Nomi glanced back once at the boat and the choppy waters off the edge of the pier. The sailors were watching her, even as they readied for their trip back. There was no sign of Malachi. Nomi turned and followed Maris and the guard, her feet dragging. The only thing keeping her from throwing herself off the pier and into the churning ocean was the hope that she would see Serina soon.

Please.

The guard moved quickly, pulling Maris up the steep path. He glanced back at Nomi often, his other hand on his firearm. His expression warned her not to fall behind.

Daylight warmed the blackened cliffs that framed the path, and soon Nomi was sweating, her dress heavy as iron. The footing didn’t help; the strange, swirling rock caught at her impractical shoes. Twice she twisted her ankle.

Before her, the prison rose out of the rock like a cancerous growth, its steel-grated windows and concrete walls unnatural above the graceful whorls of volcanic rock.

Someone stood in front of the building’s barbed-wire fence. At first, Nomi thought it was another guard. But there was something—she couldn’t quite see around Maris—there was something familiar—

“We’re out of sight of the boat,” the guard said. He released Maris’s arm. “You’re safe.”

“Safe?” Maris asked incredulously, shifting to put distance between them. The way opened before Nomi, fully revealing the figure waiting for them.

The woman flung her tail of hair over her shoulder, a move so familiar Nomi herself often subconsciously mimicked it.

Shock exploded through Nomi’s body, electrifying every nerve ending. She forgot about the guard, the sailors, Renzo, Maris, Malachi.

All she saw was her sister.

“Serina!” she screamed.

She lifted her skirts, dodged Maris, and ran.

“Nomi?” Serina gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief, just as Nomi’s arms crashed around her.

The force of Nomi’s embrace knocked Serina back a step. But Nomi couldn’t seem to calm down. She couldn’t let go.

“Serina. Serina!” Her sister’s name was sweet as an answered prayer in her mouth.

“How are you here?” Serina asked, her arms curving around Nomi. “You’re hurt. Are you hurt? There’s blood on your dress—”

“I’m fine. It’s not mine. I’m—”

“You’re here. You’re here.”

Apparently neither of them could form a coherent thought. Nomi sank into her sister’s embrace and breathed fully for what felt like the first time in months. Nothing else mattered. The whole world became a blurry, forgotten dream. Nothing was real except Serina holding her close.

And suddenly, Nomi was weeping.

“I’m so sorry about the book,” she said into Serina’s shoulder. “I had no idea. I—”