“I just meant that you got back here quicker than I expected,” Ash said.

Dorothy nodded, and began twisting her fingers around her braided hair, so that she had something to do with her hands. She felt more nervous than she’d expected, maybe because of that photograph, because she knew what was coming next.

“I know a shortcut,” she murmured. “I used to come out here a lot.”

Ash appeared to be waiting for her to say more and, when she didn’t, he crossed the dock, and rested his hands on the wooden banister just beside her, close enough that his hand grazed her hip. She felt a trail of warmth where he’d touched her.

This was it. He was going to kiss her now. Heat rose in her chest.

“I looked for you this morning,” Ash said.

Dorothy blinked at him. Her thoughts felt slow and confused. You, he’d said. But which “you” did he mean?

The bride who’d stowed away on his time machine? The woman with white hair destined to kill him? The bloodthirsty leader of the Black Cirkus?

I don’t even know who you are, Zora had told her. Are you Quinn? Or are you Dorothy?

“You looked for Dorothy,” she said carefully. “I’m not Dorothy anymore.”

What she’d meant to say was: What if I’m not Dorothy anymore? Would you still like me? Or would everything be different? But Ash drew back before she could correct herself, his brow furrowing.

“A new name doesn’t make you a new person,” he said.

“It’s . . . not just the new name, though, is it?” Dorothy shook her head, frustrated. She was explaining this wrong. How could Ash want to be with her if she didn’t even know who she was? That’s what she wanted to say.

“You mean . . .” Ash brought his hand to her face and she inhaled, sharp, a second before he touched her, already anticipating the feel of those rough hands on her skin. He froze, fingers hovering over the line of her scar. “Is this . . . okay?”

She closed her eyes and was quiet for a long moment. No one had ever touched her scar before. She even tried not to touch it. The feel of the mangled skin beneath her fingers disgusted her. It seemed to represent every horrible thing that she’d ever done, all the ways she’d failed. If Ash touched it, she was certain he’d see how different she was from the girl he knew.

And yet she said, almost without realizing she was speaking, “Yes.”

Ash lowered his hand to her scar, and every nerve in her face flared so that all she felt was spark and heat. She’d been holding herself stiffly, but now she released a breath that was almost a sigh. “Ash.”