AK lowered his eyes. I knew if I could see them under the shelter of his hair, they would be glistening. He had a tough shell, but something softer lay quietly beneath. And no matter how much I tried to push that thought out of my head, strangely I could think of nothing else.

“I’ll be going now,” AK said, his voice low and raw.

My chest ached at the thought of his absence. Just before he left the room, he turned to meet my eyes and said just one word: “Red.” It was his way of saying goodbye.

“Goodbye, AK.” I said, my voice tired and weak. My eyes began to pull down as sleep came calling. Rebekah sat on the bed beside me and squeezed my hand. “Sleep, sister. You are safe now.” And that was the last thing I remembered. That, and AK’s angel eyes on me as he left.

*****

I blinked in the dark room. The only light came from a small lamp on the side table. Where was I? The soft murmurings of voices came from beyond the door. I threw aside the comforter that was over me, and as my feet hit the floor I remembered where I was.

Rebekah’s.

Feeling stronger than before, I followed the sound of the voices to the room next door. I peeked through the crack in the door to see Rebekah sitting beside Grace’s bed, reading her a story. My heart swelled in my chest as I listened to Rebekah’s soft voice tell her about a hedgehog and rabbit that talked. Grace laughed at the funny passages, then slowly drifted off to sleep. Rebekah closed the book and stood. She tucked Grace in and leaned down to kiss her head. “I love you more than the stars in the sky,” she whispered. Tears pricked my eyes as I watched Grace sound asleep. In another world, that would have been Rebekah. Same coloring, same beautiful face and nature. But she was robbed of that life.

I did not realize Rebekah had approached the door. “Phebe?” She closed the door to Grace’s room. “How are you feeling?” Her worried eyes studied my face.

“Better,” I said, my voice hoarse. “What time is it?”

“Late.” Rebekah took my arm and led me to a large wood-furnished kitchen. I took a seat at the table and watched as Rebekah took a dish out of the oven.

“I made this while you slept. AK told us you would be hungry, or at least that you should eat.”

She placed a plate of a peculiar white-and-red dish before me. “You cooked this?” I asked.

Rebekah’s cheeks flushed. “I like to cook. Since I came here, for good, I have found a passion in cooking.”

I stretched my arm over the table and took hold of her left hand. She wore a wedding ring on fourth finger. I smiled. “You married him.”

“I did,” she confirmed, and I saw the happiness beaming from her face. “He . . . he was not the man I expected would be for me. But then, after everything . . .” She took a breath. “It turned out he is exactly what I need. He is brash and rude. He curses, and he is a dangerous man at times. But he loves me more than I deserve, and I love him more than I ever thought possible. He is . . . he is home.” She shrugged, as if she had explained that badly. But I was speechless at her confession. I had no idea what that kind of peace even was.

“Then I am happy beyond words,” I managed to choke out. “You . . .” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “You, more than anyone, deserve that.”

“I do not know about that, but I thank God for Ky every day.” She sighed. “And Grace.” Rebekah’s grip on my hand tightened, and a silent tear fell from her eye.

“Rebekah?”

My sister shook her head, her short hair falling in front of her face.

“When . . . when they came back from New Zion and told us what Judah had done. All those people . . .” I briefly closed my eyes at the memory. “When they came back without you, my sister, I could not breathe. I feared . . . I feared you had been killed too. Then Rider—Cain—told me you had saved Grace. You had saved Grace and sent her to me because you knew I would care for her.” She shook her head. “I did not know what to feel. You were missing, but you had given me a blessing you could not know the magnitude of.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I could hear the pain in her voice.

Rebekah breathed deeply, then said, “When I returned from Perdition Hill, I—” She cleared her throat. “I was not in a good place.” She absently traced the scar down her face. “I did not want this face anymore, Phebe. I wanted none of it. So I cut myself. I hurt myself to take away the temptation I held for men.”

I had been sure nothing could hurt me more than the past few days, than AK keeping me in his cabin, purging me of Meister’s potion. I was wrong. Knowing that my Rebekah, the girl who had been taken away for being too beautiful, had been compelled to do this to herself . . . it hurt me more than anything on this earth could have done.

And I had been a part of it. Convinced her that her looks were sinful.

“Rebekah . . .” I heard the horror and guilt in my own voice.

“It is okay,” she said. “It took me a while to face those demons, but I got through it. Then . . .”

“Then what?”

“Then it was discovered that I could not have children.” And the remnants of my heart withered to dust. A strange kind of numbness filtered through my body. A numbness I could not explain, as though a switch of some kind had been flicked off within me.

“Everything that had been done to me over the years. What Judah ordered his men to do to me when I was recaptured . . . it was too much on my body. It . . . it broke my heart, Phebe.” Rebekah straightened her back, trying to be strong. I wanted to sweep her into my arms and tell her it was all my fault, that I had stood back and watched it happen. “And then you gave us Grace.”

I winced, the pain stabbing into me like a knife. My beautifully scarred sister, who should never have gone through any of this.

“You gifted us an angel when you saved Grace. By saving her, you saved me. I will never be able to repay you for that miracle. You gave Grace a life. Hers would have echoed mine had you not intervened. Or she would have perished with the rest of The Order.” Rebekah rose and walked around the table to crouch at my feet. “And now you are here too. I . . .” She wiped a tear from her eyes. “I do not know how you did it, but you, my sister, saved us with your act of courage.”

I heard her words, yet I could not give them credence. Because I did not save her. No matter what penance I paid, no matter that I had saved Grace, I had failed my sister, and now I found that it had irreparably marred her life.