In the early afternoon or late evening, once Hugo has recovered from his hangover, we head to a café in central Windenburg. We spend a lot of time in that city now. It’s a bit far from the Air Complex, but it’s without a doubt the best place for a club to hang around. I guess it’s inscribed in the place’s code DNA.

Hugo is right at home here. He sways to the rhythm of the communal speakers, oblivious to whatever is happening around him. It doesn’t matter. What’s happening isn’t anything more thrilling than ordering croissants and chatting with the easy-going, friendly staff.

We have partied enough for now, so this is a pretty relaxed evening. We take pictures. We talk. We drink coffee after coffee. We probably stay for far longer than most owners would let us. But we’re not obnoxious teens, and we pay for the caffeine overdose that we’re brewing, and we’re members of the Stewarts family. I am, in fact, the heiress’s daughter.

They’ll let us stay all night long if we ask.

One of many conversations where many things happen. In this case, very few involved actually listening to Charlotte’s rant. Well, maybe Shanna was listening. It’s actually probable. But you can possibly guess — can possibly see — that some of us have other matters in mind.

Matters that require some clarification. What can’t two good friends discuss freely after all?

And once we’re perfectly clear, nothing stands in the way of friendship.

Right?