The night passed fast, and for once, Cecilion could thank the gods—but even gratitude tasted bitter on his tongue. This wasn't what he expected. They were supposed to laugh, drink, sleep, and wake up pretending things were okay. But everyone had gotten drunk—Paige, Mateo who had already carried his girlfriend to their tent, Daniela, even Harith, who by then had started mumbling something about tree spirits blessing their fish.
Everyone except for him and Zixuan.
Cecilion hadn't realized it until now, but Zixuan had a terrifyingly high tolerance for alcohol. Seven cans of beer had disappeared into her like water into a basin, and she still sat upright, legs crossed, back straight, expression blank.
Meanwhile, Paige—his supposed lover—was curled up on his lap, dead asleep, her breath warm against his chest, her weight heavy with the kind of peace he hadn't earned.
