I spent the rest of the evening at home, skipping dinner. I spent the entire next day at home as well.

Pastor’s sessions were exhausting. I felt wrung out and depleted. The echoes of nausea panged in my stomach. I had thrown up in the bushes after leaving his house. As I always did. As though my body were expelling the sin. Once and for all.

Expelling him.

Pastor said I was healed.

I wanted to believe him.

But I was starting to feel that there was a deep rift inside of me that no amount of prayer could fix.

I felt like screaming until I couldn’t scream anymore.

He loved me.

He loved us all.

He would save us.

Joy was pain.

It had been so easy to justify his methods when it was all I had ever known. Now I was learning other things. Hearing other stories.

I was learning to think about a world beyond the gate.

Bastian was forcing me to believe in things that went against everything I was taught. In truth, he was forcing me to believe in myself.

It was tearing me apart.

Once I was inside the safe confines of my home’s four walls, I tried to read the passages that Pastor had asked me to look over.

Mostly the words blurred on the page. I read the sentences but had a hard time digesting their meaning.

They were about the sanctity of marriage. About why women should show obedience to their husbands. To their God.

Obey.

Submit.

Surrender.

Rules I had learned at a very young age. I had been following them most my life. Yet I balked. The idea of lying down and accepting marriage—a husband—felt wrong.

“Marriage should be honored by all and the marriage bed kept pure.” I was getting a headache.

We hadn’t spent much time on the idea of marriage within The Gathering. I couldn’t remember any marriage ceremonies ever taking place. There were couples who came to The Retreat already married. But we had always been encouraged to focus on our relationship with God instead of earthly unions.

Why was Pastor Carter bringing this up now?

I trusted him, didn’t I?

I had been raised to trust him.

His word was my law.

Shouldn’t I accept what he planned for me? I should believe that he knew best as the voice of God.

“Pastor Carter is an amazing man. He wants what’s best for all of us. He only wants to see that we are accepted by God. That we’re living our best lives.”

The irrational light in David’s eyes as he said these words plagued me.

There was something horrible coiling inside. Something slow and infectious that was systematically tainting everything.

I was being told to marry. To ready my soul for The Awakening. I would be ascending to the heavens. It’s all I ever wanted. What I had been preparing most of my life for.

Yet, it was almost too much to take in.

Marriage.

My Awakening.

I buried my face in my pillow and finally unleashed the scream that had been building and building inside me. Muffled it so no one could hear. No one but me.

A gaping hole opened up and swallowed me.

Eventually I closed the Bible and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. A tiny spider spun a web way up in the rafters. I watched it toiling on and on. Creating something essential for its survival.

It had no idea whether the web would last a day. A week. It simply needed it. So, it made the best web it could. Because it was born to make it.

Pastor Carter said we are all born to follow God’s path.

That it was our means of survival.

Did my survival really mean forcing me to marry someone I didn’t love? Did my feelings even matter in the grand scheme of things?

That thought alone had me teetering dangerously on the edge of depression.

A place I had been before.

So long ago…

“Sara, you in here?” Anne opened the door quietly. When she saw me lying on the bed she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “You should come get something to eat.” I wasn’t hungry even though my stomach was empty after almost twenty-four hours without food. It was already evening. I had completely lost track of time.

I barely acknowledged my friend’s presence. I needed to find that place where I was content with my fate. If Pastor thought I needed to marry for my soul’s betterment, I had to dig deep inside and live comfortably with it.

I could only pray.

I could only give myself over to the truth as Pastor saw it.

I felt fuzzy and full.

I waited for the surety of God’s love to fill me.

I couldn’t leave room for doubt.

I wouldn’t be left behind.

I felt my bed sink with Anne’s weight. She took the Bible, still open beside me, and put it on the bedside table. My head pounded painfully and I wasn’t sure I was capable of conversation.

“You’ve been in here for almost a whole day. You need to eat something. Fasting only hurts you. God wants you whole.” Fasting wasn’t unusual for The Gathering. It surprised me that she spoke against something accepted by everyone else.

I wondered if just once, she would question why I had remained indoors. She seemed as agitated as I felt. I wanted to tell her what Pastor Carter said.

What he did…

I needed her to question it as much as I did.

I tried to find the words.

They never came.

“I’m fine,” was all I could say. It was a lie.

I was doing that a lot lately.

Withholding the truth.

Dishonesty was a slippery slope.

“The group sing is tonight. After dinner,” Anne reminded me.

I had forgotten the monthly Song of Grace. Normally I loved it.

Today wasn’t normal.

