The all-consuming hope that had raged in her, driving her from harvest to harvest—and apparently from copy of crappy bracelet to copy of crappy bracelet—fizzled out, and in its place the now-familiar gloomy gray fog descended, so heavy she wanted to curl up on the floor and disappear beneath it.

It wasn’t fair. She stomped her foot. She’d sacrificed everything for this. Everything.

From a universe away, as she ripped off the bracelet and thrust it at Venkat, she heard him say, “I’m sorry, Tanvi. I really am.”

Another memory tried to unfurl and fell apart in the middle, but not before she saw Nitya’s face at the moment the garudas attacked. The mirror Tanvi didn’t want. You owe me, it charged. This is your fault.

Tanvi collapsed onto Venkat’s work stool. She had to erase all of this. “Reinitiate me,” she demanded.

“You still want to do that?” Venkat’s voice was hesitant, and he laid a hand on hers. She didn’t have the strength to push him away. “You don’t have to.”

Yes. The word sat on the tip of Tanvi’s tongue. The dreamstones on the table before her formed a fairy ring, enticing her to step inside and forget.

Venkat waited, and the mix of worry and softness in his face, like he really cared what she would choose, snagged on something in her chest. If she said yes, she wouldn’t remember that, either.

“I’ll do it if it’s what you really want,” Venkat said. She could hear his reluctance, but the choice was hers.

All she had to do was agree. If she did, nothing would ever make her cry again.

But her finger still stung, and that little spot of blood wouldn’t let her be. How did she know Madhu would leave Nitya alone? And their mom?

Plus, Venkat didn’t even know about Madhu. What if she hurt him?

“Before you decide, though,” Venkat stressed, “I have to ask you something. What are you dreaming about?”

Tanvi went cold all over. She should have known this was coming.

Her temples thrummed with the memory of Nitya pleading with her not to go. The missing daisy charm felt like a vise clamped tight around her head. Something about that charm—about that day—was important.

“What’s so awful that you have to erase it? Help me understand,” Venkat said.

“A girl,” she blurted, too tired to resist. “She looks like me. Her name is Nitya.”

Venkat nodded. “Okay . . .”

“I can’t stop dreaming about her.” Tanvi knew she should shut up and run, but the words kept coming. “She won’t leave me alone.”

“Tanvi . . .”

“She’s my—” Tanvi’s courage foundered. “I don’t want to dream anymore,” she said weakly.

Venkat’s hand tightened on hers. “Your what? You can tell me.”