He clears his throat and then takes the bag from me. I guess it was a test, then. I try not to be disappointed as I follow him to the fence between the boardwalk and the sand, but he doesn’t throw the cotton candy away. Instead, he opens the bag and holds it out to me, and I can’t resist. I pull out a piece of fluff, and it’s like tasting color—like everything bright and alive about this place was spun and whipped and bagged. I take another bite as I look up at him.

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. It wavers when he catches me watching, like maybe he doesn’t want to be seen as anything besides stern and serious, but he doesn’t let go of the smile. It expands, and his eyes widen with something like shock.

It surprises me too. The way he’s looking at me—it reminds me of the way Dad looked at Mom in that single video of them performing. Before I came out and blew up the trick.

I shove a giant puff of pink in my mouth to hide whatever I’m feeling… I’m not even sure what it is.

He clears his throat. “You really like this stuff.”

“First time I’ve ever had the real deal—not just a bag from the dollar store.” It’s way different. This is sugared air, and the cheap stuff is dense and overpowering.

This time his smile fades. “You have a lot of living to do.”

“I’ve lived plenty.”

“Not the good kind.”

I want to snap at him, but I’m not sure I can argue. “Why aren’t you eating it, then?”

“I’m not a sugar person.” He shrugs.

“Sounds like you need to get better at living too.”

He stares out at the ocean for a long second before turning back to me. “Probably. It gets harder to do when you’re focused on killing. The killing will take the good away until you don’t remember who you are anymore.”

My stomach tightens. He’s not lying to me. There’s a hollowness in his voice and a sadness in his eyes, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and grab his hand. I know what hollowness feels like. Sometimes I just need to hug Parker for a minute or see him smile to fill that hole again, and in that moment, I want to be that person for Roman.

The way he’s staring at me makes me think I could be.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. “You can’t undo it.”

His words stop me from reaching for him just in time, and my stomach suddenly sours. I take the bite of cotton candy still in my hand and toss it in the trash. “I can’t undo what they did to my mother.”