They'd talked about it; they'd been worried, and tried to convince themselves they were worrying too much, and Kennedy should've been able to pester some information out of Raven sooner if she'd tried harder, because God knew she was an expert at getting what she wanted, but she hadn't.

"God, Raven," she muttered out of habit, affectionate and exasperated and miserable all at once, then choked out a tiny, half-hysterical laugh and buried her face in Tara's hair again. If she hadn't been hanging on so tightly, the drain of letting out everything she'd been bottling up might've just sent her toppling over onto the floor.