“I’m not an Ygrex, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Poppy said. She sounded faintly hurt. “It copied me, not the other way around! I won’t let it take this place from us though.” Her small fists pressed to her sides, her chin jutting out with determination.

Twelve looked around again and thought she understood. This had been one of their favorite places to play, the dense branches perfect for hide-and-seek. The Ygrex had used that, twisted those memories into its cruel trick.

“You hardly ever think of me,” Poppy said, stepping closer and slipping her hand into Twelve’s. There was no accusation in her voice, no malice, just sadness. “You’re letting yourself forget all this, forget us. I wanted to remind you.”

Twelve’s chest ached so much she could barely breathe, but the little hand in hers squeezed encouragingly, giving her the strength to speak. “It hurts to remember,” Twelve whispered. “I have . . . so many regrets. I broke everything.” Her voice shook.

“You didn’t, Starling.” Twelve startled to hear her old name. “We may have fought at the end, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“It was,” said Twelve. Said Starling. “It was mine. And, if I’d taken you with me, you would never have been . . . have been . . .”

“And, if the traitors hadn’t attacked our village, no one would have died at all. We fell out, as sisters sometimes do—but you were only being yourself. You didn’t kill me. You have to forgive yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” said Poppy firmly. “You only think of the end. But you must remember that we were happy too. So often we were happy.”

There was a telltale prickling behind Twelve’s eyes, the pressure of tears building. “Sometimes I can only think about how much I hurt you, about how much I miss you,” she said. “Were we really? Happy?”

“Of course we were, silly!” Poppy’s laughter was high and fluting. “We fought each other cruelly and loved each other completely. We were sisters. You must know that?” Her laughter faded at the uncertainty in Twelve’s face. “Don’t forget us, Starling.”

She said it quietly, the ghost of a plea in her words.

“I won’t,” Twelve whispered.

“Good,” said Poppy. “I love you. I’ll always love you.”

Something dark and thorny loosened in Twelve’s chest, something she had carried so long she’d forgotten the terrible weight of it. Hot tears spilled over her lashes as she nodded, unable to speak.

Poppy pulled her into a hug. Twelve closed her eyes and breathed her in: lavender and meadowsweet. “It’s not too late, you know, to be the person you want to be.”

Poppy’s words were so quiet it was as though the breeze had murmured them and, for a glorious moment, everything was right. Her sister was beside her and Twelve felt at peace.