“You’ve always known, haven’t you?” His eyes shine with clarity, with kindness. “Have you wondered why you were brought here? Lute wanted you, Nina. When we met, you had nothing, were nothing, but Lute gave you seven extra years of life. Beautiful years, weren’t they? The ending you deserved, my love, not tossing yourself off that ship. I am so fucking grateful for you.” That smile of his. Golden eyes crinkling. He’s Hugh, and he’s mine. “You gave us all the gift of these children, and now you’re here to save them. It’s all been leading to this. You feel it, don’t you?”

He steps closer, pleading, and I do feel it. It’s true. It resonates. I understand—here, now, at the end of the Day, I understand all of it.

This is the first time I’ve ever felt true purpose. This is why I exist.

Hugh reaches for me, as careful as I was a few minutes ago. Takes my hand, the gun, and guides it to my temple.

“Lute wants you,” he says.

“It does,” I say. “You’re right.”

Emma screams again.

Hugh lets go, glancing back at her, desperate. “Quick, Nina, now!”

I pull the trigger.

The blast knocks me back, but I have to look, up, up, as hands reach out of the window and wrap around Emma’s wrists, pulling her carefully past the shattered glass, inside, to safety.

Jo’s got her. She’s got her.

Only now do I pick myself up. Kick away the gun.

Go to Hugh.

I hit him in the heart. An amazing shot for someone who’d never before fired a gun, but he was standing so close. I don’t know if it was instant or just enough of a foregone conclusion for Lute to spare Emma, but he’s gone now. His eyes are closed and his shirt is red, and when I lie down beside him, I can almost pretend that we’re resting.

It’s dark now. Lights are coming on in the house.

The solstice. The longest day of the year. Safe for seven years more.

I can feel the poison of the Day in my blood like strong wine, bitter and heady and sweet. I feel it altering the last of my cells, rewiring my brain in its image, until I know beyond a doubt that I’m a part of this place, planted like the oaks.

I will never belong anywhere else but here.

I hear her calling out again. “Nina?”

“I’m here, Gran.”

“Nina.” The voice is closer now and clearer. It isn’t Gran’s at all.

Jo kneels beside me, tears cascading in twin strips. She looks at Hugh and then at me and stoops to kiss my forehead. Her hand shakes against my shoulder. She’s suffered today. Always so strong, my Jo. She needs caretaking too.