"You promised," Kinsley says into her phone before the call drops. "Wait—Kins, I—" Wyatt's voice, steady and practiced, glitches once and disappears. "Wyatt, answer me." Her thumb hovers, then presses red. She taps his name and calls again. "Why are you at Aubree's place?" she asks as soon as he picks up. "She's not doing well. I had to come—" Wyatt's words are smooth. Too smooth. "At the civil registry," Kinsley says. "We were supposed to be there in ten minutes." "I know, I know. I can still—" "You can still what? Stand in two places at once?" Her voice is sharp. People in the queue glance at her; a man in a suit coughs. Kinsley doesn't lower her voice. "Listen, it's complicated," Wyatt says. "She called me. She's fragile. I couldn't leave her." "She called you the day before a wedding?" The question is a slap. Her hand tightens on the phone. "She matters, Kins. She matters right now." There is a pause that smells of rehearsed guilt. "This isn't about you." "This was about me for three years," she says. "This was our day, Wyatt." "I'm doing what I have to do." His tone goes cold like a switch. "You've been doing what you have to do since the engagement," she says. "But not what you promised me." "Promises change when people need you," he answers. "Then I promise you one thing." She steps back from