Page 73 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter sixty-seven

Mira

I turned around and saw Baird leaning over the half door, watching me the way he sometimes did—like I was a magical creature only he could see. And maybe, in some small way, I was.

I shut off the gas to the torch and carefully hung it on its bracket. These breaks, once interruptions, had become moments I craved—needing to see him, to hear his voice, to feel the familiar grounding of his touch.

I crossed the studio and met him at the door, standing on my toes to kiss his lips, soft and cool against mine, my eyes pulled to the view just past where he stood.

The front of the studio looked out toward the point where Agnes was buried and to the sea beyond. I’d wanted it built this way, positioned this way, so I’d never forget.

For a time, I’d believed she stood between us. But I’d been wrong.

Agnes wasn’t a wall—she was a thread. A tether. One of many that had drawn me here: her, the painting, Bastien’s dark pull, the strange mercy of his final request, even the echo of another woman I’d never met— Clémence.

Cogs in some unseen wheel of time, all moving in concert, bringing me to this place. To him .

To a love I hadn’t believed I’d ever find.

Big love. Fierce love. Love that rewrote wrongs, granted closure, offered peace.

Love that spanned lifetimes.

And it was the very thing I once believed was a curse—this strange Sight, this pull toward the impossible—that, when reframed, revealed itself as a blessing.

The thing that made all of this possible.