As soon as I had absorbed it all, I cut my skin and bled out his words. The cool knife a relief. By the time I was done, I was out of breath.

I gathered my thoughts and cleaned up any evidence of my Reforging. I hesitated to burn the notebook, though. I opened it and read one of the early poems again. It was well written. I read the others, taking my time, even when I knew he was describing you in a way that was never meant for me to see. Mother came home earlier than expected, and I had to shove the notebook away, no time to burn it, only enough time to make sure it did not go in the pile of Reforged papers Mr. Gao would come to take away.

You did not return until after dinner. I found myself observing you more closely, convinced you had changed. Before you had hunched, as if to protect yourself. Now you sat up straight, leaning back comfortably in your chair, letting your phoenix’s head peek out from your sleeve when our mothers were not looking. I wondered if you had shown it to your boy, if you told him about our ability, if he kissed your scars, pressed his lips to the stories within you. The thought made my own body stir in an unfamiliar way—different from the point of the knife or the fear of the soldier.

We passed each other in the hallway, when I was returning to our room and you were heading to the workshop to Reforge your allotment.

“Hi.” I tried to act normal.

You continued walking without acknowledging me. I was sure you had found the notebook in our room. Why had I not hidden it somewhere better than under my pillow? I should have ripped it to shreds, even if I could not make it to the kiln. Why had I Reforged it in the first place, why had I tricked your boy, why could I not stop lying and deceiving?

Your shoulder brushed mine and your hand slipped what could only be a pencil into mine. We moved past each other, not a single word exchanged, your pencil hot in my hand.

Back in our room, I trembled, holding your pencil. I feared what you might say, what you might have figured out about me. I feared I had done something so unforgivable that it could not be addressed via conversation, only pencil.

To be honest, it was not so different than what I feel now, looking at your pencil.

But unlike now, I did not hesitate. I held my breath and pushed your pencil into my wrist.