PROLOGUE
The crescent scar glints down at the boy. Faint but familiar.
It’s the mark his little brother got when the neighbor’s dog became territorial over a stuffed swan. A rascally bulldog. It had snatched the toy out of his small hand in haste, red dripping onto the frost-tipped grass.
Grabbing his brother around the waist, the boy picked him up and rushed home. They were both in tears, certain their parents would scold them. Instead, their mother pulled them in for a hug while their dad got mugs from the cupboard. They spent the rest of the night watching the snow fall outside and drinking hot cocoa while their mother tended to his younger brother.
Years later, the tiny, pale scar remains. A memory carved into his brother’s palm. It stares back at the boy now, outstretched and tense. Grasping.
Reaching.
Cracks fissure the ice in hundreds of fragments. Some float along the rippling surface, others obscure the sliver of light pouring between frozen shards.
The air rips from his lungs. His limbs no longer flail. He’s forever reaching for his little brother, sinking farther from the last drops of sunlight.
The hand grasps frantically. More join it. But it’s no use.
They’re too late.
Darkness curls around the boy’s body in a final embrace. Skating through his veins, the cold seeps into his bones, settling in his marrow. Its chill is unforgiving. Unyielding. There is no fighting this. He gives in and surrenders to its pull.
Fate.
She’s there in an instant. Getting to him is no issue. The frigid water, the scald of magma, the scrape of sand… Such things do not disrupt Fate.
She stares at the unmoving boy, his wild, straw-colored hair flowing with the current. He’s another beautiful tragedy, lost to this world much too soon. But there is more for him. The stone she clutches says as much, and yet she hesitates, understanding the costs all too well. There’s no other way, though. With her palm pressed to his chest, she plants a gentle kiss on his temple and her magic sinks into his skin.
Then she waits.
And waits.
Hours later, glittering irises peer up at her. The silver brows framing them are etched in confusion. “Wh-where am I?”
Combing through the disheveled blue and white strands of the boy’s hair with her fingers, she gives him a gentle smile. The others are already gathered, whispering as the eldest pair skate forward. The boy eyes them warily, not that it discourages the couple. They are used to this by now.
Fate helps him to his feet.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” she reassures the boy. His hand quivers in hers, but he doesn’t release it, clutching hertighter. Lowering her lips to his ear, she whispers softly, waving her hand toward the sea of shimmering strangers.
“Welcome home, Jax Frost.”
JANUARY
25 YEARS LATER
1
JOLIE
Ihuff up the metro stairs and out onto the frigid city streets, puffs of white filling the air. The cold whips at my cheeks and bites my nose with each step, but I don’t dare slow my pace. It’s so early that black blankets the sky aside from a handful of stars peeking out.
It’s got to be close.
My gaze drops down to my phone, and I swipe to the map to make sure I’m heading the right way. A few blocks in the wrong direction around here can make the streets shift from luxurious to dangerous—not something I want to worry about before DC traffic picks up. There aren’t many folks out, but I wanted to give myself extra time to navigate a good route this morning.
My legs are nearly numb under my leggings, though the chill doesn’t stifle the pain streaking down the back of my thigh. At least if I arrive early, once I find the darn studio, I can warm up and collect myself. The last thing I want on my first day is to show up red faced and stiff from the cold. I’m sure they’re already theorizing why the famed District Dance Institute didn’t bring me back after my allotted sabbatical. And since they’ll be quietly sizing me up as if I have a scarlet letter pinned to myleotard, I don’t need to draw any additional attention to myself before class even starts.
If that isn’t enough fodder for their gossip, the deep scars along my shoulder and back will no doubt catch their notice once the warm-up layers come off. Eleven months have passed and even I still find it hard to ignore them when I see myself in the mirror.
