The moment the doctor enters the room, I stand up.

I am thirteen. I came here alone.

When he sees me, the faintest twitch of his face reveals what I have been dreading. Growing up in the Mafia, you learn things━like how to read faces. Play mind games. And I'm better than most, although I wish, in this moment, that I wasn't.

"I think you might need to sit down, Miss . . ."

"Easton," I say, swallowing. But I don't sit.

When I got the phone call, telling me I was Mary Chopin's emergency contact, I didn't hesitate. And when I arrived, when California General hospital was surprised to see a thirteen-year-old girl claim to be the woman's emergency phone number, I stayed. Even though they threatened to escort me off the premises and take me back home to my parents.

And they did do that. But I came back, and kept coming back.

Nothing could stop me from being here.

"She has amnesia," Doctor Theodore says. "I'm afraid your . . . friend . . . has suffered a concussion that will leave her with no long-term memories."

"But . . . not forever right? Not permanently?"

The doctor shakes his head. "Most of her childhood memories she will never recover. But in time . . . we'll see. The most she will likely ever know of her past are key points. Like the first time she did karate, or the first time she witnessed something traumatic. But nothing more."

"She'll forget even me?"

Doctor Theodore nods. "She has already forgotten."

Electricity zips through me. "She's awake?"

"Yes, and you may see her, but first . . . her mother has requested to talk to you."

When I see Mary Chopin, she is a ghost of her former self. A pale, trembling woman, who seems to have aged almost ten years since the last time I saw her━a month ago.

Now that Jude moved away from Lafayette and we are no longer neighbours, we barely see each other, but we do.

Sometimes I take a bus to California. Sometimes I steal money out of my mom's purse and hail a cab. But whatever it takes, I refuse to go without seeing Jude for too long.

Still, it was a surprise that I am her mother's emergency contact.

But ever since her husband and her son died . . . I guess I understand.

"Hunter," she says, hushed, choked.

"Mrs. Chopin?"

"You're here."

"I━I came for Jude. They said you were in an accident . . ."

"Yes," she whispers. "I tried to . . . I tried to . . ."

The doctor is gone, and it is us, alone in the hospital room.

She seems so frail. A shell of her former self.

"I tried to drive us off a bridge."

Heat explodes through me. Jude━is she okay? Does she know? "What?" I bark.

But Mary only laughs, a light, hysterical giggle. "I wanted it to be over . . . I wanted us to be okay. I wanted us to be together again. A family."

She was trying to . . . reunite her and Jude with Jeremy and her husband.

All the colour drains from my face.

For the first time, I muster all the strength I've seen my father wear. The dangerous edge. The commanding tone.

"You have to pull yourself together," I tell her harshly. "You have to be okay for Jude."

"She won't even remember . . . they say she has amnesia. She won't even remember."

But the doctor's words echo in my ears. Traumatic events . . .

I think this counts as a traumatic event.

I am thirteen years old, and sometimes I am scared of myself. The power I have. The power I am still discovering.

"You have to do this," I say sharply. "You are the heir to the Wolves. When they call on you . . . you have to be ready. And Jude . . ."

"She's so lucky to have a friend like you, Hunter." Tears are streaming down her cheeks, a glossy sheen over her weathered skin.

And she won't even know it.

She won't even remember me.

It hasn't sunk in yet.

"Please," I say. "Just . . . just act like this never happened. Never talk about it again."

"Okay," she promises. "And when we meet again . . . will you promise to take care of Jude? Will you protect her?"

Don't lose it. Don't lose it. "I . . . I can't see her anymore?"

"I want to protect her from this life while I still can. I want to keep her in the dark for as long as possible."

"Don't you think she'll . . ."

"Hate me?" Mary Chopin is smiling sadly. "Maybe one day."

When I say goodbye, I don't expect to see her again. Not for a long time.

But she calls out, "Hunter?"

I turn around.

"She can never know who you are. She can never remember you━for her own good. One day, I'll be able to explain. But for now . . . you have to hide the truth. If you ever see her again. She can't know yet."

"How?" I whisper.

"Contacts. Hair colour. Anything. When the time comes . . . and you two meet again . . . you'll be much older. Maybe she won't even recognize you . . ." She sounds almost hopeful.

"Why? Why am I doing this?"

"Find me when you turn twenty-two, and I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

I am not twenty-two yet, and Mary Chopin is dead.

Jude is sitting up in bed when I walk into her room.

Her eyes flare. Not recognition━shock. Fear. "Who are you?"

So easy. Too easy, for a heart to shatter into a thousand pieces.

I falter. "A friend. A . . ."

Maybe we would have been more, in time.

Maybe we would have been high school sweethearts.

Maybe we would have been each other's first kisses. First dates. First of everything.

And I would have loved you, I think. I would have loved you forever and always.

I am thirteen years old. I don't know yet that I will never stop loving her.

"Do I know you?" she whispers, her eyes searching mine. "Your eyes . . . they're so blue. I feel like . . . I should know you."

But you don't.

She doesn't know me, and my heart thunders in my chest. I am bleeding; I am bleeding everywhere. The memories drip down my fingers. The possibilities stain my skin. Everything that could have been, and would have been, slips down to the floor. I am dissolving right in front of her, and she doesn't even know.

Her heart rate rockets up. It's almost like she knows━the chaos, the turmoil━that flourishes inside of me.

Before I know it, there is a nurse storming into the room. Ushering me out. Taking Jude's vitals.

Jude gives me one last dazed look.

I think of what would have been our first kiss. Maybe at a movie theatre, right outside of the parking lot. A stupid teenager romance. I would have asked, Is this okay? And it would have been soft and sweet.

Or maybe I would have taken her to see the stars. To lay down in a blanket and watch the constellations.

Or would it have been at prom? Aimee would have never broken her heart. She would have never murdered someone. I would have protected her. I would have taken care of her. And all of that pent-up waiting, all of that longing, it would have been sealed into a kiss filled with fire.

I think of all that and more, opening my mouth to say goodbye. But the door is already closed.

>>>

A bit of a sad chapter for you guys...

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From the moon and back,
Sarai