I turn back to look for Harry and he's at the end of the platform, waving like he always is, a large grin on his face. Now I understand his earlier motions, trying to get me to turn around and look behind me. I start to giggle again.

Even from here I can tell that he's proud of himself. Proud to have finally come up with a form of communication, no matter how many kinks the form contains.

I wave back and clutch the message to my chest. I wonder what the note on the first arrow said, if he had written longer missives that became shorter with each drift of the arrow as it careened past its mark. I wonder how many of the Unconsecrated below carry plans for escape.

It's my turn to write back and so I slip into the house and down the ladder and run down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I find Travis, who's in the pantry counting jars and making notes in a ledger.

“We've made contact!” I say, waving the sheet of paper in front of his face.

He frowns a little, perhaps lost because I'm so excited I can't explain myself very well. But then he smiles at my own grin and takes the note from my hand and reads it.

“It's from Harry,” I say. “He tied it to an arrow and then shot it at our house. He had a few misses,” I tell him. “Actually quite a few misses. Turns out I was betrothed to the worst shot in the village!”

I don't realize until after the word is out of my mouth: betrothed. It's as if the individual letters hang in the air like fat rising in water. Like a promise that still lingers. Our eyes meet and I think I see sorrow there. A realization that no matter what bubble surrounds us here, Harry and I have a history together. A bond.

“Travis,” I say, not knowing what words I can utter next to reassure him. To make it better.

“What will you write back?” he says, filling the emptiness. He hands me the note and returns to counting jars.

“I don't know,” I tell him. And it's true. There is a part of me that wants to write him everything. That remembers our friendship as children and our Binding night and how we were close once before. That remembers how close we were to becoming husband and wife before the breach occurred.

I'm surprised, suddenly, at how lonely I feel.

And this is a terrifying thought to have in front of Travis. Travis, who makes my heart beat and my fingers tingle just to think about. Travis, whose breath I measure as we sleep, whose heart is the cadence to my life.

I let the note drop to the floor and it drifts across the wood with a sigh. Travis turns as if to retrieve it and I stop him as he is halfway kneeling. I join him on the floor, eye to eye. I trace the contours of his face with my finger, trying to remember what it was like the first time I had such freedom with this boy.