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I press my lips together. Release him, but don’t step back. In as hushed a whisper as I can manage, I say, “Don’t leave me alone with him.”

He glances to the tower. “Moseus isn’t—”

“I know,” I interrupt. “I have no real reason. He’s been your companion for so long. He’s probably comforted you during—”

“Moseus is no comfort to me.” He speaks without animosity.

I pause, waiting for an explanation.

He exhales slowly. “His abilities have no effect on me. Either because of this planet or because of my making”—his godhood, he means—“he is no comfort.”

He might as well have reached down my throat and seized my heart. This whole time, alone without Ether and without me, and he had no balm?

“Comfort doesn’t have to be magic,” I protest.

Heartwood’s lip ticks. “I wouldn’t call it magic.” The smile vanishes. “But yes, you are right.”

“Let me be right a little longer,” I plead, clutching his shirt in my hands. “Don’t leave me alone with him. Not yet.”

Somber, he nods.

“I wrote it all down,” I continue. Heartwood leans forward to catch the words. “After I left the garden. I wrote down every single thing I can remember, in case it happens again. I won’t forget you twice, I swear it.”

Something is missing.I wince at that spot of emptiness in my soul. But what else is left? What am I not seeing?

Heartwood cups the side of my face. Runs a thumb over my brow. The mist fades.

Standing on my toes, I kiss him, relishing his scent and his warmth for as long as I dare. “I’ll be back.” Regretfully, I pull away. Turn toward Emgarden with the sinking feeling that I will always be here.

But Heartwood will not.

I turn the brooch over and over in my hands as I walk, barely noticing the kilometers go by, as though I might discover something new about it. But it remains only a worthless piece of artistic tin.

When I enter Emgarden, I steel myself with a deep breath, trying to keep my helplessness at bay. That dream still limns my thoughts. It doesn’t fade, like dreams do. I wish it would.

To my relief, Salki hasn’t left her home, though she’s dressed for farmwork. Casnia holds a small parasol, ready to accompany her.

My expression must give me away. “Didn’t work?” Salki asks as she accepts the brooch from my outstretched hand. She pins it to her shirt.

I shake my head. Lean against the doorway. “I was so sure. I don’t know what else to do.”

She glances at Casnia, then motions me inside. Shuts the door behind us.

I fold my arms and press my back into the wall. “You’ll be late.”

“They can wait a few minutes,” she insists. “Tell me more about this tower. Is that where you were, before?”

I meet her eyes, remembering Amlynn’s claim of my comings and goings. “Before?”

“A little over a year ago, you were busy with something. Said you were working on your tinkering. Didn’t see you very much. Like now.”

“Yeah, that’s where I was.” It’s such a long story, and there’s so little time. Still so few answers. “And I figured out some things. I’m fixing that tower, Salki. But there’s a piece missing. And there’s this door, nearly invisible, in the stone. No hinges or latches, only seams and what looks like a natural indentation that justhappensto matchthatexactly.” I gesture to the brooch. “It fits perfectly. Same size, same shape. I thought it was a key. But the door won’t move. I can’t be doing itwrong... there’s only so many ways a door can open.” I throw up my hands. There’s so much more I need to tell her. I stretch my hand to relieve the soreness from all the writing I did. “You should go.”

“There is ...,” Salki begins, thumbing her brooch, “my mother’s necklace.”

A shiver shoots down my spine. “What?”

“Don’t you remember?” She studies my face intently. Casnia sits on her cot, twirling her parasol, seemingly unaware of us. “Arthen made this for me. He modeled it after my mother’s necklace.”