Page 98 of Stealing Tink

My right hand is wet, warm.

He pulls away from the kiss, his hand going for his side, just underneath his ribcage. Blood pours from the wound, and he sways on his feet.

I stand above him, hands shaking, tears pouring from my eyes, blood dripping from the dagger in my hand.

When the Nomad takes his last breath, it feels as if my heart has been torn in two.

CHAPTER 44

“Wanderer. Wanderer, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

My eyes shoot open. Hovering above me is the concerned face of the Nomad. His hands are on my shoulders, and when he sees that I’ve awoken, he stops shaking me.

I scramble out from underneath him, struggling to disentangle reality from my dream.

“It’s me,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s just me.” There’s a pain in his voice I can’t quite process.

Grass and earth scrape against my elbows from where I’ve crawled away from him backwards. We’re outside. By the cliff side. The last thing I remember from last night is my eyes growing heavy as I gazed up at the stars. The Nomad must have come back and found me asleep.

I swallow, blinking the memory of the dream away.

He’s alive. Whole. And when I bring my hand to my hip, my dagger is secure. Clean as when I sheathed it.

I’m sorry, I sign.

The Nomad crawls over toward me in the grass. “What exactly are we apologizing for?”

I just stare at him, my hand lingering in midair.

Grabbing the pen and parchment, I say, I overreacted.

“Must have been a particularly bad one,” says the Nomad.

What makes you say that? I write, though the fact that my hand is still trembling is probably the answer to my question.

“Last time, you were thrashing about in bed. This time…”

I stare at him, waiting for his answer.

“Well, this time, you were completely still. In fact, the only thing moving about you was the tears streaming down your cheeks. I couldn’t wake you, no matter how hard I tried, not for several minutes.”

I run my hand through my already disheveled hair. When I go to push myself up from the ground, the Nomad places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. He examines my face, then says, “I wish you would tell me.”

I stare at his hand on my shoulder, then take his wrist, pushing it away. When I make it to my feet and walk, shuddering, back toward the cove, the Nomad’s voice echoes after me.

I let it echo without a response.

I’m not sure what is making the Nomad look especially good today—the fact that his coat matches the color of his eyes, or that I’ve decided to leave him.

It’s probably the second one.

I’d taken a bath as soon as I made it back to the ship. I spent years unable to take one in Neverland, and now that they’re accessible, I find my thoughts run like water as soon as I submerge myself.

Usually, it’s a frenzy of ideas.

This time, all my thoughts were telling me the same thing.

I don’t know what happened yesterday that made our ending change. Maybe it was because I buttoned the buttons of my top out of order. Or perhaps it’s because I ate chicken for breakfast. Or because I jumped from the upper cliff instead of the lower.