Roman comes to me on Tuesday evening.
Not at school — at Mira’s house, which he has never done before, which tells me the thing he’s come to say has graduated from hallway conversation to something that requires privacy. He knocks at the door like a person who has decided to do something and has committed to the decision. Mira opens it and looks at him then at me and retreats to the kitchen with the tact of someone who has been keeping secrets long enough to understand when other people need space to tell theirs.
We sit in the front room. He doesn’t take off his jacket, which is either because he’s cold or because he isn’t staying for long. I don’t ask which.
“The Vael-Ashvale feud,” he says. “I need to tell you what it actually is before someone else tells you an embellished version of
