The morning brought the return of more rational thoughts, forcing me to reexamine my current reality. As precious as my memories were, the fact was that each remembrance was one-sided. James didn’t know me. He didn’t remember who we were, what we meant to each other. He had no recollection of our eighth grade dance, or the first time he made my heart race when he took me out to Claire’s that day at lunch. To James, these things had never happened. They were a shadow of a dream he’d long forgotten.

But I still had hope.

When I thought about the panicked expression on James’s face at the cabin—his fear that something had happened to me and the worry he’d never see me again—it was impossible to believe he didn’t care about me. There was no way a stranger, or a passing acquaintance, would experience such debilitating fear over the possibility of losing someone unless there was the tiniest spark of love. Even if James didn’t understand how or why, I knew deep down he believed I was telling the truth about us.

His scent was fading from my wrists. I was tempted to put on more, but I knew my nights would be more difficult than my days. I needed to ration what I had so it would last. When we were back together, I’d have the real thing. I believed this as surely as I knew I was procrastinating the start of my day by lying here.

Breathing in James’s essence gave me a renewed sense of hope. That hope, however, came hand in hand with a harsh reality. The portal wouldn’t open for me or anyone else again until the next full moon. I felt assured James had escaped from the cabin. There was simply no way Zander could have fought off so many of the Fringers by himself. They had gotten James out. That much I believed. But could he stay hidden for a whole month?

Until then, I had to play the hand I was dealt. The best course of action was to continue my life in Woodvine as normally as possible, which meant I had to go downstairs to apologize for stealing Desmond’s car and running off in the night without so much as a goodbye to my mom.

As if on cue, Sam rolled over and plopped his head down on my shoulder. He gazed up with huge eyes that begged me to never leave him again. I kissed his head before nudging him over, giving him a great belly scratch that set his right hind leg into motion, kicking at empty air.

“You are such a silly dog,” I said.

Sam jumped off the bed and barked. It was a playful, puppy kind of bark that spoke of an immediate need. He pounced and pranced, front legs spread, back end in the air.