I look over my shoulder at the city now; at the skyscrapers that are only just starting to bear the scars of abandonment, the green peeking through cracks in the sidewalk, ponds gathering in dips in the road. February is the end of spring. Soon, the city will become sweltering and nigh uninhabitable. Revelation 8:7—And the first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth; and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up. Come April, the world will be parched. The river surrounding the city will become a siren song, coaxing animals toward the rapids and smashing them against the rocks. Dasheth thy little ones against the stones.

Theo’s back.

He still loves me.

If I could cry, I would. It’s only been a handful of weeks since I last saw him, but it feels like we’ve been apart forever. I had to pull a knife to keep from falling into his arms, begging him to forgive the transgression that made him raise a hand against me. He did it to me, he hurt me, and I wanted to apologize.

He came for me. And I’ll go back to him. I have to.

The two of us really have changed, haven’t we? In so little time? I skim my hand through my hair, and it flops in front of my eyes. He’s turned his back on the Angels, and I’m more a boy—more visibly a boy, I guess—than I ever was in New Nazareth. I blow the hair away, but it falls right back down.

Wait. I still have Nick’s bobby pins. I pull them from my pocket and try to slide them into place, get the shaggy hair out of my face, but they don’t stay. They come loose and sag.

Figures. I never learned how to do anything with my hair besides comb it and messily braid it. Mom practically had to hold me down to put flowers in my hair for the engagement blessing, like she was trying to wrestle girl back into my head.

Nick says, “You have them backward.”

“What?”

“Here.” He slings the binoculars around his neck. “Give them to me.”

I hand over the bobby pins. Nick pulls the sleeves of his jacket over his palms, almost like he’s trying to create sweater paws, and he sweeps my hair out of my face. My fingers curl against the concrete wall, and I stare at my feet, trying to keep myself as still as possible as his hands skim my scalp. This sort of touch between the unmarried was barely allowed in New Nazareth.

Theo is back. I am betrothed, and Theo is back.

Nick slides one bobby pin into place, sweeps back my hair again, and nestles the second one at my temple.