What is up my dudes I'm a clown for saying the next update would be faster but it's not too far off the usual once a month so yay! Wrote myself into a poetic wall and got stuck but fam we worked through it. Hope yall staying safe and quarantined, I still gotta go to work, but you know. Shoutouts to my reviewers Virtue01, mnbvcxz-xx, RunawayGirl8135 with special shoutouts to my og collaborators bibliophile609 and delovlies for bombarding me with catch up reveiews to give me the inspiration I needed and to anj for updating her story a bunch and making me realize I've slacked on mine.

-shades.

…

This was officially the worst idea in the history of ideas. Wesley knocked at Lillian's door (that a very helpful maid had helped him find), dreading the evening. He was by no means dreading Lillian, he found he enjoyed spending time with her. No, he was dreading the formal family dinner his mom was insisting on. The worst part was knowing that there were still nine more to endure, unless he got busy and eliminated someone.

Lillian opened the door herself; she had told him once she didn't like to bother her maid.

"Hi," he greeted, swallowing back the dryness of his mouth. "You look incredible."

Lillian rolled her eyes playfully. "It's dinner with the king and queen and your mom. I should hope so."

All things considered, her gauzy sky-blue dress was very simple, with a flowing tulle skirt and a halter neckline. He didn't want to say anything, but it seemed a little less than formal for the dress code Francesca always insisted on. Lillian usually didn't wear much makeup either, though tonight she had gone with red lipstick, matching her ribbon-tied red heels. Her blonde hair was slicked back into an elegant bun, emphasizing her lovely facial structure. She was widely considered to be one of the prettiest girls in the Selection, by Wesley and the media, and that intimidated him just a tiny bit.

"Don't be nervous," Wesley told her as she took his arm and he led her to the stairs. "They're the king and queen to you but Andrew's just my dumb older brother and Christine is his really nice wife. My mom on the other hand…" he grimaced.

Lillian laughed. "I'm not. I think I should be telling you not to be nervous!"

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're nervous for me. Don't be," Lillian said, offering a smile.

Wesley shook his head. "How are you always so calm?"

"I was in the gardens earlier," Lillian said with a shrug. "When I'm outside…everything just makes sense."

"So you are a hippie, like all the magazines say."

Lillian frowned, her nose crinkling up. "No, I'm not."

"Okaaay, whatever you say," Wesley teased.

Lillian got quiet. Wesley sensed she didn't seem to like his sarcasm, but it didn't last long because they were at their destination. It a small room on the third floor, usually a sort of parlor they never used, but tonight it was transformed into an intimate dining room. Wesley was very glad to see a separate kid table for all his (totally insane) nieces and nephews. His mom greeted them first, her eyes skimming over Lillian and her simple dress and cutting to Wesley. She looked the epitome of intimidating in her black brocade gown embossed with red and gold, more of a ball gown than an evening gown- as usual.

"It's so lovely to have you join us, Lady Lillian," Francesca said, taking her hand after Lillian gave a graceful curtsey to her. "We're all so excited to get better acquainted with Wesley's ladies."

Lillian smiled graciously. "I'm very happy to be invited, Your Majesty."

Wesley looked to his brothers for help, but they pretended not to see his pleading gaze. He endured his mom being extra for a while longer, while she introduced Lillian to everyone. Michelle and her family had left after Christmas, so it was just Andrew and Christine and Ethan and Nicole and their kids.

"This is exciting," Nicole whispered to Wesley after Francesca dragged Lillian over to meet Christine. She honestly glowed throughout her entire pregnancy, looking very glamourous in a black brocade gown.

Wesley ran his hand through his hair, no doubt messing it up. "Tell me about it. Actually, wait, kill me first."

"It's not that bad," Nicole told him with a gentle smile. "Better than some of the things Ethan planned."

"Okay, I guess it really isn't as bad as that," Wesley teased her. He was thankful for her presence, ever since she had joined the family six years ago, she had always looked out for him more than he deserved. It had happened somewhere in between surviving the exile together, escaping that hell, and rebuilding their lives back in Angeles. Even if Ethan hadn't married her, he still would have considered her family-she was stuck with him.

Ethan joined them, putting an arm around his wife's waist. "I heard my name," he said. "This is a good idea, Wes. I never did anything like this."

