Suddenly I feel a bit nauseated, as if I’m on a rocky boat ride. The ground seems to be slipping under my feet, as if we’re literally moving back in time.

Then, just as quickly as the feeling came, it’s gone.

And the Haetae with it.

I rush over to Hattie, who remains still and unmoving. The vial on her chest is now empty—no red, no black, no nothing. I shake her shoulders.

“Hattie, wake up, wake up! Come back to us.”

Emmett and Auntie Okja join me at Hattie’s side, with Eomma and Appa opposite me. Taeyo, Sora, Austin, and the rest of my friends surround us in a circle. And together we repeat Hattie’s name over and over again like a prayer.

Then, like a miracle, her eyes flicker open. And this time they’re not pitch-black. They are warm brown—the color of healing-spell training sessions, the color of Saturday night tteokbokki and K-drama marathons, the color of late night gossip-a-thons under the covers…. They are the eyes of my sister.

“Oh my Mago,” she croaks, coughing and spluttering as she comes to. “Where am I?”

We all cheer—the witches and the fallen piece of the divine, together as one.

“Hattie!” Noah cries, kneeling down and hugging her tight. “You came back! I’m so glad you came back!”

He suddenly realizes everyone is watching him, and he quickly gets up and walks backward, step-by-step, until he’s completely out of the circle. “I mean, I’m pleased you’ve returned safely, just like everyone else is….”

Hattie smiles weakly, but I see some much-needed color flash on her cheeks. They are so getting together, Mr. and Mrs. Oh-Noh. I’d bet the Haetae’s bell on it.

“Thank you so much for bringing her back to us,” Eomma cries, looking at me the way people look at firefighters after a blaze. Grateful but respectfully distanced.

Appa says nothing but reaches over Hattie’s chest and takes my hands, resting his head on them. And that gesture says more than words ever could.

“Hat,” I whisper, tracing my finger along her pale, gaunt face.

She looks at me blankly, and a burning heat builds behind my eyes.

She has no idea who I am.

One lone fat tear falls from my face onto her heart vial. It splashes off the glass and drips down onto her chest.

“I know you don’t remember me,” I whisper, “but I just want you to know that I love you more than anything. And you are the best sister a girl could ever dream of.”