I felt the awning hole of blackness gaping before me. I had to be careful or I’d fall in.

“Bastian was asking where you were,” she added. I tensed but didn’t respond. “He seemed almost panicked when you weren’t at meal times.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled, non-committedly.

“I had fun yesterday. Did you?” she asked, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

“I did.” It felt safe telling her this. If nothing else, I could share this with her.

“I kissed David,” Anne whispered, ducking her head so I couldn’t see her face.

I wanted to squeal with giddiness for her. I wanted to giggle and talk boys and do all the things we would have been doing if we were different people in a different life. I wanted to share my own kiss.

Our first kisses.

Important milestones for any other girl.

But we weren’t those people.

“What was it like?” I couldn’t help but ask her.

Anne’s face took on a dreamy quality, much like what I saw at the waterfall. I felt a pang. It felt a lot like sadness. A lot like elation.

“It was in the woods. Beneath the old oak tree. By the one that Stafford and Bobbie cut down last winter.” I nodded, urging her to go on. Dreading where this was going. Happy for her all the same.

She let out a sweet tiny breath. “I fell over a fallen log. I wasn’t paying attention. We were talking. I was looking at him. And then I fell.” She giggled nervously. “He pulled me to my feet. Then he wrapped his arms around me, touching my face like this.” She cupped my cheek and I could almost feel the butterflies she must have been feeling. Because I remember feeling them too. “He told me I was beautiful, Sara.”

“That’s because you are, Anne,” I told her. She blushed.

“Then he kissed me. His lips were rough but it didn’t matter. We kissed for a long time.” She peeked up at me through her hair. “I felt his tongue in my mouth,” she said as quietly as possible as if someone were listening.

I smiled. I didn’t know what to say. I understood how she was feeling because yesterday I had been feeling the same. It was all so perfect. So amazing.

And so doomed.

As her friend, I was elated for her. As her sister, I was horrified. I felt the tug of moral defensiveness. I felt the need to tell her all the things I had been conditioned to say.

How it was up to Pastor Carter to decide our path.

Our lives were dictated by the fate we shared. The calling of The Awakening.

We had to keep our souls pure. Untainted.

But I wouldn’t say those things. Because to preach would make me a hypocrite. Because I’d be scolding myself as well.

Because of the way my best friend looked just now. The same expression should be on my face.

I suddenly felt angry.

White hot rage washed through my body and I practically shook from it.

Emotions, intense and vicious, piled up inside me. I didn’t know what to do with them.

Why was Anne being with David wrong? Why couldn’t I be with Bastian? What sort of heavenly being believed love was a sin? It didn’t feel right.

But Pastor Carter knew what was best…

I didn’t realize I was clenching my fists until they began to ache. I forced myself to relax.

“What about you and Bastian?” Anne asked, jolting me out of my internal struggle.

Just the sound of his name startled me. It was my turn to blush.

“Are you asking if we kissed?”

Anne chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, did you?”

I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “Yes. We kissed.”

Like me, she didn’t squeal. She didn’t show excitement. She felt the trepidation. The concern.

“Do you want to kiss him again?” she finally asked.

Yes. I wanted to kiss him a thousand more times. Then a million more after that.

I wanted to kiss him until the sun turned to ash and there was nothing left but our lips.

“I don’t know,” I said instead. I couldn’t admit the truth. Not out loud. Not now.

Anne raised an eyebrow and I sighed. “Yes, Anne. I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss him every moment of every day. I think about it too much. I imagine it when I should be praying. It feels like insanity. I can’t control it.”

Anne’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “I don’t think you’re supposed to control it, Sara. Love doesn’t work like that.”

I balked. “I didn’t say I loved him!”

Anne giggled. “Whatever it is, it feels good though, right?”

Did it?

I wasn’t sure.

It confused me. It mixed me up. It pulled me in a dozen different directions. I had started to forget what Sara Bishop was like before Bastian Scott blew into her life.

Did it feel good?

“Yeah, it does,” I smiled.

We sat with that. Being two girls feeling things for the first time that we had never experienced before.

And then reality set in. Not the make believe one we had—for a few short minutes—created for ourselves.

“Did you have to meet with Pastor Carter?” Anne asked, her voice wobbling slightly.

I met her eyes. “You too?”

She picked at a thread on my blanket. “This morning.”

“I thought I was going to be put in The Refuge,” I said, not wanting to say it, but having to.

“Me too,” she murmured.

Then we were silent. Neither of saying a thing. Holding onto a hundred thoughts. A hundred feelings.

We should talk about what happened. What our future would be. But we were scared. For many reasons. We imprisoned truth. Denied it a voice. It resided in a place that was manageable for us.

