Tristan pedaled as hard and as fast as he could, swerving around traffic and making it to Booth Street in record time. He took the corner too fast, nearly bailing on the hard concrete, but managed to pull the bike into line at the last second.

Puffing like a dinosaur, he stood and pumped the pedals, zipping down the street with his eyes on his letterbox.

But then a cat jumped out in front of him, darting onto the road without any care to human traffic.

Slamming on his brakes, the bike fishtailed to a stop, the front wheel clipping the curb. Tristan’s bike wobbled and then buckled, sending him flying sideways. He smacked into the ground and rolled once, coming to land beside a tall fence. He hissed at the stinging graze on his knee, frowning at the newly acquired hole in his favorite pair of jeans.

“Shit,” he muttered, pushing himself up and leaning against the fence to check his wound.

It wasn’t too bad, just a little blood. Standing straight, he went to collect his bike and then noticed he was leaning against the fence surrounding the big green house.

The castle had been abandoned since Helena was taken away. Tristan had checked it daily for the first week and then given up. The constant disappointment was too painful.

Before he could stop himself, he peered between the cracks, eyeing the long, unruly grass, then flinching when he spotted a woman on the porch.

At first he thought it was the dragon, but when he squinted to really study her, he noticed the woman was someone else. She had the same blonde hair but was taller than Helena’s mother, stood with her shoulders back, her chin held high. She carried herself with a confidence that Mrs. Thompson never could.

A new owner?

That couldn’t be right, could it?

Before Tristan thought better of it, he shouldered open the gate.

The woman flinched, her blue eyes rounding with shock before narrowing with mild annoyance.

“Can I help you?” Her accent was posh and sweet, reminding him of Helena.

His heart spasmed and all he could do was frown at the foreign woman.

She cleared her throat and walked down the rickety steps. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” he managed.

Her head jolted back. She was no doubt surprised by his rudeness. Stopping a few feet from him, she studied his face before her lips started to twitch with a smile.

“Your name wouldn’t happen to be Tristan, would it?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. Who was the woman? And how did she know his name?

“Helena described you well.” She extended her hand with a kind smile. “I’m her Aunt Sylvie.”

“Helena,” he whispered, snatching the woman’s hand and shaking it like a lifeline. “Is she okay? Where is she? Can I see her?”

His questions were fast bullets, but she deflected them easily. Her expression crumpled with sadness. “She is as well as she can be…considering her condition.”

“But where is she?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Yes, you can!”

She responded to his shout with a gentle sigh.

“I can only imagine how you must be feeling. Helena has cried many tears for you, but she can’t see you again, Tristan. It’s over.”

His swallow was thick and audible.

“Her mother is in a very fragile state. We’re getting her help, but at this stage she still blames you entirely for Helena’s fall. We’re in the middle of a very slow, hard, painful journey…and your presence will only hinder that. You must let her go.”

“I can’t,” he croaked.

The woman’s eyes glassed with tears before she blinked and brought them under control. Her keen blue gaze ran down his body, her eyes narrowing at the corners. “What happened to your knee?”

“Oh.” He looked down at his torn pants and shrugged. “I just fell off my bike. I’m okay.”

Her lips rose with a kind smile, her nose wrinkling like Helena’s did.

He gazed down at himself again, his jaw working to the side before he nodded and said, “But she’s…she’s okay?”

“She’ll get there. We’re doing everything we can to help her heal.”

“Will she walk again?” Tristan croaked.

The woman’s expression crested with pain. “It’s not looking likely. It doesn’t help that her motivation is…well, nonexistent. She has a few bright moments, days where she seems stronger. But then I’ll find her crying in her bed, not wanting to get up and face the day.”

The soft words screamed volumes, making Tristan hurt in ways he didn’t know he could.

“Please let me be there for her,” he whispered.

“Even if I wanted to say yes to that, you know I can’t. I’m only here to box up the house and take back a few requested treasures. I’ll be leaving in a couple of days…and you won’t see any of us again.” Her eyelids fluttered, her tongue peeking out to lick her bottom lip before she bit them together. She rested the back of her hand on her hip and looked away from him, squinting in the bright sunlight.

A bird chirped from one of the giant trees along the fence line, its wings fluttering as it shot into the air. Tristan followed its path, raising his hand to shade his eyes.

The sky was a brilliant blue, crystal clear with the promise of summer. Tristan hadn’t even noticed how warm it had gotten or the brilliant green of the leaves in the trees.

Helena probably loved this time of year. She’d no doubt have something magical and poetic to say about such brilliant weather.

And whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Tristan’s chest squeezed tight, his airways restricting as he remembered the poem he’d given her in the hospital. His hopes had been so high and electric in that moment.

Now they were gone…turned to ash that could so easily fly away in the breeze.

As much as he wanted to stay there arguing with the woman, he was logical enough to know it was pointless. His arguments carried as much weight as his ash-like hope.

It was time for him to go and put his bike away—time to go back into his darkened cave.

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and started a backwards retreat. “Well, I should go and—”

“Wait,” Sylvie blurted, surprising them both for a moment.

Tristan’s forehead bunched.

She hesitated, obviously warring with some kind of indecision before giving in with a gentle sigh.

“I have something for you.” She held up her hand. “Please, just stay there.”

He did as he was told, watching the woman turn and disappear into the house. Biting the inside of his cheek, Tristan gazed at the crack in the pavement. Green shoots of grass were spurting between them—a splash of color on a dirty, gray canvas.

Tristan stared at the vibrancy of it, his vision going fuzzy as Helena’s laughter tickled the back of his brain.

Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud.

The poem came back to him line by line—a sweet, aching torture.

And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.

Sylvie’s steps on the porch pulled Tristan from his trance. He walked up the path to meet her. She stopped on the bottom step, clutching a shoebox to her chest.

His breath evaporated when he got near enough and she lowered the box. A white envelope was pinched beneath her thumb. Tristan was written on it in blue—Helena’s swirling letters making it look far more regal than it deserved.

She swallowed, running her fingers lightly over the box.

“She wrote this for you on one of her better days, then changed her mind and tried to throw it away.” Anguish washed over the woman’s expression. “But you must read it.” Her voice hitched. She cleared her throat and quickly regained her composure. “I was going to leave these on your doorstep before I left, but seeing your sad face and…” She sniffed. “I understand now why her feelings are so potent. She knows that letting you go is the right thing to do, but please understand that it’s been very hard for her.” She held out the box to him. “I found these in her attic as well, and thought…you might like them.”

Tristan took the box and letter, his breath shallow.

She looked to the ground, uncertainty flashing over her expression. Closing her eyes, she let out a slow breath before raising her chin to pierce him with her blue gaze. “I wish I could give you a different story…a way to contact her…a promise. But it would be foolish to do any of those things. You must treat this letter as Helena’s final goodbye. Please. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Tristan swallowed, suddenly wondering if he even had the courage to read it.

His lips quivered as he drew in a breath and whispered, “Thank you. I think.”

She sighed, a sad smile cresting over her face.

The lump in Tristan’s throat was so thick and impeding, he didn’t know how he was supposed to say goodbye. Tears burned his eyes, threatening to fall. He locked his jaw against them, dropping his gaze to the crack in the concrete.

“Goodbye, Tristan,” she whispered.

With a slow nod, he turned and shuffled down the path. The box felt heavy in his hands as he stopped on the curb. Snatching up his bike, he pushed it down his driveway, dropping it outside the garage before clutching the shoebox to his chest and racing up to his room.