He shrugged. "It was Mom's." Ethan had definitely been way too intimidated by their father to even have him meet any of his Selected like this. It made Wesley feel guilty, to feel the slightest bit of relief that his dad wasn't here. He remembered him shouting at Ethan and demanding he send certain girls home for their actions, and he didn't envy his brother. "Just don't embarrass me, okay? Lillian is basically perfect."

"I'm sure she has flaws too, Wes," Nicole said. "Everyone does. Don't be scared of her."

"I'm not scared," Wesley crossed his arms. "I just need a drink." He started to leave but turned back with a smirk. "Besides, Ethan was terrified of you."

Nicole stifled a laugh. "I know."

Wesley left them to find said drink but conveniently, there were no alcoholic drinks anywhere, of course, since this was his mom's party. He settled on a soda, and before long they were all seated, Wesley next to Lillian. The first course went well, some little fancy appetizer breads with stuff on them, Wesley had no clue, but they were tasty.

"You're from Ottaro, correct?" Francesca asked Lillian, though if Wesley knew his mom, she already knew the answer.

Lillian nodded, somehow completely at ease. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said. Wesley cringed just a little, remembering his own reaction to finding that out at the opening reception.

"What do you do there? Lots of wilderness, isn't there?"

"I work in forestry. I study and patrol that wilderness," Lillian answered. "I studied ecology in school."

"Well isn't that nice," the dowager queen said.

Christine asked her about her family and Lillian told them about her sister Annie and her parents with briskness, making Wesley think she was hesitant to talk about her family, like many of the girls. He could understand. His own family was just as crazy. Lillian kept them all entertained as the next course was served, a salad of the weirdest lettuce with goat cheese and berries, telling them about her work and her love of the environment. It struck Wesley that she was incredibly intelligent and confident, engaging easily with Andrew about his legislation on matters of the climate and answering all the questions Francesca fielded her like it was nothing. His mom kept pouring on the charm, his brothers were being asses as usual and trying to make him uncomfortable as possible, but his sisters-in-law were being angels and even the kids didn't act up too much.

Wesley stayed quiet, since this was a chance for his family to meet Lillian, though he kept finding out new things about her too. She was a vegetarian (which made the third course a bit awkward), she enjoyed photography and hiking, and she wasn't a fan of how the media constantly labeled her as the most beautiful girl of the Selection.

"I just think it's a little unfair," Lillian told them, "I am so much more than my appearance. I think brains can go just as far as beauty."

"That's a very thoughtful sentiment," Francesca said. "But have you ever considered modeling? You certainly are lovely."

Lillian smiled tightly at the dowager queen and Wesley tried really hard not to roll his eyes at his mom.

"I have no desire to model, Your Majesty," she explained. "I signed up because I made a promise to my friend to put myself first, not to be praised only for my beauty."

"We're very glad you could join us at the palace, Lady Lillian," Nicole said, trying to diffuse the tension. "Were you close to your friend?"

Lillian looked down at the table, and for once she lost her confident demeanor. "We used to be close. She died a few years ago."

A hush fell over the table, the awkward silence ensuing. Wesley prayed for a quick death.

Lillian continued; her voice choked up as she spoke, the words tumbling out of her. "She was collecting samples from the river and she was shot and killed instantly. She was mistaken for a rebel soldier. He family was generously compensated, but we were no longer allowed to work in the forest after that. It's all burned to the ground now, no one was there to tell anyone otherwise."

The staff reappeared to serve dessert, which only made things more awkward. The layer cake looked amazing, with strawberries and mounds of buttercream, but it seemed rude to eat it now.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Lady Lillian," Andrew told her, in complete king mode. "I did not know that had happened."

"It was an accident," Lillian said, avoiding anyone's eyes. "No one's fault really. No one did much about it either," She stood up abruptly. "May I be excused? My apologies, I just-"

"Of course," Christine said softly. "We're very sorry to bring up a painful memory."

Jamie started crying at the kid table then, so the evening came to an end as Nicole excused herself. Francesca pretended the whole thing didn't happen and was back to her perfect queenliness which just made everything worse as they said their good nights, the dessert forgotten. Wesley took Lillian back to her room, made a few bad jokes she didn't respond much too, and was overly relieved when he left her at her room and departed the second floor.

