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stand. It’s a story the rest of us have heard a thousand times.
    I sigh. Miyu shifts uncomfortably. I look back at the message in my hands.
    â€œPerhaps I should leave and let you open it,” she says. “Give you some space.”
    The breeze shifts, and my lids flutter, stung by the hot billow of sparks. “No,” I tell her. “It’s fine.” I turn the envelope over, smooth side up, and my heart beats wildly. In the glow, I read the steady, flourished script.
    Ma chère
    I open the envelope, careful not to leave more than the smallest tear. Inside, there’s a folded piece of paper. As I open it, a scrap tumbles out. I snag it in my palm as the laughter around me turns to simmering talk. Nandan’s still droning on about the monastery.
    â€œWhat is it?” Miyu asks, staring at my catch.
    At first, I don’t recognize the thick, silky fabric. But after flipping it over, I see what Auguste left for me. Benroyal’s racing logo, the Phoenix-winged patch sewn into my old racing uniform. My first uniform, black andsleek and nearly indestructible. The one I wore at Sand Ridge Speedway, when I scored my first win.
    When I was still whole and brave and fearless.
    I hold up the patch, almost touching it to my lips. I inhale. I can still smell the dead heat of the speedway, the smoke of my wreck in every stitch. I glance down at the paper, now unfolded. Again, Auguste’s spare and elegant scrawl.
    La légende
    He’d called me that once. But most often, I was his “Spitfire Girl.” I doubt he’d say the same, if he saw me now.
    Shaken, I tilt away from Miyu. I can’t help it. A tear tries to well up in the corner of my eye. Miyu’s kind enough to let me be. Wordless, she slips away with a gentle nod.
    I step closer to my share of the blaze and tuck Auguste’s gift into my pocket. My mind lets go; I drift out and lose sight of everyone else. As the flames climb and crackle, I stare into them, until the heat kisses my cheeks and stings my eyes. Fingers of smoke reach out before twisting into the night sky. So many stars above the haze. I see Cash there, in the glimmer dark. I always see him. My hand over his, blood seeping through our fingers.
    There’s a vicious snap as a piece of kindling shifts. I startle like it’s a gunshot.
    I squeeze my lids until my heart stops racing. My breathing slows, and I sink into invisible grief.

    I stand by the fire for a long time, even as most of the soldiers and their families trickle away, their tired faces still candle-bright and hopeful. Behind me, a soft hiss as an ember’s trampled. A deep, warm exhale. I turn, and Bear is at my shoulder.
    â€œFunny,” he says. “No matter where we go, trouble finds us.”
    There’s a glimmer there, in his eyes. A little piece of us, still shining.
    â€œTrouble finds me, you mean.” I pull on an old smile. “If you were smart, you’d stay away. Ditch me altogether.”
    He’s quiet, and suddenly I’m wrecked. The Bear I used to know wouldn’t hesitate. Never, he’d declare. I’d never leave you. But I’m not sure I know this boy—this man—standing beside me. He turns up the collar of his jacket, scaring off the evening chill. When he finally grins, it takes me by surprise.
    â€œMaybe,” he says. “Can’t say.”
    I huff. Just a little. “Can’t say? Well, for sun’s sake, don’t reassure me or anything.”
    â€œHmm . . .” He strokes his chin, smiling even wider. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
    I laugh, on edge. This new, cheeky self-assurance, I don’t know what to do with it.
    Our eyes meet, and I mark the smaller things; the hundred little changes in him. How much shorter his hair is these days. Military cut, perfectly trimmed. But even clean-shaven, he can’t quite lose the day’s-end shadow of dark blond whiskers. They roughen him