I wanted to tell her and ask her so much.

“Did you travel many places before you and your dad joined The Gathering?” I asked Anne instead. Her eyes widened at the question. It was dangerous talking like this. It could lead to curiosity.

But we were already talking about dangerous things. What was one more?

“We went to Disney World once. Before Mom died.” Anne smiled wistfully, eyes unfocused as she remembered. “I was always dressing up in princess clothes. Mom called me Sleeping Beauty because I never wanted to wake up in the morning.”

Anne hardly ever talked about her mother. Joining The Gathering of the Sun meant leaving our pasts behind us. The people. The experiences.

Everything.

I knew her mother had passed away from cancer only a few months before her father brought them to The Retreat. It was partly why she had been so upset. So defiant. We spoke of it once and only once.

“I hate him,” Anne whispered. We sat on the rocky shore of the rushing river. Stafford, Minnie, and Caitlyn fished by the waterfall farther down. In the few short weeks, she had been living here, we had become close.

Her pain called out to the echo of mine.

“Don’t say that,” I chastised, glancing over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t overheard. Talking like that would earn Anne a trip to The Refuge.

Anne plucked the head off a buttercup and flicked it into the water. “But I do. He was awful to Mom when she got sick. Always preaching about sin and salvation. He told her it was her fault she got sick. That it was because God was punishing her. What kind of person says that to someone when they’re lying in bed, too weak to move? You know, I was the only one around while he was off finding Jesus or whatever. He wasn’t even there when she died.”

My heart hurt for my friend. In that instant, I hated her father too. He was content with his new life with The Gathering. He hardly noticed how hard it was for his daughter. He didn’t care enough to notice.

But I noticed.

Anne spent every moment by my side. I tried to give her everything denied to me in the first few years here. Companionship. And most of all understanding.

She ripped more flowers out of the ground. Throwing them away. “I hate him.” Then there were tears. “I miss my mom so much.”

I leaned in close to her so that when I spoke, only she could hear. “Then miss her on the inside, Anne. Because tears for those we’ve lost won’t help anything. Pastor will tell you that you must focus on your future. On your path.”

“I don’t want a path!” she seethed.

“Shh,” I hissed. “Don’t talk like that. You belong here now. With me. Find your happiness in that. Don’t give anyone the power to defeat you. Not your dad. Not Pastor Carter. Not anyone.”

I felt guilty for saying it. But Anne needed to hear it.

Anne dug her fingers into the dirt, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

One minute.

Two…

Then she stopped. She straightened her shoulders.

She kissed my cheek, squeezing my hand as she nuzzled close. “I love you, Sara.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. Her words mattered more than she would ever know.

“I love you, Anne.”

“I wanted to go to Disney World. We were always too broke.” I laughed without humor.

I lay back on the bed, putting my hands behind my head, and closed my eyes. “Do you want to get married, Anne?”

There was an audible intake of breath. Then the soft whooshing as she exhaled. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’ve thought about it. But…”

“Only to the right person,” I filled in.

I opened my eyes again and met her suddenly glassy ones. Anne cried easily, though I was the only one to ever see her tears. “Yeah. Only to the right person.” She tucked herself in beside me, lying down on the pillow, our heads close together. “But that’s not our choice to make.” One heartbeat. Two… “Pastor Carter says it’s time for me to marry,” she admitted in a hushed voice.

“I thought it was only me.” I choked on the words. Hating them more than I thought I could hate anything.

“I’ve dreamt of marrying someone I love. Of living on a farm somewhere. Raising chickens or goats. Maybe an alpaca or two. Growing corn. Random stuff. I know I shouldn’t allow myself to dream, but I can’t help it.”

I laughed. “An alpaca?”

Anne nudged me with her elbow. “Why not? What’s wrong with an alpaca?”

“Absolutely nothing, if you like spit in your hair.” I poked her in the side and she giggled.

“Don’t mock me and my alpaca. I’ll name him Sam. Sam the fuzzy alpaca. I’ll make sweaters from his fur and sell them at the farmer’s market. I’ll be Anne Landes, Queen of the Alpacas, darn it.”

We were laughing so hard we could barely breathe. I had tears in my eyes. For once they weren’t from sadness.

“All hail, Queen of the Alpacas!” I bellowed dramatically. “I’ve been thinking about lots of things. Silly things. Rock climbing. Skiing in the Rockies. Seeing a real movie. Like in a movie theater. With popcorn and Milk Duds,” I said once we calmed down.

“Popcorn and Milk Duds? What kind of person does that?” Anne made a face.

