"Thank you, Ethan."
It binds in Zoe's throat - a thin stream crystallizing, cracking. Freezing into shining planes and needles.
"It's like you said, right?" he says. Over the phone, it's dry. Briskly easy. Just like always. "We were gonna get out of there together."
She thinks she can detect a hint more inflection.
Something in her chest tickles - as if a bone that isn't a bone has been struck. Something behind her face does, too - she sniffs as she smiles.
"...You're a real friend," she half-whispers, half-lilts.
She thinks it's a joke. She barely knows him.
But he's real something.
July 30th. "Trust".