“Bastiaan!” The scream ripped through me and I dug and dug and dug, hardly able to see what I was doing through the bursts of sand and dust. Desperate swallows clogged my throat.

I unearthed nothing. Sand upon sand upon sand. The Trial would not take him from me. If this was the time to use my final wish, I was ready. “Give him back! Bastiaan!”

A voice on the wind. Behind me. Distant yet . . . familiar.

I stopped digging and looked around, disoriented. There—atop the sand dune. Bastiaan was running toward me.

Whole. Healed. Perfect.

How? A sob burst from me and I stumbled toward him. He ran down the dune, spraying sand in his wake.

We met at the base and I slammed into his arms, clinging to him tighter than I’d ever held on to anything. I gulped for air.

“Shh.” His gentle tone made it worse. Hysterics owned my emotions. I buried my face in his sand-covered coat, heaving from the deepest part of my chest while also fighting the inevitable tears.

They welled within me, but they felt right. I could die now and give him a wish and be content. I had everything I wanted or needed—him. Alive. Holding me.

Bastiaan stepped back and held my shoulders firmly. “Myrthe. Stop.” Tenderness was still there, but I could hear him fighting for a different emotion. Logic. Lightheartedness. “I’m fine. We’re okay. Look at me.”

I couldn’t open my eyes. This could be my end. And it would be beautiful.

He gave me a forceful shake. “Don’t you dare cry, Myrthe.” His voice broke—a cymbal clash of panic and emotion. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

I sucked in a breath. Squeezed my eyes even tighter. Let the darkness calm me. It felt impossible, but I fisted down the emotions, groping for the ice-cold wall of protection around my heart. It wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, the emotions settled under the control of something else. Peace. Rather than locking away my feelings and tears, I tucked them into a warm, safe haven. Kissed their foreheads and bid them sleep.

“That’s my girl.” Bastiaan moved my wild hair from my eyes.

“What . . . what happened?” My hands moved of their own accord up and down his arms, over his forehead, down his chest. “The sand devoured you. How are you . . . here? Healed?”

“Whoever—whatever—you were with wasn’t me.” He peered at the sky, regular and warm like a typical summer’s day. “It was a trick of the Trial. I wrestled in the belly of the sand for what seemed like hours. It finally released me, not because I won, but because it ended the fight. I think because of you.”

“I dragged you here. To the other side. That . . . that wasn’t you?”

He shook his head.

“But your Talent. It kept flickering on and off when I moved you.”