So things are not fixed. It is not a happily ever after. We can hope the Ratel stays scattered, and there’s a glimmer of hope that Verve won’t be released to the city from another’s hands. A glimmer of hope. That’s all.

“I suppose that’s enough for now,” I manage. “What’s next for you, then, now that your undercover op is finished?”

“I’ve asked for a leave of absence.”

I manage a smile. “A well-deserved break.”

He sighs. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

I understand. At the moment, I can’t imagine going back to engineering. I feel too shattered to be a functioning cog in society.

I drain my glass and look down at the bandages beneath the collar of my shirt.

“I haven’t seen the full extent of the damage yet,” I say.

I begin to unbutton my shirt. Nazarin stands up. “Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay.”

I slide the dress off of my shoulders. I suck in a breath, looking at the fractal marks from being struck by phantom lightning in the dream world. The red has already faded to white, stark against the brown of my skin. It shouldn’t be there, but it is. My mind thought it was hit by lightning, and the body obliged.

“They can erase it,” Nazarin says.

“I don’t want them to.” It’s beautiful, in its own way. And it’ll always remind me that I was strong when I needed to be.

He stands again, moving closer. He raises a finger, hovers it over my skin. I meet his eyes and his fingers rest, lightly, on the fractal marks. He traces the swirling branches of the scars.

“It’s like trees. Or blood vessels. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I don’t reply. His touch makes me feel grounded and alive. It cuts through the dregs of the pain medicine. My whole body tingles.

I start to unwind the bandages across my chest. I’m afraid to see what’s underneath. The last of the bandages fall away. Nazarin and I both look down. Between my bare breasts is a new scar, just to the left of the one that bisects me from collarbone to navel. It’s healed cleanly. It looks a little like a star.

Nazarin presses the scar gently with his fingertip. “Will you keep this, too?”

“Yes.”

I look up at him. His eyes are soft.

I want to ask him, but I’m not sure how. “Is Tila—?”

“No. Only you.”