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It’s rough and warm. I take a shaky breath. “You look so pretty.” I feel heat rising to my face and curse myself for being so weak as to blush at a moment like this, when I’m supposed to be an avenger.
    “I thought you didn’t usually like blondes,” I say lightly. His weakness is long, chestnut hair.
    “That’s idiotic,” he says. “I like you . Beauty is a fringe benefit.”
    I take another step toward the cliff, pulling him with me. We are only a foot away from the lip of the canyon. I can do this. I can. I will take the fall with him if need be. We will turn to dust together, two old souls with too much blood on our hands.
    “Thank you for coming up here with me,” I say, wrapping my arm around his back, trying to find the best position for my hand. I raise my elbow behind his back, for leverage.
    “I really needed to get away,” he whispers.
    I coil the muscles in my legs. But just as I am about to shove, he turns to me. I suck in my breath when I meet his lake-blue eyes. They stop me cold. I’m not sure why at first. They are the color of water when shards of sun hit the bay.
    They are Noah’s eyes.
    But this is Cyrus . . . isn’t it?
    I hesitate. I hesitate again. I’m reeling. I’m muffled incotton. Dear God, forgive me if I lose my chance. But I need to be sure.
    “When . . . did your feelings for me change?” I ask.
    “You already know that,” he answers, stroking my hair.
    Doubt creeps into me. It tingles, like I’m waking up from anesthesia.
    “Tell me again,” I say urgently, grasping for something—for someone—that my brain tells me is gone. But another part of me, maybe the illogical part, isn’t so sure.
    He laughs. “Okay. Right after your car accident. Something was just . . . different. It started that night that I found you sneaking out of your house.”
    “And what happened right after that?” I press.
    He puts his hand thoughtfully to his chin. “I seem to recall you acting really weird. Kind of like now. And then you went back inside to go to sleep. Wait.” His voice grows tense. “Are you having some kind of concussion relapse?”
    It’s not possible. It’s not possible. There’s no way Cyrus could know that. “No,” I whisper. “The other night—you played a word. On our game.”
    “Yeah. And you never played your turn.”
    “Why,” I ask slowly, “did you play that word?”
    “Because I had the letters for it, genius.” His brows are furrowed, his confusion clear.
    “Tell me why,” I say.
    He sighs. “And because I had just found out about Mr. Shaw. Okay? I know you didn’t like him. But he was teaching me stuff before he died. About . . . I don’t know, esoteric stuff. He used to talk about alchemy constantly.” His voice grows sad.
    The wind buffets me, but I am granite. I am listening.
    “And I was just sitting there, upset, thinking about him,” he continues. “And I don’t know why, but I pulled out my phone. I think I was trying to distract myself. And I was staring at my letters—and the word just jumped out at me. Alchemy . I mean—it was like a sign , like he was okay . It was like . . . his ghost was telling me not to worry about him. So I played it. And I felt better.”
    I am silent. It’s him. It’s Noah. My Noah.
    He steps backward, pulling me with him, away from the edge. Away from a death that happened only in my mind. He envelops me. A bird leaves its cage.
    My mouth finds his with windswept urgency, my fingers tangling in his hair. He kisses me back. Hundreds of years have led me here, to this place, to the lip of this canyon, to Noah’s lips.
    “I’m so sorry,” I breathe.
    “What for?” he answers.
    “For being so crazy today,” I say.
    “It’s a crazy day,” he answers. I feel his hands on myshoulders. I feel his lips on my neck. “But everything’s going to be okay. Better than okay,” he murmurs.
    We stay for a while longer, not speaking. Just being. And when we leave, I almost skip down the