“It’s a classic combination. How have you not tried it?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Probably because we’ve been living on the side of a mountain for years. Not a lot of Milk Duds around here.”

“No. I guess not,” I said morosely. There would be no Milk Duds or popcorn in my future. No skiing or rock climbing either.

Any good mood I had evaporated instantly.

I felt her take my hand, our fingers lacing together as they always did.

“Do they make you sad? Thinking about those things?” she whispered.

I felt my eyes burn. “Yeah.” I tried to swallow but my throat felt tight. “Yeah, they do.”

Anne squeezed my hand. “Because those things we think about aren’t ours. They never will be.” She finished the thought I couldn’t say aloud.

I squeezed back.

And the air was full of a thousand dreams, a thousand heartaches...none of them destined for us.

There was a knock at the door, startling us both. I sat up quickly, trying to smooth down my wild hair. Anne got to her feet, shooting me a questioning look.

“Come in,” I called out.

“Um, is everyone decent in here?” a male voice asked. Bastian pushed open the door slowly, peeking his head around to look inside.

“I wouldn’t have told you to come in if I wasn’t,” I snipped.

I wasn’t happy to see him. Not now when I was feeling so raw. So vulnerable.

Anne coughed awkwardly.

“Good point.” Bastian stepped into the room, looking around curiously. “Huh. It’s nice in here. Much nicer than the place they’ve put David and me in.”

“Our house is perfectly fine,” his brother gruffly responded from behind him. The door opened wider to reveal both Scott brothers in the entryway.

Anne perked up instantly, pulling her long, brown hair over her shoulder and straightening the collar of her blouse.

“Boy, a few lamps would make a difference though. How can you see anything?” Bastian squinted. I had lit the oil burner a while ago, but it was getting low. The sun was setting, making the shadows long and deep.

“I can see well enough, thank you,” I replied tersely. “Why are you here?” I sounded rude. I didn’t bother to temper it. Maybe it wasn’t fair. After kissing him. After admitting to Anne I wanted to kiss him a lot more.

But it was those thoughts, those chaotic emotions that troubled me. I had to get a handle on them quickly. Before they ruined everything.

“What did I do this time? Did I breathe the wrong way?” he asked with a smirk, inviting me to join in on the joke.

I could only think of Pastor Carter. Of what would be expected of me. Of what I was jeopardizing by continuing whatever this was between us.

When I didn’t smile back, Bastian’s slipped away. And I hated myself all over again. For being the cause of its demise.

“Is everything okay? You know after the waterfall?” Bastian tried to meet my eyes but I couldn’t look at him. When I didn’t answer, he let out a sigh and directed the question to Anne this time.

“Everything’s fine,” Anne told him, omitting the very important details.

They’d find out eventually.

Obviously neither of us wanted them to know yet.

“Did Pastor speak to you too?” I asked, staring at a spot above Bastian’s head. Anywhere but directly at him. I couldn’t look at his face.

I couldn’t handle the freefall.

“No. Should he have?” Bastian asked, sounding a little belligerent. Spoiling for a fight.

Anne and I shared a look. “No. I just wondered if anyone said anything to you about missing Daily Devotional,” I added quickly.

Bastian opened his mouth to comment but then seemed to think better of it.

“So why are you here?” I questioned them.

David glanced at his brother. “Bastian wanted to know if you were coming to dinner. He was worried when he didn’t see you yesterday evening or today. He’s been going on and on about it for hours.”

David’s mood seemed better. More relaxed. I suspected it had a lot to do with the way he was looking at my best friend.

With the way she was looking at him.

Bastian squirmed, seeming embarrassed. “I have not been going on and on about it. Exaggerate much?” He glared at David who only shrugged. He looked back at me and this time I met his eyes. Dark blue. With flecks of brown.

I felt the ground give way beneath me.

This is what danger felt like.

“I wasn’t worried, per se. It’s just you left yesterday in such a rush. Especially after—” We both flushed. Thankfully neither David nor Anne were paying much attention to us. Bastian cleared his throat a few times before continuing. “Anyway, after you ran off, I wanted to make sure everything was okay. Though I shouldn’t be surprised you had to leave in such a hurry. I don’t think I’ve ever been around you when you weren’t hustling about being super busy.” He was trying to be funny. I wanted to laugh with him. I really, really did. But my mouth didn’t seem to be working properly. “Anyway, when I didn’t see you at dinner, or at breakfast this morning. And you weren’t in the garden—” He cleared his throat again and held up a battered paperback book. “Plus, I wanted to bring you this.”

