“This is weird, yeah?” the man said, releasing her hand. His voice sounded kind, warm like a fire kindled his throat. Kind kindled, kindling, the kindling of kindness, Izzy thought. The same warmth he exuded through his hands when he’d touched her. Her own hand felt suddenly so cold.

“Definitely weird.”

“I’ve never done this before,” he said.

“Me either.”

“It’s not really my scene.”

“Same.”

“Like, a little too culty.” Ever nodded in Jeb’s direction, lightly touched a finger to the center of his own forehead and quirked his mouth.

“You think?” Izzy recalled Alma’s joke about safe sects but refrained from telling him.

“Do you want to try anyway?” the man asked Izzy. “You know, karma.” He laughed softly.

“Okay,” she found herself saying.

“Once you’ve settled on your mat, sit facing each other and try to maintain eye contact,” Sky said to the group.

Izzy sat cross-legged facing Ever. Dog sat next to her. She and Ever looked at each other awkwardly.

“You may feel the desire to cry or laugh,” Sky said. You may feel panic, or vestiges of rage, or you may feel peaceful. Try to stay calm but conscious and follow the images that come to mind. By seeing and being seen, we can face who we really are. We can surrender, receive. This is how transformation can occur.”

Some whispering: a few giggles.

“Just look at each other,” Sky said. “Don’t speak.”

Izzy tried to look into Ever’s eyes. She felt the pressure of tears and willed herself not to cry.

◆◆◆

After the exercise ended, Izzy excused herself, and Dog followed her up some stairs to a restroom on the second floor. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, glad she hadn’t worn mascara, since even though she hadn’t let tears flow, some drops had leaked out. Then she took a breath and rinsed her face with cool water in the pale chalk-blue ceramic sink, dried herself with one of the many fluffy white hand towels.

A row of pinky-finger-sized glass bottles of scented oils marked with the fragrance and corresponding chakra from one to seven—red amber, musk, jasmine, rose, amber kashmir, sandalwood, lotus—lined the counter. Izzy un-stoppered the lotus fragrance and touched her finger to her temples. She opened the bathroom cabinets—a habit she’d gotten into as a kid when she went to other people’s houses. Lots of homeopathic remedies and lotions and potions made with natural ingredients. That was something else Izzy had once done, in what felt like another life—created concoctions of coconut oil and aloe, honey, and lavender. She’d given Cyrus some sandalwood skin cream she’d mixed with real gold she’d saved up for a year to buy. For a year! He’d said it was girly but used it all up, the gold particles glistening. She told him that he was the girl. She’d always seen his vanity but not his selfishness, not his betrayal.

But what was she supposed to do now, without him? Was she supposed to curl up and die? Maybe.