That’s all I can bear to lose.
Salvatore stridesdown the narrow stone path toward me. I’m cradling Armin’s urn against my chest as I walk, because I’m worried it will spill if I return it to my backpack without a properly sealed lid. I’ve managed to move away from the lake edge and wipe the tears from my cheeks. But … I’m not really back in the present yet. My mind … lags.
The moment I lock my gaze to Sully’s concerned gray eyes, I instantly feel more grounded— yet lighter at the same time. He’s wearing a dark-blue suit and a crisp white shirt that has way too many buttons undone to be at all proper.
Roz, casting her gaze around the otherwise empty campus, slows her pace so she falls farther back behind me.
I practically barrel into Sully’s arms. He hugs me to him, too tightly. The marble urn between us is seriously uncomfortable, but I ignore it to tilt my head so I’m pressing my face into his warm neck.
He huffs — likely in response to my frozen nose — but then just tightens his hands around me while shoving his own nose into my windswept hair.
I don’t ask why he’s here, or how he found me. We’ve exchanged a few texts in the last twenty-four hours, but I didn’tmention my plans. And I thought he was headed to Zurich for some yet-to-be-disclosed reason.
Completely irrationally, struggling to not burst into tears all over again, incapable of greeting him properly as I should, I cry out into the warm skin of his neck, “I broke the sealing spell on the lid.”
Sully pulls back just enough to gaze at the marble urn held between us. He swallows harshly. Skin-to-skin, and with only the loosest of reins on my own power, I can feel the underlying simmer of his grief.
I try to pull away, reaching up to straighten my askew sunglasses, but Sully keeps me tucked against his side with one arm curled around me.
He raises his hand. Slowly, as if he thinks I might stop him.
I don’t want to stop him.
I never want to stop him.
He brushes his knuckles across my cheek, leaving a touch of his essence in the wake of his caress. Then he lowers that same hand between us, places those same fingers to the lid of the marble urn, and seals it with another touch of his essence.
“You should be able to open and close it now,” he murmurs quietly. “With just a touch of intent.”
I sniff noisily. Instead of bursting into more tears.
Sully gently tugs the urn out of my hands.
The wind catches in my hair, whirling it around us. But I don’t do anything to try to tame it because I can’t do anything but look at Sully.
Our shared grief weaves between us, tightening everywhere we still touch. As if it’s tying us together rather than tearing us apart.
I let Sully take the urn.
I let him slip around behind me, unzip my backpack, and place the urn within it.
His touch is gentle, skin warm as he runs his fingers down my arm to take my hand, tugging me toward a perpendicular path that leads to the nearest building.
I should be asking questions … or at least talking … but I just curl my fingers around Sully’s, watching him instead of noting where he’s leading me. Watching him instead of letting the grief have me, own me.
Sully opens a side door of whatever building we’re closest to with another press of his essence. Then we’re stepping into the warmth within. The lights are on, but the wide halls are empty.
“We need a moment,” Sully murmurs politely to Roz behind us. But my guard is already settling back against the wall next to the exterior door and pulling out her phone in anticipation of just that.
A few more steps down the hall and Sully leads me into a bathroom. Its placement and set up — three sinks across from three stalls, and half-height tiled walls all in shades of cream and chrome — instantly orient me to the fact that we’re in the humanities building. I took the bulk of my literature and language classes here, from my teens into my early twenties.
Sully seals the door behind us with a flicker of his power.
I still don’t speak. I don’t question him.
It feels as if we’re wrapped in a protective bubble, and I don’t want that quiet, that understanding between us, to be confused with conversation. Don’t want it broken.
Sully tugs off my backpack, setting it on the counter. He’s not smiling or smirking as usual, but he’s not … sad. His essence is vibrant, filtering through to me with every brush of his fingers.
