We can’t have this (journal) anymore. There is too much here, too much that you were not meant to find. Too much, too much. And you have too much—too much love, too many questions. Too much sorrow . . . and too much joy.

I tried to find her for us. She was gone by the time I got to Europe.

Ivan helped me find the journal (hers—what’s left of it). I’m keeping this all together. Were it up to me, I’d burn it all. I’ve already seen it—it will never leave my brain now. Which is the problem.

I think I know what I need to do. It’s pretty horrible. Dying would be easier, I think—for us, at least. But not for Luka. Not for the secret that does not go in this book, or any book. The one you’ll die for.

I’m rambling—you’ll think you were an idiot back in the day. I’m rushing, that’s the problem, because I’m leaving tomorrow for Bratislava and one last shot at the diary. Nyirbator, maybe, if I have time, but everything’s backward. The entire story is backward. Can’t write too much here while I’m still on the move—everything will end up with the Historian if I die now at any rate (big bonus day for that a-hole), but at least if these pages are taken by the Utod (you know who you are, traitors), they’ll have to figure part of it out for themselves. But then Luka will be free and all he’ll have to deal with is his grief.

I love that man. I love him, love, love him. The first time he told me he loved me, I didn’t hear it. And I waited so long to hear it, too. He waited to bring it up again for weeks because he thought he had upset me.

He’s patient and good and gentle. Don’t let it fool you: He’ll kill for you. Don’t let him. Kill for him, instead, if you have to. One of you has to live.

He’s buying us a ring if we (you and I) live through the next few months. I’d call that an incentive to stay alive.

I sit back hard, dumbfounded. Blink, grab the envelope, pull it open to peer inside, and then upend it.

It falls into my palm. A ring with a simple row of little diamonds.

I slide it onto my finger. A perfect fit.

We were engaged??

I flash back to Maine, recall the desperation I took then as him trying too hard. His manic will to rescue me from Rolan, get me safely to the underground . . .

His reluctance to let me come here alone.

I flip forward several pages, reading quickly.

Me again. You.