But when she arrived down in the ward, Di was sitting on the gurney. He looked up as she entered and hopped to his feet in surprise. “Ana.”

“Sorry, I’ll leave you—”

“I think this is yours.” He offered out something he had been turning around in his fingers. The Valerio crest—the one she once wore around her neck and had given to him so long ago. Hesitantly, she took it, running her finger along the melted circle like she used to. He started to leave, and the room began to feel cold and lonely and too immaculate and quiet—

“Wait.”

He paused, a hand on the doorway. A finger tapped on the frame, as if deciding whether to stay, but then he turned around. She hopped up onto the gurney and patted the indent from where he had been sitting before. He returned and scooted up beside her. The gurney was high enough so their feet dangled off the ground, and she swung hers, because she couldn’t sit still. It was strange—she could still feel heat coming off him as if he was alive, and it made goose bumps shiver over her skin. She rubbed her forearms to get the chill out. It was all she could do not to lean against him, probably closer than he would like. He seemed to keep her at a strange distance, afraid to touch her, to look at her too long, and she was suddenly reminded how different he was from the D09 she knew.

She wanted to ask what parts were Dmitri and what parts were Di. She wanted to know if he was split in two, or in threes, or if, with his memories returned, he was just a jumble of forgotten moments stitched together.

Had he ever loved her—had those kisses in the palace been Dmitri, or Di, or D09?

And how did he feel now?

She didn’t know why it felt so monumental. There was the looming threat of the Great Dark, encompassing every corner of the future, and yet here she was, fixated on the inches between her hand and his, trying to figure out what rested in the distance between.

“You know,” she began, “I realize that I never apologized.”

He bristled. “Ana, please do not blame yourself. It was not your fault. It was mine and—”

“For running you over with a skysailer,” she interjected.

His words caught in his throat, and he put a hand over his face to mask the embarrassment. But there was a grin spreading across his lips, and Goddess, a smile looked so much better on him than the dour frown he wore. “No,” he chuckled, “you never did.”

“Then let me make this my formal apology,” she said with great bravado, and crossed herself for the Moon Goddess. “You were, of course, right. I can’t drive. I humbly apologize for running you over.”

“No, no—you ran over and then backed over me, if I recall correctly.”

She found herself smiling, too. “Yeah, I just apologize for the running, not the backing.”