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Dear Braxton, I start.

I pause, tapping the pen against my chin as I try to think of the best way to explain why I need to make this next Trip on my own, and why I chose not to tell him even when he sensed something was up.

When you wake up and discover I’m gone, please don’t worry about me.

And please try not to be mad. Or at least not for long.

I know I’m breaking my own promise, and believe me, I feel terrible about it. The only reason I didn’t tell you before is because I didn’t want you to try to talk me out of it—or worse, try to stop me. Not that either of those things would’ve worked. Because the truth is, this is something I need to do on my own.

Also, here’s a few things I’ve been wanting to say and desperately need you to know:

I’m grateful for you.

I’m glad I met you at Arcana and that you brought me to Gray Wolf.

I like the person it’s allowed me to become. And chances are, I never would’ve met that girl, if it wasn’t for you.

What happened to my dad wasn’t your fault, and I think it’s time for us both to end our personal nightmares.

And, if we really are destined like you once said, then I guess we’ll have to place our trust in the same moon and stars we once kissed under that everything will work out for the best—that no matter what divides us—oceans, continents, or even time itself—we will always find our way back to each other.

Speaking of the Moon—I’ve hidden it somewhere for you to find. I’m sure if you read this note carefully, you’ll figure it out. And when you do find it, please make sure to give it to Arthur. It’s all he really cares about, and as long as he has it, I’m sure he’ll be willing to overlook any other transgressions he might become aware of. With me gone, he’ll need you more than ever. Certainly, more than he needs Killian.

For now, I leave you with this:

I love you, Braxton.

There. I said it first. Who would’ve thought??

And next time we’re together, I’m going to say it to your face, so get ready.

In the meantime, please take care of yourself.

xoxo

Tasha

After signing my name, I’m about to slide the note under the golden pocket watch and leave it next to his coffeemaker so he’ll see it when he wakes, but then I remember Leonardo’s sketch, and I decide to leave that as well.

It’s funny looking at it now that I’m back at Gray Wolf, just a handful of hours and five centuries from when the portrait was drawn. After everything that’s happened and all that I’ve learned, it’s like the lens has shifted into focus, and I can finally see why Leonardo wanted to sketch me.

It’s all right there—everything he was perceptive enough to capture on this ancient scrap of parchment, well before I was even aware of my feelings.

In the drawing, my hair falls in long waves that spill past my shoulders, my brow is smooth, my chin held at an angle as my fingers reach for my talisman, but it’s my gaze that I keep coming back to.

What I once mistook for a question held in my eyes is not at all what I expected to find.

Though my lids do appear slightly pinched, it’s not so much a narrowed gaze or a questioning gaze as it is an incisive one, an astute one. The way the great master captured me as I stared across the table at Killian leaves me to wonder if Leonardo was portraying me as I was in that moment, or rather in a future moment that he knew would soon come.

Because in that sketch, there’s no mistaking that the person I’m observing isn’t some potential love interest I was conflicted about.

No, in that sketch, the person I’m looking at is clearly my enemy.

And of course, there, just beneath the artist’s signature, is the sign of a Timekeeper.

Those interlinked circles he drew acting as another message of sorts that I also didn’t understand until now.

Clearly, Leonardo recognized me for who I am, even when I didn’t yet know it myself.