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Not because her blood says McBride and mine says Ward.

Not because some ritual decided we belong together.

Because she chose me.

Because I chose her.

And tomorrow, we get to choose again.

I carry her toward whatever comes next.

Together.

No Bride.

No Sower.

No Harvest deciding our ending.

Just Sage and me.

And for the first time in two hundred and thirty-five years, I have no fucking idea what happens next.

I only know one thing.

She isn’t waiting to ripen anymore.

She already has.

Epilogue

Sage

Three months later…

I fucking hate corn. This is unfortunate because there are twelve stalks growing behind my house.

“Thirteen.”

I lower my coffee. “No.”

Malakai crouches beside the garden as the morning sunlight hits his bare back. He has dirt on his hands.

Obviously.

Some things survive supernatural catastrophes.

“What?”

He points but I don’t look. “Sage.”

“No.”

“There are thirteen.”

“There were twelve yesterday.”

“Yes.”