A week passed.

And then another.

Dee felt each day slip by, each tick of the clock, and she felt herself grow tenser by the moment.

Cora would have her heart back by now. Which meant it was just Dee, Riley, and James going into that mega-void.

And then everything would be over. They would be safe.

She told herself that again and again.

She didn’t really feel safe, though. She felt restless and uncertain and—

And she wanted to live. Even if she was going to die in the next few days or weeks or whatever, she wanted to live.

She let herself into James’s apartment, taking the time to actually lock the door behind her. He was painting, of course. They were all dealing with the stress in different ways. James retreated into his work with a fevered intensity. She wondered what it would be like to have such a talent, to make something beautiful where there had been nothing before.

Fear fluttered in her chest—it almost felt like having a heartbeat again. She wasn’t sure how to do this. She was dressed in a loose sweater and skinny jeans. But he had never cared about her clothes and—

And she wanted this. The want outweighed the fear.

“Hey,” she said.

James looked up. Smiled. “Hey.”

“Riley’s not around?”

“I heard her saying something about visiting your dorm, actually,” said James. He put his brush down and rose to his feet, stretching. There was a dirty rag on his workbench and he used it to wipe his hands clean.

Dee sat down on the couch and he eased down next to her. “Ah. So that’s why Gremma was putting on extra lipstick when I left.”

James laughed. “I told you. But at least I know my couch’s virtue is still safe.” He patted the paint-stained cushions affectionately.

If that wasn’t an opening, she didn’t know what was.

Dee took a breath. “Actually. I came here—well. I mean. If you wanted to change that. The couch’s virtue. I wouldn’t be… opposed.”

As seductions went, that line probably wouldn’t go down in history.

Even so, he jerked in surprise. He gazed at Dee, as if he was sure he heard her wrong. “What?”

She kept her voice steady. “I distinctly remember you complaining about how if anyone was going to be naked on this couch, it should be you.”

He looked at her. Swallowed.

“You want to—” he began to say, all hoarse.

“Yes,” she said, too quickly.

Another swallow. “Have you ever…?”

“No,” she said. “You?”

He gazed at her intently, as if he were afraid she might suddenly vanish. “Yes. But I’m clean. Tested and—well, it’s been a while. Dee, we haven’t known each other very long—”

“Months,” she said. “That’s longer than some people wait.”

He hesitated. Just a little too long. Hurt flashed across her face and he saw it.

“Dee,” he said. “Dee, I want to—but, Dee, you’re going through a lot of things right now, with your parents and the voids and the Daemon. I don’t want you to want this because you’re afraid or because you think you might not get another chance. Because you will have other chances.”

“I want to,” she said. “Not because I’m afraid—I mean, I am afraid. But I’d want to even if we weren’t possibly going to die soon. I want to because… because I trust you. I trust you with this.”

He knew what those words meant.

She had said as much after he told her he liked her for the first time.

I’m not sure I’m capable of loving anyone—not if I can’t trust anyone.

His fingers shook slightly; his thumb brushed over her cheek. “If I do anything that you don’t like or want to stop, please tell me.” He kissed her, and it was sweet and gentle, and she pulled away for a moment.

“James,” she said, but she was smiling when she said his name. “I’m not going to break.”

They kissed again, and this time she could feel joy in it—a wild, breathless laughter in his mouth.

“Not on the couch,” he said.

“All right, then,” she said, and took him by the hand and walked to the bedroom.

It felt as if she were shedding her own skin in addition to her clothes—she was tingling with every soft touch. He pressed kiss after kiss to her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone. “You are beautiful,” he told her. “So beautiful and strong and you’ve got the best sense of humor of anyone I’ve ever met—”

Her mouth found his and she silenced him, swallowing his words of praise. His fingers dug into her hip and she welcomed the sensation. When they broke apart, she said breathlessly, “You can leave off with the compliments, you know. I’m already in your bed.” He had somehow lost his shirt on the way to the bedroom, and her fingertips dragged over his bare stomach, making the muscles jump.

He nipped at her neck. “What if I just feel like complimenting you?”

She laughed, her thumb sliding over the swell of his lower lip. “Gallantry?”

He shook his head. “Truth.” His fingertips skimmed over her bare side, catching on the edge of her bra.

She had heard about people losing themselves in physical closeness. As if one might misplace their identity through a night of passion.

But Dee found herself in the heat of his mouth, the familiar touch of his fingertips against her bare skin. She felt more herself than she had ever been, happiness blooming beneath her skin, her chest full of joy.

“Condom?” he said, sounding strained.

Dee fumbled in her backpack; the school nurse had a box of condoms in her office, even if the parents complained. He laughed, jubilant, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, said she was brilliant and prepared. His fingers laced through hers, and his gaze never wavered.

It was—well, it was a sharp inhalation, a bite of teeth on her lower lip, fullness, hands on her hips, a whispered curse, mingled breath, and tangled fingers.

She woke the next morning, an arm around her waist. Breath tickled along her skin as James breathed. His fingers rested lightly on her stomach. Perhaps he thought she was still asleep, for he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

“I love you.” He murmured the words into her unruly hair.

I chose this, she thought, and smiled.