I can see he’s about to speak, his eyes caught on the tattoo weaving its way across my right foot, out to my big toe, but I shrug out of my coat, letting it fall to the ground, then pull my shirt over my head. His eyes widen even more—but not because I’ve bared more of my skin—it’s the black trail of ink that his eyes are following. I stand up and unbutton my canvas pants, letting them slip down my legs to the sand, where I step free of them. Standing in only my underwear.
I lift my gaze to Noah, letting him look at me, letting his eyes trail across the marks making patterns along my soft flesh. Because the tattoo he has seen on my neck is only the beginning—only the first mark that Mom inked into my skin.
My tattoo is not a single constellation; it’s many, woven together like a wandering vine in the garden.
The first point of starlight begins at the nape of my neck, where it spirals out to several other stars, then weaves down my spine,across the left side of my ribs like it’s tiptoeing along each crescent bone. It widens across my hip, a starburst of several suns, and then it meanders across my stomach just below my navel, where it begins its zigzag path down my right thigh, across my kneecap, over my shin to my ankle. Finally ending on my right foot, at the end of my pinkie toe.
An interwoven network of stars and constellations.
My entire body is braided with ink.
The only person who has ever seen it in its entirety was Mom—the one who branded it. But now I allow Noah’s eyes to trace every curve and line. The only break, where it passes under my soft cotton bra and the fabric of my underwear.
I trust him,I think, I tell myself.I need to.
He told me the story of being branded by the Theorists, of escaping with only his life. And now… I show him a part of me that no one has seen. And I feel both raw—with his eyes grating over my flesh—and also a strange quiet, a settling in the deep cavity of my chest.
If I trust him, then he needs to trust me too.
“What is it?” he asks, voice hardly more than a whisper.
“It’s many constellations, woven into one.”
He swallows, like he’s having a hard time tracking his own thoughts. Like maybe it’s not just the tattoo that’s a distraction but something else. The nearly naked girl standing only a few feet from him.
I dig my toes into the sand, and finally he clicks his eyes away from me, like he can’t bear it anymore. Like his head is screaming against his heart. And I feel both relief and a hollow unmooring. Asif his gaze was holding me up, and now he’s left me teetering.
“I’m sorry about August,” I say at last, the first time I’ve apologized for what happened back at the barn.
He nods slowly, thoughtfully, touching the silver chain around his neck, the signet ring against his chest that once belonged to August. And I want to tell him that I know what it feels like to have your heart split wide in a way that you’re certain will never heal. But instead I cross the space dividing us, and stand beside him, silent—our hands so close, they almost touch—looking out at the lake. The Architect and the Astronomer.
Side by side.
Just as we were always meant to be. Both of us marked by our pasts.Hisbrand makes him a target, a traitor. While mine makes me someone others would kill to find.
We are both bound by a future handed to us.
I listen to the sound of his breathing, the slow in and out, and he reminds me of the river back in the valley. Cold, violent at times, breaking apart rock and soil and anything in its path. But beneath the surface, there is calm, a gentleness that can only be seen if you’re willing to risk drowning.
He is familiar in ways I can’t explain.
And I know, I will follow him to the sea. To the edge of everything. I will follow him anywhere.
Out at the lake, Cricket flops onto her back, floating on the surface, arms wide, staring up at the big blue skyline. “You guys coming in?” she shouts, her thumping skull momentarily forgotten.
Noah’s hand drifts closer to mine, his fingers grazing my skin, stalling there. Warm flesh to warm flesh. I hold my breath, the feelinginside me too massive to contain. Fathomless and terrifying. His fingers slide through mine, slow, careful, and my eyelids flutter closed. I want to look at him, stare into his eyes and see what’s waiting there. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll shatter like a star made of too-thin glass.
“Hurry up!” Cricket shouts.
I draw in a breath; I open my eyes.
Noah is looking at me, and I nod, swallowing down the stone in my chest, not wanting him to let me go. And he doesn’t. His fingers squeeze mine, a soft, glimmering light in his eyes, and he pulls me down toward the shore. We wade into the water, up to our knees, our waists, until he finally releases my hand as he slips into the deep.
I do the same, sinking below the surface, feeling the cold wrap itself over me, ridding my skin of a layer of filth. And when I come back up, Cricket is still on her back, near the middle of the lake, staring up at the sky.
But Noah is only a few feet away, his mouth just above the water line, eyelashes dotted with drops of lake water.
He watches me, a cool, clement stare, and I feel light-headed. The water brings us closer, drifting, and I want to touch him again. But it’s his hand that leaves the surface, his fingers that lift to my chin, the soft place behind my ear. My eyelids blink; my lips draw in air. My skin shivers. His fingertips slide around to the back of my neck, tracing the lines of my tattoo, as if he’s making a map, bread crumbs he will be able to follow later. A way back.
