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As Starlen goes apeshit and the director tries to mitigate the fallout from Jag’s announcement, Thorun turns to me and clasps my hands in hers.

“Cat, are you sure?”

I nod.

“You don’t want him, though, do you?” I whisper. “Thorun? You don’t want to marry Jag?”

“No,” she shakes her head, her expression grim, “but I would if it meant you got what you wanted.”

“Then everything has worked out,” I smile and squeeze her hands as Starlen describes me as an ‘Italian velociraptor,’ and Jag bursts out laughing.

“He’s what I want.”

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