"Well that was a disaster," he muttered to himself as he made a hasty exit. He realized it wasn't that late, since dinner had ended so abruptly. He thought about going to find Vera, or complain about the fiasco with Ethan, but was given a very pleasant distraction in the form of Ophelia.

"What was a disaster?" her disembodied voice caught him off guard until he spotted her sitting in the small alcove by the staircase that overlooked the Main Hall, her knees tucked up under her and a raspberry colored silk evening gown puddled around her legs. She stood up. "You weren't at dinner."

Wesley smiled, suddenly very glad to see her. Ophelia was from Waverly, about as far from the war as you could get and a welcome relief from drama.

"Hey," he said. "Yeah, we were doing this whole meet the family thing. Lillian was first."

The light from outside was sparkling on her earrings and in her rich brown eyes. "That sounds fun," she said, her voice lightly sarcastic.

Wesley snorted. "It didn't end well. Apparently, she holds a lot of resentment and it just kinda all came out us."

Ophelia laughed softly in response, looking away.

"What?"

She shrugged, biting her lip. "Nothing," she said, sounding flustered. "I like Lillian, it's just…she keeps to herself a lot."

"She isn't friends with anyone else?" Wesley asked, walking over to join her. He sat down on the window seat facing the couch she claimed.

Ophelia sat back down, smoothing her dress. "Not really. She's nice to everyone, of course." She looked like a movie star; Wesley noted, even if she only was an Old Broadway star. "I don't want to gossip, though."

"Oh sorry," Wesley hastily corrected. "So what are you doing?"

"Just…hanging out. I needed some alone time, and no one ever uses this alcove. I feel bad for it."

Wesley grinned as she looked around fondly at the sitting area. "You know I can honestly say I don't think I've ever used it either."

"Well you should be ashamed of that. It's lonely!" she said playfully. She held up an odd-looking book. "I was reading a script—the director wants me to star in the show it when I get back to Waverly."

"Oh," Wesley said. It seemed weird to hear them talk about their lives after the Selection. He had heard plenty about before…just not after. "Well, congratulations?"

"Thanks," Ophelia rolled her lips together and they were quiet. Wesley felt his heart sinking. "I don't think I'm going to take it," she added as the silence stretched. "I like the score but the script's a little dry. The director had one hit show, but this isn't as good," she waved the booklet.

A wave of relief passed over him. "I was hoping you would say that," he said, getting embarrassed at his clumsiness. "I hope you like it here. I kinda want you to stick around."

Ophelia smiled, and looked away quickly. "I want to stick around too," she said.

"Good, because there's a lot of spaces around here we neglect!"

His worst fear was that they would all ask him to leave and this would be the world's biggest spectacle, starring him. He liked Ophelia, she was gentle and kind and uncomplicated. "Anyway, dinner ended before we could have dessert, so do you want to go with me to find some?"

"Of course!" Ophelia said standing up. "I'm always down for dessert."

The kitchens were totally dead, so Wesley and Ophelia found their way back to the third-floor room that had been used earlier, where the staff was cleaning up. Luckily, they managed to get there before the cake was removed. Armed with plates filled with way too much cake and a half empty bottle of wine, Wesley showed her some of the underused sitting areas on the third floor—at least until she spied the tiny staircase tucked near the roof access.

"Where does that go?" she asked

"Oh, just up to the Observatory. It's just this tiny little room, like a little tower."

"Can we go?" she asked eagerly.

Wesley shrugged. "Sure," he said, leading the way. The last time he was up here was on a rainy night after a particularly terrible Report where his last two (drunk) brain cells had decided it was a good idea to invite Lissa. The bottom half of the room was dark wood paneling, the rest of the wall just giant windows, with a domed ceiling of glass spiderwebbed with gold panes. It was barely big enough for a small table and set of chairs. It wasn't raining tonight, the sky was clear, and the stars were faint sparkles, the lights from town blurring them and giving the horizon to the west a pink glow.

"Oh, this is so cool!" Ophelia came up the stairs behind him, setting her cake on the table.

