That’s not a fantasy anymore. That’s a plan.
“He felt it.” I pull her closer. “Through the bond. I felt him feeling it.”
“That’s...” She pauses. “Actually kind of hot. And also deeply fucked up. Both things can be true.”
“Usually are, with us.” Kieran’s mouth curves against her hair.
“We’ll get him back,” I promise. “And then?”
“All four of us?” She tilts her head to look at me. “Is that even physically possible?”
“We’ll figure it out.” I grin. “I’m very creative.”
“He means he’s been thinking about it for months,” Kieran adds dryly.
“You haven’t?”
“I’ve been strategizing it. There’s a difference.”
“You’ve been making diagrams, haven’t you?” Ash’s voice is delighted. “Kieran has sex diagrams.”
“They’re assessments.”
“With stick figures?”
“...anatomically correct stick figures.”
She laughs—really laughs, bright and genuine—and something in my chest cracks open at the sound. This. This right here. Her laughing between us like she belongs here. Like she’s always belonged here.
That’s what I’ve been guarding. I just didn’t know it until now.
“I want everything,” she says finally. “All of you. Every possible configuration. I want to be so thoroughly claimed by the three of you that no one in any realm could question who I belong to.”
“Then you’ll have it.” I kiss her forehead. “We’re not letting you go, Thorn. Any of us.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She settles between us, boneless and content, and for the first time since this whole mess started, I let myself believe we might actually survive it.
37
Ash
This timeI know I’m dreaming when I open my eyes to a clear summer day.
The knowing settles into me like muscle memory. After the last dream—Lucy alive, timelines twisting—I’ve learned to recognize when my brain is taking me somewhere my body can’t follow.
The heat from the asphalt shimmers on the road, waves of it rising like ghosts, and the scent of soft pretzels lingers in the air. Salt and dough and something sweeter underneath.
The cherry syrup from the Italian ice stand two doors down.
“Flavor?” the vendor asks, her heavily tattooed arm leaning on the counter. A sleeve of flowers and skulls disappears under her tank top.
“Orange.” I blink, the memory settling into place like puzzle pieces clicking together. This day. This exact day. Summer after senior year.
“Pretzel?” She snaps her gum, already reaching for the warmer.
