There was an extra door at the end of the hallway, an exit. Ash glanced over his shoulder. Would Dorothy know to follow him?

He pushed the back door open—

Dorothy was just outside, waiting. Ash stepped onto the dock with her, letting the bar door close behind him. “You’re already here,” he said, surprised.

“I thought you . . . wanted me to come,” Dorothy said, hesitant, fingers twisting around the braid hanging over her shoulder. It was messy, white curls escaping and frizzing in the damp. There were already a few strands plastered to her forehead and her neck, like she’d been out in the wet for a long time instead of just a few seconds.

“I just meant that you got back here quicker than I expected.”

“I know a shortcut.” Moonlight caught the silver locket at her neck. “I used to come out here a lot.”

Ash waited for her to say more, and, when she didn’t, he crossed the dock, hesitantly. His skin felt alive. Was it out of the question to reach for her? He didn’t know. She seemed so different than she had the night before, at the masquerade.

He rested his hands on the wooden banister just beside her, close enough that his thumb grazed her hip. He could feel the heat radiating off her body. It made it hard for him to think. He couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to talk to her about.

“I looked for you this morning,” he said, and something dark passed over her face.

“You looked for Dorothy,” she said. “I’m not Dorothy anymore.”

He frowned. Is that what she thought? “A new name doesn’t make you a new person.”

“It’s not just the new name, though, is it?”

“You mean . . .” He brought his hand to the scar that cut across her face, but she inhaled, sharp, before he could touch her. He froze, fingers hovering above her skin. “Is this . . . okay?”

She closed her eyes and was quiet, dark lashes trembling against her pale skin. “Yes.”

He lowered his hand to her scar. Every nerve in his palm flared so that all he felt was spark and heat, and it was a long moment before his fingers processed the texture of her skin. He didn’t know what he’d expected. The scar looked like it would be rough to the touch, but it was soft and warm and familiar. It was her.

She’d been holding herself stiffly but, the moment he touched her, she released a breath that was almost a sigh and seemed to melt into him. “Ash.”

Ash lowered his forehead to hers. Her damp hair stuck to his skin, and he could feel the shape of her locket press into his chest. He was instantly transported back to the Dark Star, to the first time he’d touched her, the first time he’d kissed her. Had it really been only three weeks ago?

No. Not for her. Dorothy had lived a year between that moment and this one. The realization opened up a deep hole inside of him. Because of him, she’d spent a year here, alone.