"Yeah," Wesley said. He wasn't prepared for the rush of emotions that hit him as he looked around the Observatory. The night up here with Lissa was kind of a haze, but he remembered parts of it. Her saying they only worked when they couldn't be together, telling him everything between them had been a dream, asking him to tell her what happened in the war. Him, telling her that she was the only thing that stopped his world spinning off its axis, that she could have been one of his Selected to him, refusing to tell her anything that happened. She had said everything was going to be okay-and she was right so far. Truthfully, it felt weird and wrong to be here with Ophelia, like maybe being here with Lissa had never happened at all. He sat down across from Ophelia, the memories rushing over him until he was drowning in them. What could have been, every little thing they had said and not said to each other, and mostly the feeling that she would never need him again. Not like how he needed her, though he tried to tell himself he didn't.

Maybe they were nothing more than a fine line between the old lives they had led and the new ones they were living. They had always been on a collision course to an end, perhaps starting in this room on that night, or chasing after her in the halls, the end continuing on the rooftop in the haze of sunset and storm, or the two of them whispering raw ends of their hearts in the emptiness of the Main Hall, and finally coming to a close in the hallway of the third floor when there was nothing left to say. He knew he had to let Lissa go, he had to move on with his life and had to let Lissa move on with hers. It still hurt and he suspected it always kinda would.

Despite that, despite everything, everyone kept telling him he was going to be alright. And he just had to believe that.

Wesley looked at the girl here with him now, if only to distract himself from thoughts of Lissa creeping up unbidden. They both realized he was staring at the same time.

"Sorry," Wesley dragged his hand over his face, feeling it flush with heat and glad for the dim light.

Ophelia avoided his eyes too. "It's okay," she said, and he could tell she was flustered, though she hid it well.

"This is good cake!" he announced, and Ophelia vehemently agreed.

Wesley stuffed his mouth with another bite, pushing away thoughts of another girl. "So, how's the party planning for New Year's going?"

"It's only kind of a disaster," Ophelia said, her dark eyes meeting his. "But I think we'll be ready by then. I'm really nervous. I just want everything to be perfect."

"I can't wait."

They talked as they ate, she told him about her career, and he asked a lot of questions because he knew nothing about musicals and theater. Her eyes sparkled in a way that was slightly magical when she told him about New York and showed him pictures of her tiny apartment and all the sunrise and coffee pictures she had from her half-balcony. Wesley told her stories about living at the palace and remembering how it felt to talk to Dresden, and what Vera and Lissa and everyone had told him, he took a deep breath and before he could chicken out mentioned the war. It was just a funny story about Drake and Elvira when they had been on leave for a night in Columbia. She had plenty of questions for him too, and the next thing he knew they were talking about stuff like normal people and he wasn't freaking out. She didn't really know too much about the political situation of the war, being pretty far away from all of it in Waverly, and honestly, he found it refreshing. He kept lots to himself, some of the more traumatic parts, but the more he talked the better he felt. Maybe everyone had been right, that keeping it all bottled up was highly destructive.

"I feel kind of dumb not knowing about some of this," Ophelia admitted. By then, the cake was long gone, the wine getting there. "I got to the point where I couldn't watch the news anymore, it was just too upsetting."

"Don't feel dumb," Wesley said. He was feeling pretty good, tipsy from the wine and high from the sugar. "You're not dumb." He was itching to excuse himself to smoke, but he didn't want to leave Ophelia or end their date. "You know way more about music and acting and singing and that choreo-ology stuff than I could ever. The only reason I know about the war is because I was there."

Ophelia smiled, taking the wine from him. "You mean choreography?" she corrected with a playful smirk. "Some of the girls were talking about that Public Trials thing, and it was like they were speaking another language to me. And the one time I talked to Prime Minister Evans; I made a fool of myself."

"Ophelia, you just have to remember Colin is an idiot, okay? He probably was equally foolish. And the Public Trials, it's nothing important. You know the faction that is advocating for more action against the rebels and taking it out on us?"

"The people who wanted Vera and Georgia and Fallon to be eliminated?"

"Yeah, them. It's basically our idea to sorta pacify them. We're putting a lot of the rebel leaders and stuff on trial, only it's highly publicized. Andrew's presiding, and it's just kind of a way to punish the instigators and give the faction what they want."

"I'm glad I'm not attending," Ophelia said. "I'll leave that to those three," she said. "I didn't even know the names of the people they were talking about."

