When their celebration finally died down, Eleanor had to wipe tears from her face. They were tears of happiness, but not just happiness.

For the last year, they’d lived in fear. They’d survived with the knowledge that they might never live long enough to grow up, and that everyone they loved could be destroyed if they failed. If they faltered even for a moment.

The weight of that crashing off of their shoulders was a relief—but Eleanor grieved for the time they’d lost to worrying and suffering.

She grieved for her mother—the woman she once was and the one she could have been.

For the wickedness that had poisoned the hearts of the January Society, and left Pip with a mother who didn’t even love her.

For the cat-of-ashes, and the lifetimes spent bound to Mr. January’s cruel service.

For Katie, spending centuries without kindness.

It was like she could see all those years, all those lives. Time was a road with many branches, and it spread out before her, wild and wonderful and horrible all at once. She could feel them. All of them. A universe inside of her.

“Eleanor,” Otto said in a croak. She looked down.

Stars gleamed beneath her skin. The words of the world-walker were sharp and silver, winding among them.

“It’s beautiful,” Otto said. And it was. It was the most beautiful thing Eleanor had ever seen.

The words faded. So did the stars. But she could still feel them, faintly, inside her. They wouldn’t stay like this, she knew. The Story and its power would adjust and dim and fade. But it would always be part of her.

They stood haphazardly among the trees of the orchard, exhausted and bedraggled. Overhead, the moon was restored to a glowing disk, the stars glimmering in a perfectly natural nighttime sky.

“What now?” Pip asked. “Is that door going to stay shut?”

“I will make sure that it does,” Katie pledged. She stood a few feet away from them, having held herself back from the celebrations.

“Aren’t you evil?” Otto asked her, lifting an eyebrow.

Eleanor laughed. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“She has my memories,” Wander said, smiling. “Doesn’t she?”

“I’m sorry. I know I have no right to them,” Katie said, looking stricken.

“I knew they would find the home they were meant for. She isn’t who I am anymore. I am glad that she can be part of you, if you welcome her,” Wander said.

Katie nodded gravely. “I do.”

“And if it does not grow too confusing, being both of us,” Wander added.

Katie laughed. “I am very used to being more than one person at the same time,” she assured her.

Wander hesitated. “There is one thing that I would know, from the pages of my book.”

“I will tell you anything you ask,” Katie replied.

“The name of the woman I loved. What is it?”