You stared at me. I was embarrassed to have said it, but it was the truth. I could no longer imagine a world where you were not by my side, eating rationed meals, quarantined in our home, writing a story just to make the days pass.

Eventually, you nodded.

“We’ll have to stick together, then,” you said quietly.

I watched you prepare my pencil for Reforging, your hands quick and precise, holding my words.

“Always,” I promised.

Chapter 11

From the diary of Monica Tsai, backed up on three servers spanning two continents

September 13, 2018 (2018-09-13T23:48:00.098929)

loc: Cambridge, Massachusetts. United States of America (42.3721865,71.1117091)

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting this week about how grandmother Reforged my pencil. I don’t think I really believed her until I saw the heart melt into her wrist. That’s why I didn’t try to stop her, even though I knew what it might betray about me. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t. Though it does make me uneasy, how she managed to resurface words I thought I had destroyed all evidence of—and how she could have done it without my ever knowing.

It has me in a bit of a funk, to be honest. I trust grandmother and cannot imagine her ever using my words against me. They’re mostly typed anyway, and I’m pretty sure she can’t Reforge bits on https connections. But I can’t push the image out of my mind, how her body seemed to shrink when I asked her how she’d used this power in the past. I can’t bear the thought that maybe she used it against someone. Could that be how she and Meng lost touch?

Of course, this changes the significance of Meng’s gift. There is something written inside that pencil, some sort of letter, no, maybe more than a letter, something grandmother can experience. So why does she leave it untouched?

I asked grandmother if she would Reforge Meng’s pencil soon. She tapped her own pencil against her paper, looked at me, and said not yet. I asked when the right time would be. She stuttered and shook her head so vigorously I backed off right away. Since then, instead of working beside her at the kitchen table, I have stayed in my room, on my bed, with the door closed.

Now that grandfather is retired, he’s always a bit restless in the fall. He used to be so busy this time of year. Grandmother told us we should get out of the house, go enjoy the beautiful weather. Me and grandfather exchanged a guilty look at the prospect of leaving her alone. But she insisted she’d be fine, needed a nap anyway, and he was excited to use his senior pass.