Lucien’s my witch. My heart is missing still, but it’s never been fuller. I’ve never felt it more than this moment, swelling with something I can’t even name. Pride? Relief? Fear. All of it mixed together in a murky whirlpool, and me holding on to whatever pieces of the shipwreck that float by. Right now, it’s the idea of seeing Lucien again. My feet get quicker, my thoughts slower.

He’s my witch.

There’s a contract between us, magical and invisible, and I might still not know all the rules. I know more of them now, to be sure—more than I did three years ago when I first became Heartless. But not all of them. I don’t want to have to know all of them. I’m happy to be alive, that we’re all alive, but a nagging worm gnaws at the base of my skull—I should have my heart back. I’m meant to be human.

I want to be human.

With Varia, I wanted to be human.

What do I want now? With Lucien? With myself? A witch who cares about me is still a witch, and—historically—they haven’t been all that generous with me.

I try to smile at a little girl passing with her father, her wool covering dyed bright orange and pink. She just stares and stares. But not at me.

“They’ve never seen a beneather before.” Malachite answers my unasked question.

“Can’t imagine many beneathers make the journey from the deepest depths to the highest peaks very often,” I tease.

He smirks back. “I’m the special-est of cases.”

The cold bites at us, propelling us forward. It’s supposed to be summer, for Old God’s sake! It’s incredible what the people of Helkyris have done with such a small space—barely any ground to walk on, and they’ve built an entire city! Terraces are their ingenious solution, carved into the sides of the three ridges to make more space for people to sit on stone benches, to take in the view of all-green Cavanos from low iron fencing, to linger around market stalls propped up here and there selling hot spice drinks and warm baked treats. It’s a city of levels, of steps, and by the time Malachite leads me to a massive dominating tower of quartz-flecked brick, I’m puffing my lungs out.

“This is the sage tower,” he says. “One for each Helkyrisian city. Center of local politics and social news. Fills the same sort of role a New God’s temple does for Cavanos villages.”

I stare at him. “Did you get smart while I was knocked out?”

“No.” He laughs. “Lucien. His whole prince-encyclopedia-brain thing.”