“Liar.”
She left without hugging Ava. Without the easy forgiveness Ava had hoped for. But she’d come. She’d listened. She’d said she was glad Ava was alive.
It wasn’t forgiveness. It might never be. But the door was still open.
That night,Ava stood in Victor’s bathroom, studying her reflection.
Gold threading through brown. Silver at the edges. Eyes that would never look normal again. Eyes that would require explanations, lies, or careful avoidance for the rest of her life.
Victor appeared in the doorway.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I don’t recognize myself.” She touched the mirror, her fingertips meeting her reflection’s. “I keep reaching for things that aren’t there anymore. Skills, memories, I don’t even know what. And my mother flinches when I look at her too long.”
“No. She’s not.”
“Is that okay?”
He crossed to her, standing behind her so they were both visible in the mirror. His reflection looked the same as always: sharp features, golden eyes, the face he’d worn for centuries. Hers looked like a stranger wearing her skin.
“You’re still you,” he said. “Changed, but you.”
“And the rest?”
“The rest you’ll figure out. We have time.”
She leaned back against him, watching their reflections.
“Twenty-five years,” she said. “After I die.”
“After you die. Together.”
“That’s a long time to owe someone.”
“It’s also a long time to be together.”
She turned to face him. Real him, not the reflection.
“We should probably talk about that. What we are now. What this means.”
“Probably.”
“But not tonight.”
“No. Not tonight.”
They went to bed without solving anything. Without planning the future or processing the past. Tomorrow there would be work, and questions, and the slow rebuilding of trust with people she’d hurt.
But that was tomorrow. Tonight, she was home.
CHAPTER 25
Six months later.
The restaurant smelled like every Sunday dinner Ava could remember. Ginger and garlic, black vinegar, sesame oil heating in a wok.
“You’re late,” her mother said, not looking up from folding dumplings.
