For her part, Rose had been playing the diligent sister. Since Quentin had died, she'd gotten quieter due to the guilt she felt for not having saved him. But that feeling came and went. And Rose didn't allow herself to wallow too much; she couldn't be sure when Sophie might call on her for help or company. It seemed the Frost household had grown silent with Sophie's grief. And the longer it went on, the more Rose saw her home as a large, white tomb. She missed activity. She missed Sophie's laughter. She missed Quentin's visits. And she was only cheered up by time with Esme or her father. Or Gar, who managed to bring noise and color with him wherever he went.
Rose had taken to the habit of sitting outside of Sophie's room for an hour or two after school. She waited and did homework in the hallway or meditated like her father might have. When she heard Sophie, she almost thought she'd imagined the voice. Slowly, she rose to her feet and knocked at Sophie's door. "Did you say something?"