Page 10 of Mayflower

Mirage.

Myriad.

Moxie.

Melancholy.

Mesmerizing.

Maddy.

Mercy.

Mother. That word is underlined and written several times.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

And among those words, two names are repeated like the binder for them all—Maddy and Milena.

There is another one, at the very bottom of one page, written in the smallest font.

Mathew.

Tears spill down my cheeks. There is no way to stop them. Or stop the pain in my heart. Or other emotions that rip it apart. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, but they drop onto the paper as I pick up a pen and write, “Mine,” next to his name.

I finish reading the last page in the stack and stare at the empty drawer. Empty save for the white strip of paper taped to its bottom. In large letters and the familiar by now handwriting, it says, “WISHFUL KINDNESS.”

A sob breaks out of me. I lean onto the desk, and I don’t hold back the tears and sobs as I cry loudly, shaking, grieving for the scarred man with the most beautiful mind.

I feel like a ghost. There’s a black hole where my heart is. But when I close my eyes, here, at his place, I can imagine that I’m waiting for him to come home, that he will, any minute. And that black hole starts dissolving.

I am not grieving, I tell myself, I am waiting. For him.

Tonight, I decide to stay at Raven’s. I leave the light on in case he returns. I undress, get under his sheets, and bury my tears in his pillow, inhaling his scent.

One can’t live without kindness. Or love. Or hope. I want nothing more than for Raven to come back to me. I know he is somewhere out there. I can feel it. When I close my eyes, my heart talks to him. That means, he is alive.

I think about his ravishing kisses, rare smile, and gentle touch. His eyes—the starkest memory. The unspoken words. So many things we didn’t tell each other.

I want him next to me, with me, hand in hand.

My Raven, I repeat silently.

They say ravens mate for life.

4

ARCHER

Dean Doukas gets on the phone with me with all his drunk entitlement.

“Da fuck, Archer? I didn’t sign up to live in a war zone.”

A trust fund kid, can’t you tell? Privileged—check. Entitled—check. No ambitions besides partying—check.

I didn’t understand why he chose to stay at Ayana after the Change. He could’ve gone to Australia or South America, where his parents had relocated. But hey, Ayana used to be paradise.

Dean is already toasted, slurring just slightly. “I’m out, Archer. This shithole is no fun. I need clearance for my helicopter.” Correction—his dad’s.

---