“That’s Mateo. From the night of the wreck.”

“He goes to your school?” Dad peered after him. “You should’ve asked Mateo in, honey; I’d have liked to thank him. That was amazing, what he did that night.”

“He was in a hurry,” Nadia said, walking toward the door with him. “I just caught a ride.”

“Well, if that’s the kind of boy you’re going to be bringing home, I approve.”

“Dad. Mateo’s—it’s not like that. He has a girlfriend already.” For the first time, Nadia realized her father was wearing an apron. “And hey, I told you I’d be home in time to make dinner.”

“I keep telling you, I’m capable of making dinner.”

Nadia frowned. “Then why do I smell smoke?”

Her father made a face. “Let’s say that maybe turkey tetrazzini was … overly ambitious.”

Despite everything weighing on her mind, Nadia had to laugh. “Come on. Let’s see if we can save it.”

Nadia.

Standing alongside the road, her hair fluttering in the breeze—so black it was nearly blue, shining even in the dim light. Behind him on the bike, her tiny frame snug against his and so warm—

Mateo groaned as he flopped back onto the bed. He’d stayed up for hours past the point when his father would think he was asleep—late enough that the alarm tomorrow was going to seriously hurt—but maybe this way he wouldn’t dream.

And yet when he spent those hours thinking about Nadia, it was just another kind of torture.

He’d known from his dreams that she was beautiful, with the kind of quiet beauty that most people wouldn’t see right away. He’d known she would have enormous dark eyes and a heart-shaped face. Some of the dreams had even told him what the heavy silk of her hair would feel like in his hands.

So many of them had showed him how she might die.

Why did I stop for her today? The temptation had come over him, even though Mateo knew better. None of the dreams showed her dying on a motorcycle, so that was probably safe, he’d decided. Everything had turned out fine. But when would he make one excuse too many to be near her, and put her in danger?

If the dreams showed him there when she died, and he refused to be anywhere near her, then Nadia would be okay. At least, none of those dreams could come true—not if he didn’t let them.

Mateo tugged his blanket over his head, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to think about her any longer. He’d done that at least a dozen times that night.

This time, though, he was finally exhausted enough for it to work. He fell asleep.

And dreamed.

Their surroundings were so murky he could barely make her out amid the green-gray swirls. Nadia drifted above him, her black hair streaming out all around. In that first instant, Mateo could only think how amazing she looked—like some kind of angel descending to Earth—until he saw the chains.