Who could afford to purchase my honor?

It's only been a few days. Victra's not trying to keep anything secret, and she knows instinctually that she has to tell Jesse to his face rather than let him find out through another means. But she isn't sure how to go about this. She didn't ever think she would be in this position, and, what's more, there are different traditions to consider, different ways of doing things. She doesn't want this ceremony to be Gold through and through. She wants something else. But the details are lost on her.

She needs help. She needs her best friend.

So she texts Jesse that she's coming over -- which is totally normal for her -- and heads towards his apartment before a confirming text response.

Knocking on his door, she's got a shopping bag with some cake and a small bottle of champagne. Because she intends to celebrate, again, once Jesse agrees to a few requests of hers.

It hits her out of nowhere. One minute, she's berating a waitress for serving someone else before her, the next she's sitting there, staring open-mouthed at a girl near tears, the words still buzzing around in her head, sitting on her tongue, with surprise the only thing keeping them at bay.

The girl doesn't deserve this, she realizes suddenly. This is just the way that things are.

They're not home anymore. She can't treat people like this.

The girl runs away, escapes, and Victra doesn't see her again until she delivers her plate of food, so hot and fresh it's ready to burn her tongue.

But Victra can't pay any attention to her now. She has more important people in her life that she needs to apologize to. Her phone's already out and she's sending a mass text message with her location to everyone in her neatly cultivated contacts list.

I'm back to normal. Sorry.

And to Lincoln, an added:

Please forgive me.