His hand is gripping hers tightly, even if it’s clear she doesn’t have the strength to return the pressure. But still, she smiles at him, the beauty I saw in the photo shining through her expression.

“You have to let me go, my darling boy,” she whispers.

“Never,” he whispers back, tears trailing slowly from his midnight eyes.

The sight of him in such agony is physically painful to watch. I glance across Smith to the real Kael, only to see him watching the scene much like how he stared into my own memory—as if he’s in a trance. But this time I know it’s because he’s lost in his own mind, reliving this moment himself.

The moment of his mother’s death.

She passed away. Nearly three years ago … A rare, untreatable disease. She was in a lot of pain. But it was—it was … quick.

“You have to hold on,” younger Kael says to her. “We’ll … We’ll find someone to help you. You just have to stay strong a little longer.” A broken breath. “You can’t—You can’t leave me. Dad—”

His voice chokes and he breaks off, as if he can’t finish his sentence. As if he can’t say that, with his dad dead, once his mum passes, he’ll be all alone.

My eyes blur with tears when Caroline moves her hand out from under Kael’s and reaches up to cup his face. She’s weak— so weak—but she keeps it pressed there even though her arm is visibly trembling with the effort.

“You’ll never be alone, my sweet boy.” Her arm drops as if she can’t hold it up any longer, as if it takes everything within her to whisper her final three words. “I love you.”

And then her eyes close and her chest stops rising as her final breath leaves her.

Kael’s anguished cry as he throws his arms around her, begging her to come back, is the last I hear, the last I see, as the scene around me blackens and once more I’m falling, falling, falling into darkness.

Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

I don’t know what’s happening. I should have asked Smith, but it felt wrong to interrupt what was clearly one of Kael’s most painful memories, even if I have no idea how we jumped from my mind to his. I wonder if Smith has lost control of his ability, or simply lost focus and is trying to pull us back, but when the mist clears, I’m still not back in his bedroom. Instead, I’m in another memory. And even though I don’t recall it, I know it’s one of mine.

“Lyss, Lyss, wake up!”