Page 60 of Broken Star

Then, abruptly, they fall silent.

The vapor parts again. But this time, the figure that rises from the pit makes my blood run cold.

Because it’s not an ancient prophet.

It’s Matt Larkin.

My ex-boyfriend who was undeniablyaliveless than a month ago, on the night of his disastrous marriage proposal, when I fell into the fae realm.

Sapphire

Matt looks justas I remember him—tall, with the build of a football player, blond hair, and blue eyes.

But now, he’s pale. Translucent. And his eyes, which had grown tired and weary after not getting that football scholarship, are now full of the determination and confidence he had in high school.

My heart seizes in my chest.

“Matt?” My voice is barely more than a whisper.

He smiles, but it’s not the boyish, cocky smirk I remember. It’s softer. Sadder. As if he’s been through Hell and spit back out again.

“Hey, Saph,” he says. “Been a while.”

My body is frozen, my magic pressing against my skin, and I know it would be reacting if there was tangible air and water around here for it to hold on to.

“You’re—” I choke on the word.

I can’t bring myself to say it.

“Dead?” He laughs, a hollow sound that echoes through the ghostly space. “Yeah. You’re not the only one who’s had a rough go of it these past few weeks.”

There it is. The animosity in his voice.

Apparently, not even death can make him less bitter when it comes to comparing himself to me—and feeling like he comes up short.

I step back, reaching for my dagger, which thankfully made the journey with me to this spirit world. “This isn’t real,” I say through the horror brewing in my chest. “It’s a trick. You’re not here. You’re not…”

I still can’t say the word.

Circe cuts in before I can continue, sharper than my blade. “The dead have no reason to lie,” she repeats. “Neither does the Veil between worlds.”

Riven’s glaring at Matt like he wants to kill him, although I don’t think that would go well, considering he’s already dead.

Matt. Dead,I think, and while the two words make sense separately, they don’t make sensetogether.

“Prove it,” I tell the ghostly illusion of Matt in front of me, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “Prove you’re really him.”

“You always do this,” he says, shaking his head in the slightly demeaning way he always did. “Denying the truth until you can’t anymore.”

My grip tightens around the dagger.

“Prove that it’s you,” I repeat, although thanks to his tone and off-hand insult, it’s getting more obvious by the second that it is.

“All right, Saph.” He rubs his hands together as he thinks. “Let’s talk about the morning of your high school graduation.”

A sharp pain travels through my chest.

Because I know exactly what he’s going to say.

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