I took a step toward him. That was all it took to be standing in front of him in the small space. I held out my hand and Bastian passed me the book, his fingers holding on just for a second before releasing it.

I read the cover. “Why?” I was genuinely perplexed.

And strangely touched he thought to bring me something. Besides Anne, I couldn’t remember the last time I was given anything. The Gathering didn’t believe in gift giving for the sake of materialism. Birthdays and other holidays were spent in prayer. Not celebration.

“We forget about the spiritual meaning when we become encumbered by things,” Pastor would preach. It made sense then.

Now it was just something else I was starting to question.

Bastian lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter. As if it were nothing. But his eyes said something else. They were hopeful. Tinged with something else that made my belly flutter. “It’s my favorite book. I’ve read it a hundred times. I wanted to share it with you. I thought you’d like to read it.”

I turned over the book and read the back. “The Alchemist,” I murmured. I couldn’t remember the last time I had read a book for fun. I’d read the Bible. But that wasn’t exactly enjoyable reading.

Books weren’t kept at The Retreat. Only the Holy Scripture. Pastor said its lessons and teachings was all our souls required to feel content. To feel complete.

I had been a voracious reader before joining The Gathering. I remember being the top reader in my third-grade class. My teacher would always send home awards that my mom never bothered to look at.

I had forgotten…

“I used to love Harold and His Purple Crayon,” I said and then was slightly mortified. Bastian had extended a thoughtful gesture and all I could think to do was spout my love of a children’s picture book.

Anne giggled and David’s lips quirked as if he wanted to laugh too. But Bastian smiled. And it was a great smile. “I liked that one too. That dude could really draw some shit with that crayon.”

I bowed my head, hiding my burning face. I ran my fingers over the well-worn cover. Its pages were stained and dog-eared. “It looks like you’ve been using it as a coaster,” I observed, flipping through it, noting the crooked, sloppy script in the margins where he had taken notes. Underlined passages.

Then something fell from the pages. I bent to pick up the folded piece of paper.

“Here,” I said, trying to hand it to Bastian.

“Actually, that’s for you too.” It was his turn to look shy. “I wanted you to see that those art supplies were being put to good use. Well maybe not good…but use all the same.”

I opened up the paper, expecting to see the sunrise I had told him to draw.

Instead…

“You drew a picture of me?” I looked up at Bastian in surprise. I was flattered. And a little taken aback.

Did I really look like that?

Bastian had obviously spent a lot of time in recreating my face. The detail was amazing. He had drawn me standing at the gate. It was clear the perspective was from the outside. Bastian had drawn as someone looking inside. It was such an uncanny likeness that it almost seemed like a photograph.

“Baz is an amazing artist. Though I’m sure he’ll tell you he’s the worst.” David gave his brother a small smile.

“Wow, it looks just like you. It’s beautiful,” Anne exclaimed, staring at the portrait with wide eyes.

“You’re not the easiest to draw, you know. It’s hard to capture what I see accurately.” Bastian gazed at me earnestly.

I wanted to ask him what he saw when he looked at me, but I didn’t have the courage. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of his work. I hadn’t properly looked at my face in years. I almost forgot what I really looked like.

We were taught to turn our backs on vanity, so I purposefully avoided my reflection.

It was like finding an old friend.

“I thought you were going to draw the cliffs,” I rasped, hardly able to speak.

Bastian’s eyes never left mine. “When I put pencil to paper, you were all I wanted to draw.”

Anne cleared her throat and David shuffled uncomfortably. I had almost forgotten we weren’t alone.

I quickly tucked the picture back into the book, tapping the cover with my fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Sure. It’s no big deal.” Bastian waved away my gratitude.

“Don’t believe him for a second, Sara. Baz takes that book everywhere with him. Says it’s his security blanket.” David teased his brother. I liked seeing warmth between them. Like yesterday at the waterfall. It was something more than Bastian holding David up, caring for him, tending to him. That all seemed so one sided. As if David’s emotions had been burned out of him, leaving nothing behind. I liked these moments when I could see the affection that must exist there. I liked how happy it clearly made Bastian. How it changed his entire demeanor.

Bastian punched David in the arm. Not hard, but playfully. “Shut up, Leonardo.”

I frowned. “Leonardo?”

David glowered. “Don’t you dare.”

Anne was grinning. Higher and wider than I had ever seen before. “Now, we have to know,” she stated.

Bastian glanced at David out of the corner of his eye. “It may have something to do with my big brother’s past obsession with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Or the fact that he refused to wear anything but his Leonardo PJs for six months when he was seven.”

