Logan and I watch as the bodies we borrowed—the old versions of ourselves— stumble in the exact positions we left them last, and Gage is quick to wrap his arms around me to keep me from falling. That’s just like Gage, always there when I need him most. He lets Logan land on his back. You can’t save them all.
The past version of me presses a kiss on Gage Oliver’s lips, and he kisses her back with a fury.
“Finally,” I breathe, my vision blurring with tears of relief.
Time wobbles around us like a broken film reel, reality bending and stretching as the past and future collide in a shower of golden sparks. The last thing I see before we dissolve completely into a spray of miniature stars is Gage’s face lighting up as he kisses me, as if he’s been waiting his whole life for that moment.
Some stories are too stubborn to stay broken.
And love? Love always finds its way back to where it belongs.
40
Skyla
We hit the sand of Silent Cove with all the grace of a meteor shower, with arms and legs tangled together as we roll across the beach like supernatural tumbleweeds. The storm passing through has paused for a moment.
The familiar scent of salt air and pine needles fills my lungs, and I’ve never been so happy to smell home in my entire life. Above us, Whitehorse glows like a beacon against the star-scattered sky as every window blazes with warm light exactly as we left them.
My chest swells with relief as I pull Logan in for a furious kiss.
The gentle crash of waves against the shore provides a rhythm that’s infinitely better than party music and teenage chaos, and for the first time in what feels like years, my shoulders actually relax.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I breathe, staring up at our house. “We’re really home.”
Logan pulls us both to our feet as sand cascades from our hair like glitter. “It’s exactly the same. Every light, every shadow—it’s like we never left.”
“Except you did,” Laken says with that gentle smile that always makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay. “And you survived.”
She wraps her arms around both of us in a group hug that smells like vanilla and hope, and I sink into the embrace like it’s a life preserver.
“I can’t believe we actually pulled that off,” I mumble into her shoulder.
“Speak for yourself,” Wesley says, stepping in from the shadows. “I make a habit of defying cosmic law. Very liberating, highly recommend it.”
Logan growls out a laugh. “The next time we need to break fundamental rules of time and space, we know who to call.”
“Please don’t,” Wesley replies with mock horror. “I have a very busy schedule of morally ambiguous activities to maintain. Light driving rescue missions don’t really fit the brand.”
“What brand is that exactly?” I ask, stepping back from Laken’s embrace.
“Mysterious, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome. Very difficult to maintain, requires constant attention to detail.”
“And modesty,” Laken adds with a laugh. “Not that you have much of that.”
“Modesty is overrated,” he shoots back. “I prefer accuracy.”
I laugh, and it feels good to laugh about something that isn’t tinged with panic or desperation—or the thought of your children disappearing forever. “You two are ridiculous.”
“We prefer charmingly eccentric,” Laken corrects.
“You’re the best,” Logan counters, pulling them both in for a hug. “How did you know where to find us?”
Laken tips her head to the side. “Let’s just say Marshall had an unexpected memory pop up when we asked where you might be.” She lands a kiss on my cheek. “We should probably head back. I left the kids in Kresley’s care, and she’s not one to skimp on her beauty sleep, so the kids are probably watching her.”
Wesley nods. “Try to avoid any more future moves like that, would you? I’d think twice before following Candace anywhere.”
I give a solemn nod. Just because we’re back doesn’t mean the danger is gone regarding our children. Logan and I will have to be twice as vigilant with them. And we will be. We’ll also do our best to love them with all we are and point them in the direction of goodness and light. Just because there was a prophecy that shed an inkling of hope to the enemy—regardless of who that enemy is—it doesn’t mean we can’t divert the danger. And we will.
