Page 105 of Find My Way Down to You

We meet in the middle of another aisle. Near a raised bed of fiery poppies. Smiling, I whisper, “I love it here because it’s quiet.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. My heart skitters.

“It’s also magical,” I say.

“Is it?” His eyes finally lift.

“Obviously. I mean, I can’t believe my mom does all of this! She turns the smallest seed into the prettiest things.” I lower my chin, frowning. “Even when this world is ugly to her. Or to me.”

Cary’s thumb strokes my jawline. “You make this realm prettier too.”

I roll my eyes and say, “Shut up.” But he doesn’t.

“I have seen it, August.” His touch slides delicately alongmy lower lip. I’m helpless to the way my name sounds on his tongue, in his assured voice.

“Where is your favorite place?”

In the half-light, his eyes go dark. Slightly dimmer. “I am not allowed one,” he says.

“Not allowed?” My face scrunches.

He shakes his head. “I am never anywhere long enough to call it my favorite.”

Cary has been to every corner of this earth. Guiding souls to Aides. But how much time does he get to spend in his own world? Death never rests. Which means he probably doesn’t either.

“What about home?” I ask.

He looks away. My stomach coils.

“At the ball, Milos said something.”

His jaw tenses. Hard as stone. “What did he say this time?”

Warily, I reply, “That he can’t leave Aides. And that being who he is wasn’t his choice.”

Cary steps away. His fingers flex at his sides. He drifts over to a bed of island snapdragons. Their petals sway under his touch. Blood red against fair gold skin.

Moments pass before he speaks again.

“I was young like Yuri when my mother came to me with a choice: Grow to become the ferrier. Help souls find their way past our gates. Or stay in Aides. Become the prince who protects our world by balancing where those souls go next.” He inhales deeply. “The other role would go to Milos.”

A sharp exhale leaves my lips.

His thumb traces the veins of a leaf. “We were so small. Not yet ready. But my brother loved Aides. He would run in the Meadows and hide in the grand rooms. We would sit on the shores together.”

I try to picture it: Tiny versions of them. A less scowly Cary and a bright-eyed Milos, being kids. Creating chaos everywhere they went.

“Giving that up would have been unfair to him.”

“So you gave up your own life in Aides for him,” I say.

He turns to face me. “My mother trusted me. She knew what I could handle. Besides, I could still be around her.”

I piece together his words. “Your mom is Death.”

He nods.

There’s a softness in his expression. The same fondness I wear anytime I look at my own mom, no matter what oceans are rippling inside me.