

Before either of them could react, the sound of Connor's voice cut through the muted conversations around them.

"Oh, yoo-hoo! You two!"

Cora had never been so glad to be greeted by Connor Roy. She pulled away from Roman and gingerly limped towards Connor and Willa. Behind her, she heard Mencken and Roman exchange a low goodbye before the hawkish man disappeared into the crowd.

Connor threw his arms back dramatically as Roman joined Cora's side, grinning ear to ear. He quickly clapped his hands on the sides of their shoulders, squeezing the pair uncomfortably close together as he leaned in.

"Roman Roy," he began dramatically, "was interested in Cordelia Vernon from a very young age."

"Con, stop it, you're making a big show." Willa said, tugging on the sleeve of his blazer. She gave Cora an apologetic tight-lipped smile. "We're quite happy for you both. It was ... Well, unexpected bu-"

"Oh if only you'd been there from the beginning, Willa, you would've seen it for what it was." Connor said sagely, though he did at least drop his grip. Cora did little to hide the relief that washed over her. "These two were quite smitten on one another back in the day. We used to make plenty of bets, I was the max wager of course. I think Kendall owes me something now that it's official."

"I ... Don't think that you would have wanted to have met Willa when she was our age, Con, or you'd probably be in Tom's position." Roman muttered, trying to place a hand on Cora's back. She straightened her posture in response, his fingers left to hover in the absence of her.

"He's being a real wet blanket, isn't he? Won't stop talking about prison. Oh the toilets, the toilets, he says! Bah, if he'd looked into the information I sent him on sovereign citizens, he wouldn't be in the state he's in." Connor shook his head. "But it's not too late. Panhandle Pete and I were chatting earlier, and he knows a thing or two about skirting these kinds of issues. It's really all about getting the right kind of lawyer, if you know what I mean."

"Panhandle Pete?" Cora muttered but didn't press any further when Willa shot her a look of warning.

"I mean, the charges are federal, Con. It's less a legal situation and more, you know, whether or Shiv's gonna get the strap ou-" Cora nudged her shoulder against his sharply, stopping Roman in his tracks.

She couldn't meet his gaze as his eyes flickered to her. The conversation with Mencken had been a flash of something she hadn't seen before in him, a flicker of something dark that she didn't quite understand yet it unnerved her deeply.

Connor was speaking again. "You two just make such a handsome couple, really. And it makes me wonder, about love and commitment and ... Roman I'd like to pick your brain about something. If that's alright with you Cora, my stealing him away."

"Knock yourself out, Con." Cora replied. Roman gave her shoulder a soft squeeze as he slipped away from her side.

"My brain right now? Like a peck of pickled peppers." He said, winking at her as he followed after Connor. She watched them swim through the crowd of suits, heading for one of the doors that led to the outdoor terrace.

"You get used to it."

Cora jumped as she realised that Willa had not followed after them. She was standing with her arms at her sides, biting her bottom lip. There was something sheepish about her expression, Cora didn't doubt that same guarded fragility was reflected in herself too. Willa took a step towards her, eyes narrowing a little as she appraised Cora. Recognition seemed to flicker in her face, and she laid a dainty hand on Cora's shoulder.

Her touch froze Cora in place, unable to utter a reply, the words caught in her throat. Willa's features, pinched and refined, echoed with a sadness that she had never noticed before. In an instant, she felt intimately familiar with the woman, like she'd just discovered they shared the same skin. A chill rippled down her spine.

"Being overlooked or ... Forgotten. Blending into the background. You get used to it." Willa mused softly. "The rules are simpler. That's how I've always tried to see it."

"That quickly, huh?" Cora said, the air draining from her lungs, her chest caving in on itself. She could already feel it, like a light dwindling at the end of a corridor.

She was no longer Cordelia Evelyn Vernon - orphan, Yale drop out, ex-socialite, addict. Nor was she childhood best friend of Shiv, a memory better left untouched for Kendall, an unlabelled entanglement. She was Roman Roy's fiancé.

A door shut closed, a cube collapsed flat.

"It's a little like being a secondary character. I've been trying to write a play about it." Willa continued, a smile quirking at her lips. "Obviously the irony is inbuilt. By changing the focus, I'm worried people lose the point, you know?"

"What do you think the point would be?" Cora found herself asking, her throat tight.

"That they have lives, these second fiddles. That their orbits are detected by those with greater fields of gravity and that's fine and ... Well, valid. But it's hard to write a protagonist who isn't the driving force." Willa chuckled softly, shaking her head. She steadied her face impassively on Cora. "Our firsts, I think, they know or ... Try to understand. As best they can. That probably looks a lot different than how most people would show understanding but ... You just have to hope that's enough."

Cordelia Evelyn Vernon did not think that was enough.