David groaned. “You had to bring that up.”

Bastian and David were laughing. Anne was smiling.

I felt compelled to join them. It was impossible not to.

It felt almost…normal.

Then it dwindled away leaving the perpetual quiet in its wake. A tide receding and we couldn’t follow.

Anne’s lips turned downward. David’s shoulders slouched again. But Bastian…he still smiled.

“I appreciate you letting me borrow your book. I’m not sure I’ll have time to read it though,” I felt it important to add.

“I know, you and your super busy schedule. Just keep it. Read it when you can. If it’s possible in this crappy lighting. Then you can tell me what your personal legend is.”

“My personal legend?”

“Yeah. It’s—well, just read it. Then we can talk about it.”

“Like a book club?” I chuckled.

Bastian’s face lit up. “Yeah, like a book club.”

“Oh, I want to read it too,” Anne jumped in.

I clutched the book to my chest, not wanting to hand it over. “Wait in line, Landes.”

Bastian positively beamed. I liked making him look like that.

His good mood was infectious. It erased a little of why I had been so despondent. His joy at something as simple as a book soothed me in a way I had never experienced.

Bastian Scott was frustrating. He pushed and prodded when he shouldn’t. He talked about things best left silent.

Yet he made me smile.

He made me feel good.

“Okay then, I’ll read it.” This small, insignificant thing felt like defiance. And I went with it. I was doing that a lot lately. I put the book underneath my pillow so my mother wouldn’t see it.

“Thank you.” I meant it. I really did. Bastian was looking at me. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. With my body. I fidgeted restlessly.

“No thanks necessary,” he replied. “I look forward to talking about it with you.”

“Me too,” I responded. And I was being sincere. He could tell. His face softened, looking pleased. There was an odd buzzing in my chest. A buzzing that had started yesterday at the waterfall and only gotten louder. My heart beat just a bit faster. My eyes lingered. I realized I had stopped noting his physical flaws. Now I found him to be quite good looking. Even if his presence shook me in ways I didn’t entirely understand.

“You look nice this evening, Anne” I heard David say softly. I turned my attention to the other two people in the room.

“Thank you, David.” Anne craned her neck to look up at him. She was small, shorter than I was. And David was incredibly tall. They moved closer together. Anne could easily fit under his arm if they dared touch each other.

Bastian was watching them as well.

“Can I walk you to dinner?” David asked my friend. He flexed his hands as if they pained him. His shoulders were tense, his jaw rigid. He seemed to be preparing himself for a blow. The man who had joked about wearing Teenage Ninja Turtle pajamas was nowhere to be seen. He was replaced with a sad man. A broken man. But a man who looked at Anne Landes as if she were infinitely precious.

A twinge of sorrow shot through me. For Anne. For me.

This could go nowhere…

It could only end in heartache…

But sometimes the risk was worth the agony.

“Yes. I’d like that,” she told him, giving him another one of her smiles. Soft, sweet smiles I so very rarely saw. It lit up her whole face.

And the way David looked at her made the breath catch in my throat.

His shoulders relaxed. His hands loosened.

And his smile was just as luminous.

I wished I could see only the beauty of it.

Instead I saw unbearable certainty.

Bastian’s expression changed slightly. It became what I wished mine could be.

Hopeful.

“You guys go on. I’ll walk with Sara,” Bastian said.

Anne looked to me for confirmation that it was all right. Her loyalty to me would make her stay if I needed her to.

Yet she deserved something better. Even if I knew, deep in my bones that ultimately none of this would matter. Still, I liked to see her truly happy if only for a while.

“Go on. I’ll be right behind you,” I assured her.

David held the door open for her. He closed his eyes for a split second as she passed by, inhaling deeply. As though drinking her in.

And in the end, all that matters are those moments we allow ourselves to be whole…

The door closed behind them with a click. And then it was just Bastian and me. The tiny room felt even smaller.

I grabbed my sweater and jammed my arms through the sleeves. “We’d better get going.” I sounded too bright. Insincere.

I started to pull open the door to follow my friend when Bastian put his hand on my arm. I wanted to fold into him. To let him hold me tight and never let go.

I wanted it so, so much.

“Okay, David was somewhat right earlier.” Bastian’s gaze met mine. “I was worried about you.”

I tried to swallow. My mouth and throat were parched. As if I had been walking through the desert.

“Why would you be worried about me? You barely know me,” I scoffed. I tried to sound indignant. Unbothered. I had the sense that I wasn’t fooling him in the slightest. Because I should pull my arm away. Because I shouldn’t let him touch me.

It wasn’t his right.

