Èponine didn't even dare breathe as she ran through a mental catalogue of people who could know where she was. She knew Azelma's voice better than her own, so obviously it wasn't her. As far as she knew, her mother didn't know anything about Rue Plumet, so it wasn't her. She didn't speak enough with Musichetta to tell her where she went every night, though she wished she did.

The voice sounded again, soft like a little bell. "Don't be afraid—I'm not going to hurt you. I've just been alone for so long, and it would be truly wonderful to have someone to talk to."

Èponine softened a little. Clearly, this person didn't want to hurt her, which was a welcome change from everyone else she knew. She tried to pull the hostility from her voice as she said, "Who are you?"

"I think perhaps you should tell me that first, since you are at my house, after all." The girl gave a small, slightly awkward laugh. Èponine gasped as her mind catapulted her ten years into the past, flooded with images of a tiny girl who knew nothing but cruelty and escaped into a life of nothing but love. Of course it was Cosette. How could she ever have forgotten that voice when she heard Cosette crying to her mother every night from her pile of rags under the stairs?

"Cosette?" Èponine said, afraid she might frighten her back inside and to her father. "Is that you?"

Before she could talk herself out of it, Èponine stepped out from the shadow of the tree against her better judgment, her dark brown eyes meeting vibrant blue ones. Cosette gasped, recognition spreading across her features. "Èponine? You're here in Paris? I thought you were still in Montfermeil! Something terrible happened to the inn, didn't it?"

"I don't want your pity," Èponine snarled, knowing that Cosette's comments could only be followed by a series of questions about her family and how she ended up in such a sorry state, none of which she really felt like answering.

"I wasn't offering it to you," Cosette answered, her tone staying even. "But I was going to ask if you wanted to come inside. You look like you could use a good meal."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, if the food when your family was prospering at the inn was bad, I can't even think about the quality of it now that you've fallen on harder times. When was the last time you had something good to eat?" Èponine opened her mouth to respond and promptly closed it. It had to have been months ago. "Exactly." Cosette sauntered toward the door. "So, join us for dinner. Papa's always willing to help someone who needs it."

"I don't think he'll be too welcoming toward the girl whose family hurt his daughter for the first few years of her life," Èponine said, staying where she was.

She looked over her shoulder. "He doesn't blame you. It's your parents' fault, after all. You were just a child doing what you were told. Now, come on."

Èponine sighed. "You're doing this for Marius," she muttered. "Remember that." She pushed down the hints of gratitude rising in her chest toward the girl she grew up being told was the villain in her family's story.

Cosette stopped. "Marius? Who's that?"

She snorted. "That boy who's hopelessly in love with you."

"The one from the marketplace today?" Èponine nodded. Cosette flushed a bright pink. "He saw me too?"

"How could he not have? You ran right into each other."

"I'm just—I'm not used to people paying much attention to me." Cosette pushed the door open, and Èponine gasped, her hand landing in front of her mouth. She took in her surroundings, marveling at the tall ceilings. "It's not much, but it's home."

"It's beautiful," Èponine said. She rounded the corner into the kitchen to find herself face to face with an older man whose kind eyes had haunted her for ten years. He smiled at her.

Cosette dashed in front of Èponine. "Èponine, this is my papa. Papa, this is Èponine. She's going to be joining us for dinner tonight," she said in a tone that left no room for questions.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle." His voice was soft and gentle, but somehow unease still lingered in the pit of Èponine's stomach. He turned back to Cosette. "Do you want me to leave you two while you eat?"

"It's up to you, Èponine," Cosette said, gathering the food from around the kitchen. "I know you may not be comfortable with Papa, given his history with your family." Jean Valjean looked as if he was about to ask about Èponine's home life, but at a quick glare from his daughter, he didn't say anything. When she didn't respond immediately, Cosette said, "I think it may be best if we don't eat together tonight, Papa. I'll tell you everything you need to know later." Valjean nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

"You really didn't need to do that, Lark," Èponine said. "I've had to deal with much worse."

"Still holding onto old nicknames, I see," Cosette retorted, setting a basket of bread at the center of the table. She pulled out a chair, which Èponine gladly collapsed into. "And you're my guest. I want you to be as comfortable as possible."

Tears budded in Èponine's eyes. She couldn't recall the last time someone was so kind to her. "Well, thank you, at any rate." Cosette flashed her best, most dazzling smile—the same one she gave Marius when they ran into each other—and placed a plate full of sizzling meat in front of Èponine. It took all her self-control not to cry out with delight at the smell of it.

Cosette settled into the chair directly across from Èponine and said a quick blessing over the meal. "So, tell me about this Marius," she said, his name coming out as a sigh. "Will he be calling soon?"

She thought for a moment, calculating the best way to tell her who he was without betraying her own feelings. She didn't know Cosette well, but she struck Èponine as the kind of girl who'd stand back and let herself suffer to make somebody else happy. "He's kind," she began, though that word didn't even begin to cover it. "Selfless. Funny, when he wants to be—and sometimes when he doesn't. Loyal to a fault—he'd give his life for something or someone he's passionate about. A little sad, but he doesn't want people to pity him. Idealistic, almost to the point of naivete."

"He sounds wonderful," Cosette said, breaking one of the rolls and handing Èponine a piece of it.

"He's my best friend," Èponine said, the words strange on her tongue. She'd never really defined whatever sort of relationship she had with Marius—it had just been natural, and neither of them had ever really been sentimental with the other. But what other title would there be for one of the only people in her life who'd ever treated her as something more than a charity case or a criminal? "And I don't know where I'd be without him."

Cosette smiled at her, and it was only then that Èponine realized she was crying. "He's clearly very special to you. I can tell. Thank you for letting me into your lives."

Èponine stifled a laugh. "Don't thank me yet," she said. "Haven't decided if we're going to let you stay." Cosette's grin only widened, and she put her hand up to her mouth to hide her laughter.

Èponine remained at 55 Rue Plumet for a bit longer before it dawned on her that if she didn't hustle back to the Musain, there was a high chance Marius would be standing there on the street alone searching for her—meaning there was a higher chance someone in her family would rob him, and he'd never be able to defend himself against one of them. And if they found Azelma with him, she'd be punished too. She skidded away from the table, hoping she didn't scratch gouges into their fine wooden floor. Cosette raised an eyebrow. "I've got to go," she said, the words rushing from her lips. "I'll see you soon?"

"Yes, certainly! Come by anytime, alright?"

"I think I'll have to take you up on that."

And with that, Èponine dashed out the door and into the night.