"Oh, it's not that hard. General Caine, he commanded the rebel army in St. George, and George Berlin, that's Fallon's uncle, he financed both the armies. Fallon's grandfather, Tristan Berlin, he's going to be there too, the rebels declared him the de facto president of the north for a while before we took Atlin." That had been weird, the attempt for the seceded provinces to become a democracy. It had never really worked, with not enough time to properly set up a government, Berlin had been something of a dictator for a few months before the royal army had invaded past the border provinces.

Ophelia looked skeptic. "Isn't it going to be weird for Fallon if you're putting her family on trial?"

"I'm not sure," Wesley said. "She hasn't said anything to me. I don't think she's close to any of them though. It's not like we're going to sentence anyone to death. They just have to answer for their rebellion."

He believed what he was saying now, but Ophelia was right—it was going to be strange. She seemed convinced however and asked about the rest of the people.

"General Hunter commanded the army in Atlin, but he died right before they surrendered, even after the army of St. George did. And then there's Cody Trevelyne, he's a lieutenant colonel I think, he was General Caine's right-hand man before he made a stupid mistake and almost got Caine's army destroyed and they put him in jail before we could. Hunter's replacement was Colonel Bradley Shepherd, but he only commanded for the surrender, so he'll probably get off easy."

"Wow," Ophelia shook her head. "I heard about some of the Berlins and General Caine, but I'm kind of an idiot about the rest."

"Girl, shut up," Wesley nudged her arm. "You're not an idiot!"

She looked away. "Compared to some of the other girls I am."

The light pollution from the city below them lit the silk of Ophelia's dress in a soft golden haze, reflecting in her eyes. This was girl meant for shadowy nights and the reflection of lights in her eyes, like she still belonged on a stage somewhere, as someone else for a few hours. It amazed him that despite all that, she still was choosing to be here with him. He realized he wanted to tell her that he didn't care she didn't know everything about politics, that her eyes shone when she talked about New York, that in just this conversation he knew she put a ton of pressure on herself, that when she sang karaoke his stomach squeezed into a ball and he would give anything to see her on a real stage.

The words stuck in his throat. And he didn't know why.

Wesley made a lame joke and she giggled at it and they talked more about the upcoming New Year's party some more until they were both yawning, and the wine was gone. He walked her back to her room, feeling much better about it than he had with Lillian. Dinner hadn't gone well, but he counted his date with Ophelia a victory, even though he was coward. He would tell her all those things at some point. He wasn't ready right now.

He couldn't sleep so he found himself on his balcony with a long overdue cigarette. Vera had texted him asking if he was coming by, but he had let his phone die and had been ignoring her for a few days, feeling guilty in taking comfort from her presence while trying to date the others. The city glowing in the valley haunted him more than he cared to admit, in these last few days of the year. He thought of all the times he had talked to Lissa with the same view, the city watching them as they crumbled apart. He blew a lazy stream of smoke out into the cool air, thinking.

If he was honest with himself, which he wasn't, he wanted Lissa to fix him. As if telling her his secrets and lies could fix him, or if not—the fantasy of holding her in his arms, or that split-second time he had lost his mind and kissed her outside the reception for the Elite. Ethan and Nicole believed that they had put each other's broken pieces back together, that they had fixed each other. Wesley had always wanted to believe in that—but as he slumped against the balcony railing, he had another idea. "It's so stupid." He chucked his cigarette stub over the edge.

He didn't want to think about the fact that maybe he was too damaged for a girl like Ophelia, or maybe for anyone. He didn't want to remember Ethan's stupid broken pieces story or wonder who would hug him tight enough to put his back together. He didn't want to try as hard as he could for Vera to not be like her brother. He didn't want to hear his mom telling him what to do anymore.

He wanted to be alright, like Elvira told him he would be. Like Drake had, like Ethan and Nicole believed despite all their sappiness. Like Lissa had said.

Maybe their story would have turned out differently if things had been different, maybe the bad things that had happened would not have happened, maybe there would just have been happiness and warm places and with the people he loved and who loved him and no died and no one died and no one never, never died.

Maybe.

But he doubted it.

It was almost a new year—and this one had sucked pretty hard. He decided then on his balcony. If there was one thing Wesley Shreave was going to be in the new year, it would be okay.