Moxie's POV
That night, we started to have a celebratory party, just us four. It didn’t take long before the drinks started doing what they always did, loosening edges, softening the sharp corners of thought, turning laughter easier and words a little more honest than usual. At first, it stayed light. We shared stories about terrible past projects and complaints about lecturers. Random memories that somehow turned into exaggerated reenactments that had us all laughing harder than they probably deserved. But somewhere between the second and third round, something shifted. It wasn’t sudden. It was gradual, like the laughter slowed just enough to let something else in.
Quince was the first to say it, her voice softer than usual as she glanced around the table. “You know what’s weird?” she
