“Did Fisher tell you to come?” Quincy said, her voice sounding so unlike itself—sounding yearning. “No,” Arch replied. Then he shook his head as confirmation, as if it were an important truth she needed to know two ways. “But I knew this was his train.” “You missed him.” “I didn’t come for him. I came for you.” His words went unanswered. They were too real for her. And Quincy could only pay attention to how her boots felt on her feet in that exact moment and how Fisher’s absence felt in her chest. The boots were a little snug, wet from the puddles of the midnight rain. The absence in her chest
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