“How did you guys even know who I was?” I choke out.

“Oh, Tave, so much research,” Sammi says, and she looks tired at the thought. “Generations of research. My family have been Curatoriates for more than ten generations; membership in both brotherhoods is often a family affair.”

“Like the mob,” Benson says dryly, speaking for the first time.

Sammi shoots him an annoyed look but continues as though he hadn’t spoken. “Since I was sixteen and trained under my father, I’ve spent my life searching for the Earthbound. We have a lot of methods, none of them simple or foolproof. Honestly, if you didn’t look the same from lifetime to lifetime, I think we’d be hopelessly lost.”

I remember the vision of Rebecca. Longer hair, but otherwise identical.

“I—I have a bit of a connection with you, actually,” Sammi says.

“What kind of connection?” I ask, and I can’t keep the suspicion out of my voice.

She reaches into the large bag at her hip and I step back and throw my arms out in front of Benson, but Sammi’s hand emerges clutching a file folder with the symbol of the feather and the flame. She walks toward me, raising the folder like a white flag.

It feels strange, exchanging folders of documents in the forest, with brown leaves crunching under our feet, but what about this whole experience hasn’t been strange? I take the folder warily and try to keep my eyes on Sammi even as I open the cover.

It’s odd to see my face stare out from a picture I don’t remember being in. It has that sepia tinge that old photos take on, and I see myself in a wide-necked sweater and high-waisted jeans, lying on my stomach, reading a book. “When is this?” I ask, studying all the little facial details I’ve become so intimately acquainted with over the years.

It’s strange how foreign they look now.

“Eighteen years ago,” Sammi says, and I remember her cryptic statement a few minutes ago.

I wrinkle my brow. “I died young.”

“You did.”

My finger reaches out to touch another face in the picture—the sharp chin of teenage Samantha. Shorter hair, a little thinner, but definitely her. “That’s you.”

“Yes, that’s me as a teenager, and that’s you as Sonya. And despite everything,” she adds with a laugh, “you are so much easier to live with this time around.”

“‘Belligerent,’” I recite from the next page in the file, but there’s no humor in my voice. I’m not ready to think of any of this as amusing.

“That basically sums it up. You didn’t trust us, even after we were able to give you your memories back. And you wouldn’t tell us anything.”

I reach the bottom of the file, and everything inside me clenches up in denial. “It says here that I killed myself. If you Curatoria people are so helpful and trustworthy, why did I do that?”

Sammi is quiet for long time, twisting her wedding ring around and around. When she speaks, her voice is low and serious. “The bond between partners is so strong, it often becomes an Earthbound’s motivation for living. Right before we found you, we found your partner. His name was Darius then. But we weren’t the only ones who found him. Unfortunately, he left too much of a trail and the Reduciata located him … and …” She spreads her hands out in front of her. “You have to understand, Tavia. For an Earthbound, death isn’t the same as for the rest of us. It’s not the end; it’s more like a reset button. It wasn’t that you stopped wanting to live but that you wanted to be on the same timeline as Darius. Quinn. Whatever you want to call him. You didn’t want to be twenty-three years older than him when you found his new incarnation. You wanted to be at the same stage so the two of you might have a chance of a long life together.”

“So I killed myself?” I ask. The cold logic of the act doesn’t make it any less gruesome.

“It was hard on me too,” Sammi admitted. “Even though I understood what it meant. Since then I’ve dedicated much of my service as a Curatoriate to finding you and Darius and getting you together again. To right that wrong. It’s been my life’s work. So when I recognized your painting style last year from a few pieces we have by Rebecca, I was finally able to complete the first step in my mission.”

“Well, you can stop now. I don’t want to be with him.” I take Benson’s hand again, twine my fingers through his, and smile. “I want to be with Benson. We don’t need you and we certainly don’t need this guy—Darius, Quinn, whoever. We only need each other.”

Benson smiles back, but he looks nervous—edgy. His hand grips mine like he’s afraid I’ll bolt at any moment.

“Don’t you even want to see him?” Sammi asks.

“See who?”

“Your partner, Quinn Avery. Who he is today?” She holds out another file.

I try not to be affected. I have a boy who loves me; I certainly don’t need another one. But Sammi continues to hold it out, and finally I give up my show of nonchalance and grab it and read the label.

“‘Logan Sikes,’” I read.

I hold the file, count to three, open it.

And there he is.

An eight-by-ten of a guy—a teenager, just like me. Somewhere in the back of my head a new voice I vaguely recognize as Sonya cheers. It worked! And even as I push her away, I realize she’s right. We’re the same age. We could be together—have an entire lifetime.