But I didn’t move. We stayed locked together. His hand around my wrist.

Bastian’s fingers curved. Not restraining me. But expressing something he couldn’t quite put into words.

The buzzing in my chest vibrated throughout my entire body. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was very, very serious.

“I know you, Sara.” He was insistent. His gaze held me captive. “I know you’re kind. That you put everyone and everything before yourself.” He pulled me closer. Hardly a breath of air between us.

“I know that you think you have to live this way. That you have some pre-ordained fate that you can’t escape.” He ran his hands up and down my arms. Warming me.

Making me shiver.

“Bastian…”

He leaned in and kissed me. Only the second kiss of my entire life but I swear it was the best kiss I could ever have. Soft and insistent. Intense and perfect. His lips molded to mine as though they were meant to stay there.

This time we lingered. A kiss here. A kiss there. We took our time. Even with the constant fear of being discovered, I wanted to savor him. To savor this.

Because it couldn’t last.

Bastian pulled back. I wished he wouldn’t. “You were upset yesterday. You looked scared. I had to know you were okay. That something hadn’t happened—”

I felt myself become instinctually defensive. “What do you think would have happened?”

He frowned. “I don’t know—”

“Stop demonizing us, Bastian,” I spat out, venting my anger, my frustration on him. Because it was easier than placing it where it really belonged.

On myself.

“I’m not demonizing anyone. I’m just trying to tell you that I care about you. That I want to know you’re all right. That what happens to you matters to me,” he implored, pulling my face to his. Kissing me softly.

I let him.

Bastian Scott had become my favorite sin.

“You matter to me too,” I told him.

Why had I admitted that?

I wanted to take it back the moment it had slipped out of my mouth.

But then Bastian’s face became tender and I was glad to have told him.

The regret and guilt that quickly followed was inevitable.

A conditioned response to my happiness.

I pulled away. Knowing that’s what I should do.

Even if it’s not what I wanted to do.

“Sara, don’t,” he whispered.

“Don’t what?” I licked my dry lips. They were cracked from the sun. From not taking care of myself as I should.

We were in perilous territory.

He brushed a strand of hair back, tucking it behind my ear. His hand came up to curl around the side of my neck, his thumb resting over the pounding pulse.

“Don’t pull away,” he answered, his voice soft. Cracking slightly. “I meant it when I said that you’re different. You see more. You are more than the rest of them.”

I opened my mouth to say something. Anything. I had to dispel this wild energy arching between us.

How had it happened? It seemed to come out of nowhere. Or maybe it had been building since that moment at the gate. When I had told Pastor to let him in…

“Sara, are you in here? They’re waiting for you in the dining hall—”

Mom came into our house, full of irritation and ready disapproval. I backed up with a jolt. Bastian’s face shuttered and closed.

Mom came up short, her hand on the door knob, eyes flashing as she took in me. Took in Bastian. Took in the two of us. Alone. Could she read the tension between us? Did she know what it meant?

What did it mean?

It meant that Bastian was changing everything about me.

“Hello, Bastian,” she said, her voice low and chilled.

“Good evening, Ms. Bishop. How are you?” Bastian asked, all easy smiles and laid-back confidence. But his eyes were cold. He didn’t like my mother. I was learning to read him well.

My mother’s face was hard as she regarded the young man standing in the middle of her home. “I’m well, thank you. It’s time for dinner. You should go on,” she told him.

Bastian glanced at me, his brow furrowed. I could see the stubbornness. The ironclad will that would only get him into trouble.

Here, that wasn’t permitted. I pled silently for him to give up this fight. Just this once.

“I had planned to walk with Sara, if that’s all right.”

“Actually, I need to talk to Sara for a minute, you go ahead,” she said, her tone firm and unyielding.

Bastian, for once, had the good sense to know that rebelliousness wouldn’t work. Not with my mother. It would only be met with consequences. Argument was futile.

“See you there?” He was gentle and sweet. It warmed me.

“Yes. I’ll see you in a minute,” I answered.

Mom stood there like a stone sentry. Watching and judging. She waited for the door to close behind Bastian before turning to me, her demeanor slightly crazed. Unhinged. Mom didn’t take loss of control lightly. She had always fought hard and dirty to keep me where she wanted me.

On the fringes of her life, but under her thumb, doing what I was supposed to.

“What was that?” she demanded.

I could play dumb. Pretend I didn’t know what she was referring to.

I was adept at denial.

But I couldn’t deny those few moments hadn’t meant something. Because they had. I was falling for Bastian. Slowly and deeply. It was a life changing kind of experience. Like waking up from a dream only to realize that it was your reality.

