Page 37 of The Rut in the Road

“Fuck,” Hart hissed.

Raj looked down at the plastic, clearly not meeting my gaze. “I—no,” he said softly. “I don’t think that will be necessary at present.”

“Rayn?”Raj asked, spinning ramen noodles around his fork.

“Yes?” I looked at him over the rim of my bowl, having just taken a sip of the savory-salty broth.

“Did you see—hear—whatever his thoughts… when he died?” His voice was tight and tense.

I set down my bowl, managing not to spill any, despite the sudden tremor that afflicted my hands. “Yes,” I whispered, staring down into the bowl with its swirls of noodles, beads of oil or fat, and colorful specks of carrot, pea, chicken, pepper, scallion… It was easier to look at my food than at Raj.

“What—what was it like?” Raj asked. “Dying?”

I shuddered. I couldn’t help it. “Lonely,” I whispered. “And terrifying.” I pressed my hands against the table, trying to steady my mind by grounding my hands.

One of Raj’s big, warm palms settled over one of mine. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

I sighed. “I’m… fine,” I answered, exhaustion taking hold of me. A glance up at Raj told me he thought I was lying. Or delusional. “Or I will be,” I amended. “Eventually.”

“When we catch them,” he said.

I swallowed. “That would also help,” I agreed.

He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry I asked,” he said softly.

I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“I am sorry,” he repeated, and he sounded it.

“It’s okay,” I told him, squeezing his hand back. “But I would like to stop talking about it, please.”

He blinked, surprise flitting across his face. “Of course,” he replied quickly. “What would you like to talk about instead?”

I didn’t know what to say, and pulled my hands back so that I could pick up my bowl again, if only to give myself something to do. “I don’t know,” I half-whispered, bringing the bowl back to my lips.

“Okay,” Raj replied, drawing out the word as he thought. “How’s working with your sister?” he asked.

I looked up at him as I set the bowl back down, then picked up a fork to twirl in the noodles. “I like it,” I answered him honestly. “It’s… nice to share that with her. Tohavesomething to share with her.” A lot of the time, it almost felt as though Violette was the older of the two of us—she had so much more experience of the world than I did, even if I was six years older. But at Beyond the Veil, I knew the answers to almost all of her questions—it was nice to be the one who knew things, for once.

Raj was nodding. “My sister, Meena, is five years older than me,” he said, and I could hear affection in his voice. “She was already in school when I was born, and Mataalways whisked her away to the kitchen or shopping or to do ‘girl things,’ and it felt like I never got to do anything with her.” He shrugged, his cheeks shading slightly darker. “Not the same at all, I know,” he said, sounding a little chagrined.

I swallowed my mouthful of noodles, feeling a smile tug a little at my lips. “A little,” I acknowledged.

“But also not really,” he replied with a grimace. “I—I’m just really good at sticking my foot in it around you.”

“Sticking your foot in what?” I asked.

He huffed out a little bit of a laugh. “My mouth,” he replied. “Putting your foot in your mouth is an expression that means you’ve said or done something stupid—inconsiderate.” He sighed, stabbing a pea pod. “I do that around you a lot, unfortunately.”

“I do that a lot, too,” I replied. “Except I don’t know I’ve done it half the time.”

He offered me a little smile. “You don’t around me,” he said. “Not nearly as often as I do.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But Idoawful things.”

He frowned. “Like what?”

I waved my fork a little. “Invade your head. Repeatedly.”