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Making a decision, I open the portfolio.

I stop breathing the moment I see the first picture.

It’s of … me.

The portrait is quite simple, just a simple basic of my head, neck, and shoulders. I run my finger down the penciled slope of my cheek, noticing how bright my eyes look in the drawing. How hopeful I appear. I remember Des drawing this in my dorm room over seven years ago. I also remember seeing the image and completely not connecting with it. I’d been so lonely then, so full of my own demons, I couldn’t imagine that anyone looked at me and saw this beautiful girl. But I’d been flattered nonetheless.

After all this time he kept it.

I feel more of my defenses crumbling. The wall I built around my heart is in shambles, and apparently Des doesn’t have to be here to destroy it.

The next sketch is of me sitting on the floor, my back against my dorm room bed, giving a petulant look to the artist drawing me. Scrawled beneath the picture is a note:Callie wants me to stop drawing her. This is how she looks when I tell her no.

I grin a little as I read that. Mighty words, but Des had at least partially caved into my request; he drew me all sorts of landscapes and Otherworldly creatures in addition to the portraits of me he was so fond of.

The next drawing is one I’ve never seen, and unlike the other sketches, this one’s more painstakingly executed. At first all I can make sense of is the odd angle of the drawing, like the artist was on his back, looking down the length of his body. Then I make out the woman curled up against the chest we’re looking down at. I recognize my dark hair, the top of my nose, and the contours of my face, which is somewhat buried against Des’s chest.

This could’ve been one of many nights where I fell sleep curled against him, but something about the image … something about it makes me think it was one of the bad nights, the nights where Des stuck around to scare off my nightmares. I can feel an echo of that old pain even now.

Those evenings were what made me realize I loved the Bargainer. That it wasn’t just infatuation, but something I could feel on my skin and in my bones. Something that couldn’t be extinguished.

I didn’t fall for Des because he was handsome, or because he knew my secrets, but because he stuck around when I was least lovable. Because he was a man who didn’t try to take anything from me even when I lay next to him, but instead gave me peace and comfort. Because each one of those nights he saved me all over again, even if it was from myself.

And if this picture was anything to go by, it was a moment Des wanted to remember as well.

I flip to the next image, this one in color. Most of the drawing is set in deep shades of blue and green. In it I’m smiling, a ring of fireflies resting on the crown of my head. I remember this night too—

A knock on the door jolts me from my thoughts.

What am I doing? I definitely shouldn’t be looking through these. Even if I am clearly the Bargainer’s muse.

Hastily I close the portfolio, arranging it how I found it. I throw several glances back at it as I cross the room. He kept those old drawings all this time. Again I’m reminded of his confession about how he felt leaving me.

Like my soul was ripped in two.

And once again, I feel hope so sharp it’s almost painful.

That too is whisked away when someone pounds on the door again.

Who would visit Des here?

I get my answer a few seconds later, when I peer through the door’s peephole.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

“I heard that, Callie,” the familiar, gravelly voice says.

The Bargainer doesn’t get visitors here.

I do.

Chapter 21

May, seven years ago

“Holy fuck,” Dessays, materializing in my dorm room. “It’s a warzone out in your hallway.”

In the hallway I hear a muffled shout as some girl loses her shit because her nail polish smudgedandohmygod there’s no time to fix it.