She’s gone. Mid-sentence, like his father in their crashing car so many lives ago. Thora startles. She looks down at her empty hand. “Shit,” she says quietly.

That—the acknowledgment that this was half a game to her, an experiment she didn’t know the outcome of—is what breaks him. He roars and runs for her. When he grabs her by the shoulders, he sees it in her eyes through the mask: part of her is appalled by what she’s done. But in her voice he hears only defensive triumph. “See? I proved it,” she says. “They’re not real. They never were.”

Santi shakes all over with an anger that staggers him. This is what Thora does, time and time again: take his hope and belief and desire for meaning, and drown them all in nothingness. For so many lives, he has tried to persuade her that their actions matter, in the belief that this was a test they had to pass together. But perhaps the real test was to recognize her for what she is: his enemy. The reason he is still trapped here.

Finally, he understands. His gut cramps with the knowledge of what he must do. All too easy, to sacrifice himself. This is the truly hard thing: to willingly give up Thora, to finally redeem her sins and his own. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, as he reaches for his grandfather’s knife.

Thora sees the blade a full second before she understands. The expression on her face will follow him for lifetimes. “Santi, no. Wait—”

He strikes fast and true, aiming for her heart.

She makes a terrible sound. Santi pulls out the blade, and her blood comes with it, warm on his hand. She’s staring at him, mouth open, disbelief frozen on her face. He pulls her close as she shudders, the life pulsing out of her.

“Sorry?” she wheezes. He can hear the blood in her voice. “You’re sorry? Fuck you!”

“Shh,” he says, holding her. “Don’t talk. It’ll be over soon.”

“Damn right it will.” Every breath must be like twisting the blade inside her, but this is Thora: she has to have the last word. For a vivid moment, he hallucinates his sullen daughter looking up at the false stars. “You think I’m not taking you with me?” Her hand gropes for his knife. Willingly, he lets her take it. Perhaps that is a sin too, but truly, he doesn’t want to outlive her. He holds her close, and when she strikes, he welcomes the dark.

Who We Are