What, Saskia? What do you wish? Bram’s voice floats to me on a memory. The two of us standing on the deck of a ship. Stars glittering overhead. My two paths melt together in my mind, become undistinguishable.

A knock on the door makes my eyes fly open. I spin around, and Bram’s hand falls away. He studies me with a careful expression. With eyes that belong to the Bram from this reality, not the Bram from the other one.

Not the Bram who was in love with me.

I try to swallow my disappointment. I feel like a fool.

Bram takes in my stricken expression and his face changes.

“Saskia …”

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

His gaze flicks between me and the door.

“It could be important,” I say.

Finally he sighs and pulls it open.

Niklas stands on the other side. “Oh good, you’re both here. Norah wants us in the workshop.”

“Why?” Bram asks.

Niklas shrugs. “Everyone is speculating it’s about the next bone game.”

“We should go,” I say, pushing past Bram and joining Niklas in the corridor. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Saskia, wait.”

I pause and lift my eyes to his.

Niklas moves away to give us privacy.

“I care about you,” Bram says, “but I’m not the same person I was on your other path.”

“I know that,” I say softly. My memories of Bram feel like the treasures I used to carry around in my pockets when I was a little girl—broken rocks with shimmery bits inside, old coins whose faces had been rubbed bare with time, the colorful feather of a small bird. But now I feel as if I’ve opened my fist, excited to share my precious things, only to realize the truth as they lay on my palm: They are worthless to anyone but me.

I give him a tight smile. “Thank you for your help. I’ll try practicing on my own.”

“Saskia, I’m trying—” He blows out a frustrated breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

My gaze falls to his bare wrist.

“I want something you can’t give,” I tell him. “I want you to remember.”

“Remembering isn’t the problem.” His voice is soft. Careful. He opens his mouth to say more, but something about my expression makes him abruptly stop talking. I feel as if he’s punctured my heart with a pin, and I can feel it shriveling in my chest.

He catches my fingers in his. “Please, let me explain.”

But I’m already backing away. I don’t want to hear him say he’s not in love with me. I hurry into the corridor, where Niklas is waiting.

Niklas wrinkles his forehead in concern. “What’s wrong? What did he want to tell you?”