“What’s the point?” I ask. “She can’t hear me.” I know I sound harsh and angry and bitter. But I can’t rein in the monster that’s trying to claw its way to the surface. “Believing I can talk to her now, that she’s in there somewhere listening—it’s a fairy tale. A way to make myself feel better. It does nothing for her.”

“So what?” June demands. “Maybe she won’t be able to hear you, fine. But what’s the harm in saying what you need to say? Maybe it will help you.”

“Because I don’t deserve to feel better. I don’t deserve to have my conscience cleared.”

“Do you really think Milana would want you to spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for the end of hers?”

“Neither one of us knows what Milana would want anymore,” I snarl.

I can feel myself retreating into the outline of the man I was always supposed to be. The outline my father drew for me. You’re just like Otets, Adrian accused me. I told her you were our father reincarnated, and she believed me. He was right.

June stands for a moment looking at me, and I know what she’s seeing that man. The monster. The unfeeling beast.

Then something shifts.

Instead of recoiling from me like she should, June just takes a step towards me and grabs my hand. She brings it to her lips and kisses it softly.

“She was your best friend,” June whispers. “She knew you better than anyone else in the world. Which means you know her right back.”

I close my eyes as invisible things in my chest crack and crumble. “I can’t do this, June.”

“Yes,” she snarls with a sudden feral viciousness, “you can. You will. You have to.” She puts two hands on my side and shoves me closer to the bedside.

It’s not her shove that surprises me—it’s the fact that it works. Something in me lets her do it. I trip toward Milana, puncturing some invisible shield that was keeping me away from her.

Now that I’m this close, I want to do what I’ve done only once before in the entire time we’ve known each other: sweep Milana up in a hug and tell her everything is going to be okay. That I’ll take care of everything.

I reach out gingerly and touch the back of her hand. Just for a moment. “You’d hate me for doing this,” I whisper in a broken voice. “For making a big fucking deal. ‘I’m dead,’ you’d say. ‘Leave me the hell alone for once.’ But I can’t, Milana. I won’t. The last time I hugged you was the day I pulled you from the rubble of the cursed life you thought you’d have to live in forever. You said I saved you, and that you’d pay me back in spades. You were right about that. Again and again, you were right. You saved me from people who wanted to kill me. You saved me from myself, too, and if we’re being honest, that was the bigger threat. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m just a broken person, and sometimes, the people who are unlucky enough to love me get close enough to cut themselves on my shards. It’s my fault. All of this is. It should be me there and you here, making a fool of yourself giving speeches. But since you can’t, I’ll do. I’ll be the fool. Consider it the last gift I’ll ever give you.”