“Maybe they want someone to be sad with them so they won’t be so lonesome,” I said. I still remember how her face changed, as if I’d said something profound.

“Yes,” my mother said, “that’s exactly right.”

I can choose which bone heals, but I’ll need Latham’s cooperation to do it. I won’t be able give him a life that makes him miserable. I’ll have to give him a past that makes him happy. A past I can tempt him to choose.

The thought makes my throat raw. The wrongness of it—to reward him after my mother and Gran’s death, to allow him joy after what he did to Tessa—sets my teeth on edge. But I’m out of other options.

I wish I had more time. More time to research mending. More time to learn how to pull magic from my own bones. More time to tell Bram I accept his apology. What if I succeed in changing the past, but he disappears from my life forever? What if we don’t find each other in a different future?

But time is a luxury I don’t have.

Instead of fighting Latham, I join my magic with his. I wander down the paths of Latham’s childhood. Find branch points that could shape him—a moment when his mother has the choice to offer a compliment instead of a criticism. A time when a friend could choose to betray a confidence, or exercise loyalty.

I repeat the process again and again, giving Latham devoted friends, gentle correction, experiences that boost his confidence and enlarge his empathy. When I get to Avalina showing up in Kastelia City, I’m especially careful. The paths where his parents are accepting of the match are dimly lit and challenging to isolate.

But they exist. In some version of reality, Latham’s parents cared about his happiness more than his prestige, and those are the paths I choose.

Now I need to knit them together so they heal. I need the power from my own body. I focus on feeling the bones inside me—the curve of my ribs, the jutting knobs of my knuckles, the flat surface of my shoulder blades. I pull the power from deep within and push it toward the bone beneath my fingers.

Latham resists. And he’s not just drawing on the magic in my severed hand. He uses what he learned from Bram to access the power in my body too. I feel it draining from me as he yanks me toward a different path. Toward the future.

A sharp stab of grief goes through me as I see my mother. Latham is choosing the path where she lives. She walks through an orchard, plucking ripe blush-red apples from the trees and placing them in the basket tucked beneath her arm. She hums softly as she works. Her face is serene.