The hazy gray sunlight outside is blinding, and my stasis-sensitive eyes water against the glare. Greenwich Park is a rolling carpet of greenon the other side of the brick wall across the street, and my shoes suddenly feel too tight as I watch couples picnicking and children playing on the lawn. Every cell in my body yearns to walk barefoot through the grass, to coax an early blossom from the buds on the trees, but my directive is to get settled in my region as quickly as possible, with minimal disruption to the others I’m forced to pass through on my way. No conflicts or storms or unnecessary displays of magic. No engaging with other Seasons until I reach my destination. Then I can be as cruel and merciless as Doug and Poppy expect me to be.
Poppy’s got me booked on the first flight into Washington, DC. But the fact that Jack is actually in DC seems odd. By the time I make it to the US coast, he’s usually holed up someplace high and cold. His choice to stay in the city this late when he knows I’m coming has Poppy on edge.
I can’t help but wonder if this reckless change in his pattern is indicative of some larger, more significant change between us. If his punishment was as brutal as mine, I’m not entirely sure I blame him for returning the note I asked Poppy to send through Chill—he hadn’t even bothered to read it, she said.
Still, facing off in the city feels aggressive, as if he’s stepping into a ring and he plans to go down fighting.
You can do this, I tell myself.Apologize and get it over with. It’ll be better for him this way, too.
The second the plane touches down, I turn on my cell phone and find a message from Poppy. She’s got a signal on Jack. He’s boarding a Red Line metro train, heading downtown. I duck into a restroom and transfer my pocketknife, toothbrush, and a change of clothes intoa backpack, leaving the suitcase in an empty stall before catching a cab into the city.
In less than an hour, I’m downtown.
I find an empty park bench near the Washington Monument and wait for Poppy’s call. The sky is uncertain, sunny and blue one minute and obscured by chunky clouds the next. A cold north wind rustles the buds in the trees and snaps the ends of the flags. I don’t know what to expect when I find him. Don’t know who we’ll be to each other. All I know is that the person I have to be today—the person Poppy needs me to be—isn’t anyone I’ve let Jack see before. And I already hate myself for it.
My phone buzzes.
“He’s on foot. Heading east on Independence.”
I start toward the Smithsonian at a brisk jog, blending in with the other afternoon runners doing laps around the National Mall. I pick up speed as I catch Jack’s scent—a combination of smells that makes the hair on my neck stand on end. Peppermint and evergreen and holly berry... These should be smells I miss. Instead, I grind my teeth against a phantom pain in my jaw, angry for reasons that shouldn’t make sense.
Slowly, the smells give way to more familiar ones. The earthy scents of moss and mulch flood the air as I skid to a stop outside the Botanic Garden.
The Jack I know wouldn’t be caught dead here.
And yet I feel him... close.
An abandoned jacket is slung over a bench by the door. I look around for signs of its owner, but the sidewalk is empty. I pick it up andpress it to my face. The liner is cold. It smells like pine and winterberries, and just holding it makes my chest ache.
I can’t bear to put it on. But I can’t make myself leave it.
I tie it around my waist. Cautiously, I open the door to the gardens and step inside. The air’s sticky, sweet with pollen and far too warm for a Winter to tolerate, yet there are hints of him everywhere. I’m drawn toward an invisible trail—a crisp, cold draft that leads me into the greenhouses. It grows stronger, radiating from a thawing circle of frost on the edge of a raised flower bed.
A single broken lily lies in the middle of it. My heart skips when I catch sight of the tiny slip of paper tucked inside its frozen bloom.
“What is that?” Poppy asks.
“Nothing.” I pick it up, angling it out of range of the transmitter’s view. “I lost his scent. See if you can find him on a heat map.” While Poppy’s busy getting a lead on Jack, I pry the paper loose.
We both know how this ends. But what if it doesn’t have to? Our First life is passed. Our 2nd is at a crossroads. We’re standing on the corner of our Independence. Read between the lines. It’s all possible.
I fold it quickly before Poppy sees it in her feeds.
We know how the story’ssupposedto end. But what if it doesn’t have to?Those were the words written in the margins of “The Good-Morrow.” I had read the inscription. Had even let myself wonder. And now I’m certain the message was from Jack. But why? What does it mean?
It’s all possible.
“I’ve got him!” Poppy’s all fireworks and alarms in my ear. “Moving fast. A quarter mile. Almost due east of you.”
I rush for the exit, breaking into a sprint when I reach the gravelpath. I pass the Capitol Building and First Street, dodging joggers and tourists. A taxi grazes my knees as I slam to a stop at a red light.
“Where is he, Poppy?” I crane my neck to see over the cars on the adjacent streets. The roads here are a grid, but the one I’m on splits, forking diagonally to the right.
“I don’t know. There are too many buildings. Too many people. They’re drowning you out.” Because my blood is warm, like the rest of them. But Jack’s runs cold. He should be easy to find. Which means we’ve lost him. “Where are you?” she asks.
I check the street sign overhead. “I’m at the corner of Independence and Pennsylvania... Just past...”
I look left. I’m just past 2nd.
