Clare went to bed late that night.

***

She was sitting on a park bench. Devon was beside her. His eyes were closed. Sunlight beat down on them both.

It was a dream. Clare was getting better at recognizing them. But it was also a memory, and she let it play.

“Clare.” He turned and opened his eyes. Smiled at her. “My beautiful Clare.”

“Yes?”

It was the beginning of summer. Bees were humming over white flowers in thick patches of vivid green clover.

“Will you marry me?”

She’d known this question was coming. They had graduated, and Devon had gotten a scholarship for a prestigious art program in Chicago. Despite her good grades, Clare hadn’t been admitted to the same school; had only applied at his urging.

Devon’s empty-sky eyes begged her. It was a simple question, but his gaze gave it the weight of the world.

“Sam and Mindy—” her foster parents, “—want me to stay here, with them.” It was a bit of goodwill Clare had been surprised by. Surprised and touched. “I can go to the community college. It’s not too far.”

He looked at the ground. A jogger ran past on the cement path not too far from them, her sweat dripping off her red face like tears.

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“I…” Devon closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.”

She reached over and stroked his head. He leaned into the, admittedly rare, gesture of affection.

“You won’t be.” Clare promised. “I’ll call you, every day if you want me to. But to get married…”

His shoulders slumped. Devon almost looked boneless, reminding her of a Raggedy Andy doll Clare had owned as a child. Her mother had given it to her when she turned four. She’d lovingly kept it until her father confused it for a towel and used it to wipe his drunk vomit off the bathroom floor.

“I understand.” Devon said. “It’s too much of an ask.”

Clare shook her head. “It should be something we both want…” She paused, trying to parse why it was important. “I want you to feel wanted. You deserve to feel wanted, Devon, not like someone who begged his wife into marriage.”

“Am I unwanted now?” He showed a bittersweet smile, a not-smile given for her comfort more than his.

She hesitated. “Not unwanted…” Clare was closer to truly loving him than ever. “I need time. My heart is such a frozen thing, like a chunk of permafrost taken from a tundra. And you’re so warm, you melt me like the sun. Like the coals at the end of a bonfire, warm and reliable. But I need time.”

He kissed her, at that. It held all the warmth she’d come to expect and more.

It was only later that she realized it was also desperate.

They talked every day during his first semester, and during summer break. Devon started to fade his second semester—he wouldn’t tell her what, but something was bothering him. She tried to cheer him up; they had plans to fly him back during winter break. Clare had gotten a job at the local grocery store, and he had saved up some of the scholarship money. It would have been enough.

But on the last day of his second semester, Devon killed himself.

He never told her what had been bothering him.

She still didn’t know.

***

[Clare.] Kepler sounded concerned. He had her wrapped in his arms. [Are you alright?]

There were tears in her newly opened eyes. Below, the dungeon residents had gone still, sensing her emotions.

Just a nightmare.

His purple eyes were vivid; his gaze heavy.

Clare embraced him.

But she couldn’t bring herself to share her dream.