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From my periphery, I catch sight of Wellington stumbling away from his parked car. He’s obviously inebriated, and I think I’ve finally had enough of our petty squabbles and decide to report him. Halen could’ve been driving on the same street as him, and that thought comes with a snap of quick rage.
She looks back at her parents as they reach their car, then says, “I should go, too.” She takes a step away from me, then another. As I watch her retreating farther from me, a hollowness carves out my chest.
“Little Halen,” I call out, and she turns around.
Making my boldest move yet, I stalk toward her and take hold of her hand. “I don’t want there to be awhat iffor us.”
She looks down at our entwined fingers, the inked sigils I’ve tattooed into my skin. I don’t want to let her go.
“I have to see you again,” I tell her.
She slips her hand free of mine. “Then I guess you’re going to have to find me, professor.”
I close the distance, so close I sense her stop breathing. “Across time and space, heaven and hell, this life and the next in any world”—I reach out and tuck the tempting streak of white behind her ear—“I will find you, Halen St. James.”
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