Nolan does not want an out.

“He isn’t equipped to pay back a life debt, so, as his keeper, I’ll act on his behalf.”

I look away first, dropping Nolan’s intense stare to reach down and pluck at the rug fringe dangerously close to where his hand rests. His pinky stretches the slightest bit toward my fingers, like he’s fighting the draw of a magnet and losing.

“I thought you didn’t believe in magic,” I say.

“I don’t.”

“Then what’s with the adherence to the Old Laws?”

“The Old Laws are more of an honor code than a magic system. All worlds—fictional or otherwise—must have morals.”

“How noble,” I mutter.

If he doesn’t want to drop the subject, he must have something in mind … something he’s willing to offer.

“What do you suggest?” I ask outright.

I’m caught in his stare again when he says, “Val said you haven’t picked up a single book since you got here. Why?”

I am startled—that she noticed, that she mentioned it to Nolan, that he cares—but I try to hide it. “I’ve barely been here a full day. Besides, you can’t answer a question with a question.”

“I just did.” His lips quirk but quickly flatten into a somber line. He manipulates the thread between us, pulling to test its strength. “I can answer for you, if you’d like.”

I snort. “Good luck with that. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

“It’s Jenna,” he says. “Her death. You feel guilty, like you shouldn’t enjoy anything you both shared, because it’s dishonoring her memory.”

“How do you know what we shared?”

“You were at the festival, weren’t you?” Nolan is expressionless as he lays me bare for our mutual examination.

All I wanted, less than a month ago, was to be in the same crowded room as N. E. Endsley. In an alternate universe, that’s what I’d get. He’d show up at the festival but never meet Jenna. He would sign my book (maybe), nod politely (doubtful) as I tried to express my every thought about Orman in the span of one minute (definitely), and it would be over.

I’m having a hard time reconciling myself to this universe without Jenna, and an even harder time acknowledging that this is probably the only universe where Nolan’s hand reaches forward and holds mine. In all the universes where I meet Nolan Endsley, Jenna is not there, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

“I’ve had something similar happen,” Nolan says carefully, oblivious to my musings. “But it was with music, not books.”

I swallow. “Did it ever go away?”

“Eventually,” Nolan says. “Or rather, I got through it. One day I decided I was going to listen to music even if it killed me, and it didn’t. I managed.”