It was beautiful. It filled me with hope.

Yet, I also felt the shame.

The self-loathing.

I felt as though I was betraying everything and everyone because of that vicious twist in my belly when Bastian was near.

There were only two certainties in my life. One was that I was meant to walk a particular path. My fate was set. I wasn’t meant to question it.

And the other was that the way my insides tumbled and turned when he looked at me would be my undoing. Because those questions I wasn’t supposed to ask bubbled up in my brain with a force that would, without a doubt, destroy everything.

I was eighteen years old and I had never permitted myself to think of anything beyond The Gathering. Beyond The Awakening.

Beyond the unescapable end.

Now my faith was turning on its head. Because of the way Bastian looked at me. Because of the stories he told. Because of the way he wrapped his arms around me, kissing me like I was all he believed in.

I had started to question the very things I had accepted without doubt for so long. Pastor’s word was no longer infallible.

Simply because of him.

I tiptoed toward oblivion.

“Sara Bishop, what are you doing?” Mom gripped my upper arm and shook me. I didn’t try to wrench free. I let her fingers dig into my flesh, bruising me.

“We weren’t doing anything, Mom,” I said weakly.

Liar.

“Temptation of the flesh will ruin you, Sara! It will lead you down a path you can’t come back from.” She squeezed my chin between her fingers. Pinching me. “I thought you were smarter than that. More faithful. What would Pastor Carter say?”

My face paled. “Please don’t tell him. There’s nothing to tell, I promise.” I found myself collapsing. Shrinking into that little girl, terrified of her mother’s erratic moods.

“You must stay pure of heart and soul, Sara. It’s integral to the next step of your journey.” The way my mother spoke I knew that Pastor Carter had told her.

Of course he had. She was an elder. He told her most things. But this…I had hoped she’d save me. Just this once.

Yet I didn’t see anything but blind faith in her eyes. This was a woman who would never, ever fight for me. And I was terrified that was way past fighting for myself.

“Pastor wants me to marry,” I whispered hoarsely.

I bowed my head. Demure and non-threatening. I was devout and compliant. I would do as was dictated by Pastor. By the elders. By God.

“And you will do as he bids. You will bare your soul to him. He is the embodiment of holiness. He knows what’s best for all of us. You won’t argue. You won’t fight. You will be the dutiful disciple. You’ve learned your place,” Mom hissed, her rage inherent in every syllable. In every demand. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? I will put you in The Refuge myself. I will lock the door and throw away the key.” Her threats made me tremble. I knew she meant it.

There was a crack in the foundation of trust Pastor Carter had built. A fine tremor that shook the entire world he created.

I was eighteen years old.

And my life was not my own.

I had been raised to believe that it never would be.

Because The Gathering of the Sun gobbled it up and kept it from me.

“I know, Mom,” was all I said. I wouldn’t look at her.

Her fury made me weak.

She let go of my arm but her fingers twisted my chin, pulling my face upwards so I was forced to look at her. “Don’t shame me, Sara.”

I shook my head and was relieved when she finally moved away. She opened the door, ready to go out, I went to follow her, but she stopped me. A hand on my chest, she held me back.

“You stay here. I’ll tell Pastor you’re in prayer.”

“But I haven’t eaten. And I’m supposed to serve dinner—”

“You need to read the scriptures. You need to pray. That is your priority.” She pulled the key from her pocket. She was going to lock me inside.

It wasn’t The Refuge, but in some ways, it was worse.

My home would be my prison.

“Fast and ask for forgiveness. Your transgressions can’t be hidden from God,” she said darkly.

Then she closed the door. The lock sliding into place. I didn’t know when she would return. Most likely not until morning. I was left alone. With no way out.

I felt like screaming.

But I wouldn’t.

I sat back down on the bed, pangs of hunger making me feel ill. I would have to ignore them as I had done many times before. I pulled the Bible from the bedside table and opened it. Yet, I didn’t read the familiar words. It felt heavy in my lap. It’s weight pulling me down.

In a fit of anger, I threw the Bible across the room. It hit the opposite wall and fell, open and face down, onto the floor.

The guilt was instantaneous. I scrambled across the floor on my knees to pick it up. But I wouldn’t open it again. I couldn’t.

Not tonight.

Not here, in my home, made prison.

I carefully put it away and then pulled out the hidden book beneath my pillow. I unfolded the piece of paper and flattened it with my hand, tracing the pencil lines with my finger.

My hands shook as I turned to the first page. My eyes burned but I would not cry.

Instead I read the story Bastian had given me.

And I found solace in it.