I nod and when I blink a single tear slides down my cheek. Linden leans forward and brushes it away with his thumb.

“That’s why I lied,” he said. “I couldn’t make you suffer for something you didn’t choose, when I’ve basically been completely fake with you for the last three weeks.”

“I don’t care that it was fake, Linden,” I say with a shaky smile. “I loved every minute of it.”

I expect my words to make him feel better, but he looks guiltily down at his hands. “There . . . there’s more.” He digs into his pocket then holds his hand out to me. I open my palm and he drops a coin onto it.

A quarter with a crack halfway down the middle. I study it and squint at a shimmering core in the middle that I’m pretty sure doesn’t belong in a normal quarter. “It’s the one Smith gave you,” I say, and it’s not a question. I put my hand into my own pocket and my fist closes around the necklace. I pull it out and open my palm.

The stone on the silver chain has a small crack in it too. And the same kind of odd glittery metal in the middle. I didn’t notice it when I grabbed it and shoved it into my pocket this morning. Just in case.

Every time you use the necklace with my spell in it, the door gets bigger, Smith said. This is it—the spell he somehow put inside the focus stone. Binding us together. Every hour you spent using the necklace to come here strengthened my hold on you. Now I know how.

“His mind-control thing is gone. When I woke up from surgery yesterday, I was overwhelmed with grief for Beth,” Linden says, and gives me that sad smile again. “That’s when I knew for sure that I had been controlled. And that it was over. That you did something to break it. Not just for you, but for me too.”

He takes a long, shaky breath. “I know it’s been almost a month, but to me, it feels like Bethany just died.” He swallows hard. “I know this is a totally shit thing of me to do after basically making out with you for the last week, but I’m not ready to date anyone. I need time to grieve for Beth. And . . .” He pauses and blinks rapidly several times. “And I don’t know how long it’s going to take,” he says, finishing in a whisper.

“I understand.” It’s the truth. I understand more than he could ever know. More than he will ever know.

He rushes on. “I thought maybe in a few months—if I’m ready and if you’re ready, maybe we could try being friends and then . . . then see where it goes.”

For one tiny instant, I think I can say yes. But only one. “Linden,” I say, and I lay my hand on his knee, rubbing my fingers slowly up his thigh for the last time ever. Because even if he did decide he was ready—even if he did think he wanted me for real—I would always wonder if there was a lingering influence from Smith. He would know that once, when we were sixteen, I tried to kill him. And I would always have to hide that his girlfriend—his real one—died for the sole reason that the monster hunting me wanted her out of the way.

In my mind, I see the screen from Smith’s world where I’m a shimmering bride smiling up at a handsome, slightly older version of Linden. Opening my mouth and forcing the words out now is just as difficult as that hammer swing. “I think we’ve had our shot.”

For the barest moment, I see relief slide over his face and I know I’ve done the right thing.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say as I rise from the bed. “It means a lot.” I shrug, and force a smile. “And thanks for not telling them,” I say, tilting my head toward the door—the doctors, his parents, the world.

“It’s our secret,” he says.

I hesitate. “I didn’t know Bethany, really,” I choke out, “but if you liked her so much, she must have been wonderful.”

“She was,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry you lost her.”

He nods, and then he looks up and meets my eyes and there’s another emotion there that I’m not sure I understand. “I’m glad I found you. Even if it was only for a little while.”

“Me too.”

And he doesn’t know, as I turn and smile down at him before opening the door, that my heart is splintering into pieces. That even those splinters are breaking in half, leaving almost nothing of my heart to beat life into me.

THIRTY-FOUR

I linger outside my aunt’s room.

I’m filled with such a strange mix of curiosity, excitement . . . and fear. I’m not sure what to think of the last few weeks. I can’t help but feel like I did some things right. Smith was targeting people specifically to get to me, so now I know that if I hadn’t started breaking the rules, more people would have died.

He’d have killed dozens to get to me if that’s what it took. Even if just to feed himself.

But did more people die than needed to?

Did Nathan die unnecessarily?

I finally ramp up my courage enough to lift my fist and knock lightly. “Come in,” Sierra says in the same calm voice she always uses. It used to bother me. To scare me even, because I always assumed I would end up just like her. But now it commands a degree of respect. I’ve realized I’ll never be quite like my aunt. And that’s okay. But there are a lot of ways in which I do want to emulate her.

I close the door behind me—something I rarely do. But I’m not going to skim the surface and make excuses this time; we’re going to hash this whole thing out. It’s time.