Thora doesn’t have to ask more. She bites her nails, tastes the bitter coating she painted on them in an effort to break the habit. “I finally learned her. I finally know how I have to be, how to make her stay. I didn’t fuck it up this time. This one is on you.” She takes a drowning breath. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” he says softly.

Thora stares at the flickering candles. She narrows her eyes until the flames splinter, merging with the brightness at the corner of her eye. She remembers walking up this aisle in a blood-red dress, Santi waiting for her at the altar. The gap between that self and this one is wide enough for her to fall into and disappear.

“When you were my daughter,” Santi begins.

Thora braces herself for some sage advice. “Yes?”

“Do you remember how we died?”

“Of course I remember.” Thora hugs herself, the pew hard against her back. “We were in the car. It skidded on a patch of ice, and—” She shudders, feeling again the obscene, unimaginable pain. “You died first. I was alone in the car for half an hour.” The bitterness of that self floods back, possessing her like a vengeful ghost. “You promised you’d never leave me. But you did.”

He gives her a rueful look. “I came back.”

She scoffs. “As my annoying twin brother.”

“Older brother.”

She rolls her eyes. “By half an hour—”

They stare at each other. Wordless, she holds out her hand for his book. He turns to the right page and gives it to her. Her eyes flicker from point to point in the grid. “It fits,” she says. “Always. You die first, you’re older next time. I die first, I’m older. We die at the same time, we come back the same age.” She meets Santi’s eyes, consumed by the thrill of discovery.

“I knew it,” Santi says. “I knew it meant something.”

Thora’s joy leaves her as quickly as it came. She slumps in the pew, handing the book back. “So what? We’re still going to die. Does it really matter if you’re older or I’m older next time?” She goes to bite her nails, shoves her hand under her leg to stop herself. “As long as I’m the same age as Jules, I don’t care.”

“I thought you always were.”

“Not exactly. She’s a year younger than me.” Thora smiles. “She always says it must be some kind of admin error, because she’s clearly the mature one.”

Santi pauses before he speaks. “What I was trying to say earlier. I didn’t mean—” He starts again. “It’s not for me to tell you how to live.”

Thora snorts. “You could have fooled me.”