I immersed myself in my embroidery. The stitches came out crooked and ugly. My vision blurred from panic and exhaustion and my hands trembled violently. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing as I slid the needle in and out, tugging the thread tighter than I would have dared if Galina had still been moving. I tried to find it in me to pray for a miraculous recovery, but prayers had never done anything for me. Even now, I didn’t know who to turn to for help.

The blisters that had formed during those nightmarish hours along the riverside now burst from the pressure of gripping the needle. Tacky with my own blood, my fingertips burned as if I’d grabbed fistfuls of stinging nettles.

As I worked, I sensed in my heart that it was too late. No amount of pain or tears would make a difference. I had been able to bring Vanya back because he had died only once, but how could I restore Galina to health when she had already perished and become something else?

Vanya joined me at the table. He gently rested his hand upon my forearm. “Toma...”

“I can’t do it,” I sobbed, dropping the needle. I slammed my fist into the table, scraping open my knuckles on the brass rivets lining its edge. “It’s not working. She’s—she’s not going to come back.”

“No,” Vanya said, circling around to the other side of the table. His features hardened with resolve. “No. We’re going to bring her back together.”

I blotted at my eyes with the back of my hand, my mouth trembling so violently, I could hardly speak. “What do you mean?”

“The first time I used my power wasn’t on a plant—it was on a dead mouse our cat had brought back. I wasn’t able to heal it, not exactly, but the fur began to fill in.”

I remembered Detskaya and the way the chair’s leather upholstery had grown patches of fur atop it. How it had swelled shallowly as though in exhalation.

“Plants were always easier. They didn’t feel as...intimate.” He shifted his gaze away. “I think I’m ready to try now, but I can’t do it when she’s like this. Not without your help. Keep sewing.”

Vanya’s unshakable confidence gave me renewed hope. I picked up the needle again and turned my attention back to the task at hand. The trembling in my fingers died down by the time I snipped the sutures’ dangling end and drew a new thread through the eye of the needle. I tried to pretend her skin was the aged linen that its pigment resembled, but I couldn’t separate myself from my love for her. Every time I made another stitch, I was forced to acknowledge that this was what Galina had become, that I might not be able to bring her back, but that I must fight for her until the end.

Years ago, my sister, Galina, had saved me. I couldn’t give up on her now, not when I had come so far to find her. Whatever it would take, we’d return home together.