My mind is frantic with what I did to Paige, with the way it’s so easy for me to lose control. I’ve read the same paragraph over and over again. I shut the book and place it on my bedside table, where it has stayed ever since I received it.
Sang tentatively pokes his head in.
“Did Ms. Suntile not tell you our session was canceled for today?”
“No, she did,” Sang’s voice trails off, and he looks embarrassed. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Paige took the brunt of it.”
Sang closes the door behind him and sits down. Nox jumps off the bed and wraps around his legs, purring.
Traitor.
“That must have been terrifying.”
I don’t understand why he’s here. I lean back on my pillow and stare at the ceiling, trying to forget all the pain my magic has caused.
I’m about to ask Sang to leave when he says, “I hurt someone once.”
I sit up straighter and look at him. “You did?”
He nods. “I was eight. My parents had set up a planter box for me in the backyard, and I was growing all kinds of things. One day I was working on Abrus precatorius—you know, crab’s eye?—and thought the seeds were so cool. It had taken me less than an hour to grow, and I was so proud of myself.” He pauses. “It was before I knew certain plants are poisonous to shaders.”
His voice is quiet, and his eyes shine with the memory. I swallow hard. Ingestion of a single seed can be fatal, and I’m scared for him to continue.
“When my mom called me in for dinner, I sprinkled some seeds on her salad. I couldn’t wait for her to try them, to tell her I’d grown them especially for her. But when she bit into the first one, the shell was so hard it hurt her tooth. She swallowed it and ate around the rest. She would have died had she eaten them all.”
I exhale, loud and heavy. Nox jumps into Sang’s lap, and he pets him as he continues.
“She got really ill. Vomiting and pain, so weak she could hardly stand. My dad saw the seeds on her plate. He looked them up and realized they were toxic. He called poison control, and my mom was rushed to the hospital. She was ultimately fine, but I’ve never forgotten it.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Sang shakes his head. “It’s so vivid still, all these years later. Even now, my heart is pounding just talking about it. For a few hours, I was sure I’d killed my mom. I still have dreams about it.”
“I still have dreams about my parents and Nikki. And now, Mr. Hart.” The words rush out before I can stop them. I wish I could take them back.
Sang looks at me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn the conversation to me.” My fingers grip the blanket over my legs, and I look away. “I just meant—” But I cut myself off. I’m not sure I want to tell him what I meant.
“What?” He looks so genuine, so interested in what I’m going to say. His eyes still shine from his story about his mom, and he’s scratching Nox’s head, not noticing or caring that his white sweatshirt is covered in black hairs. Watching him with Nox, the way he’s so comfortable in this small space, awakens something inside me.
I swallow hard and look away.
Trusting Sang with my messiest wounds when I don’t trust him with anything else would be foolish.
I need him to go.
“I just meant that I know what it’s like to dream about moments you’d give anything to forget.”
Sang nods, but he looks down, and his shoulders slump. He knows there’s something I’m not saying. He clears his throat and stands.
“Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I nod. Sang walks to the door and looks back at me. For a second, I think he might ask me a question, but then he shakes his head slightly and leaves.
Nox stands at the door, watching the space Sang occupied just moments earlier.
Guilt pricks at me, but I push it down. I don’t owe him my secrets just because he shared his.
I don’t owe him anything at all.
Chapter Fourteen
“I don’t know if I like myself equally in each season. I value different qualities at different times, but don’t we all?”
—A Season for Everything
The next morning, I beat Sang to the control field. Winter is slowly taking over campus, bare branches and mornings touched by frost. The days are getting shorter, and the plants are preparing for the long season ahead.
Nighttime reigns in winter. There are fewer daylight hours, and the sun hangs lower in the sky. The atmosphere scatters the sunlight, making it less intense.
Winters are special in that way: we need the least amount of energy from the sun in order to produce magic. Summers are almost useless in winter because they require such an incredible amount of sunlight. But not us.
It’s a clear day. The grass sparkles with frost, and the forest beyond the field is quiet and still.
A quote from Alice’s memoir is swirling in my head, words I haven’t been able to forget since the accident with Paige: If people I care about are going to die because of me, I’m going to make damn certain my magic is worth something.
She wrote it in anger after losing one of her closest friends when she was nineteen. Something snapped in her, and she decided the only way to move forward was to immerse herself in the thing she feared.
I’ve tried everything—holding my magic back, isolating myself, keeping my guard up at all times. Everything except leaning into my magic. Seeing Paige on the ground highlighted something I think I’ve known all along: what I’ve been doing isn’t working.
There are two seasons left before the solar eclipse, and if I’m going to make it until then without hurting
