I’m excited to share the news with my friends, but it’s a double-edged sword. I get my parents back, but he doesn’t. Not yet.

Troy catches my eye over Phoebe’s shoulder. He lifts his brows in question and I can only shake my head. His head droops and his mouth twists into a sad half smile.

I put my hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and push her back.

“Give me a sec,” I whisper as I walk around her, heading for Griffin.

For several long moments—it feels like forever—we just study each other. I think I’m barely breathing as Griffin’s bright blue eyes burn into me.

I don’t know how to say it, how to tell him that I failed.

In the end, I don’t have to.

“My parents are still smoted,” he says, his voice quiet and low, “aren’t they?”

I nod slowly, as if that will soften the blow of the truth.

His brows pinch together. He doesn’t ask why or how, but I fill in the blanks anyway.

“The Fates,” I explain, “said I couldn’t alter the thread of your parents’ lives.”

His nostrils flare and his hands clench at his sides. I don’t blame him. I’d be pissed, too—I was pissed, when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to change anything. But this doesn’t have to be the end of the story.

“They said I couldn’t,” I repeat, with special emphasis on the word I.

The tension in his face relaxes, just a little, and he draws in a sharp breath. “You couldn’t,” he says.

I nod.

“But I can?”

I nod again.

“How?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “They didn’t say.”

He looks confused, frustrated, but—and this is the only emotion that matters—hopeful. He has hope. For the first time in a decade, Griffin truly believes that he will be able to fix what happened to his parents.

Without waiting for him to respond, I step forward and draw him into a tight hug. I’m not much of a hugger—that’s definitely more Phoebe’s style—but in this moment, with my old best friend and the joy over what I made happen and what I know he is going to make happen, I can’t help myself.

Griffin hugs me back, tighter than I think I’ve ever been hugged. It’s a cross between loss and hope.

As I squeeze harder, Troy moves into my peripheral vision. He reaches up and slips his hand over mine. I turn it so our palms are facing and our fingers can weave together.

Thank you, I mouth.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. It’s a huge deal. There’s no way I could have done what I did without him—without all of my friends.