“They don’t own you,” Tally reiterates on our drive to the hospital.

“I’m aware.”

“They think they have it all figured out.” Her agitation is growing. “You can’t let them decide for you.”

“No worries there.”

“All these feelings.” She theatrically waves her hands. “They’re based on one person’s opinion of what needs to happen. Aren’t any of you bearing in mind what the Ice Queen sees might not be as chill as you’re hoping?”

“That’s the point of hope. It’s a belief in something that would be impossible under normal circumstances. Nothing about our situation is normal.”

“What they’re hoping for is impossible.”

I’m hesitant to argue that point. She’s the one driving me to the hospital, and I wouldn’t put it past her to leave me on the side of the road.

“Okay, let’s say you somehow erect a bridge between Solathairs and Sumairs, connecting two warring sides. What then? You and Derry will never meet on that bridge.”

“Why?”

“It won’t work.” She shakes her head. “If you can stay human—a gigantic if—then you’ll age. Derry’s staying the same age for as long as he’s drawing power from you. You need him to keep drawing that power, else you’ll go volatile. If by some miracle you break his habit, you’ll erupt. If you erupt, heh, you know the rest. You. Can. Never. Be. Together.”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Everything is happening so fast the future seems moot, even our future. She’s right. I need Derry to drain me to stay human, but as long as he’s taking my energy, he can’t be human. The only way we could be together is if I transition, and we’ve already covered why that can’t happen. Refresher: ka-BOOM. The damage potential is far too grave for me to risk North America for my happiness. It isn’t about me. It’s never been.

Is that why I need to be their light? Fate’s trust tracks. I won’t put my needs in front of theirs. This world is too important to be that selfish. While I have to work on the whole greater good thing and learn to prioritize better, my focus is always on others.

I hate how she’s not wrong about that bridge. It was freakishly narrow before, but at least it was a bridge. Now, it’s a tightrope, and my sense of balance is somewhat problematic. “So, I’m doomed. We’re all doomed.”

She nods. “Good riddance, mostly.”

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“Why do you hate them so much?”

She lifts a brow. “Which? Sumairs or humans?”

I clench my fists at my sides. This girl. I swear. “Start with the former. Progress to the latter if you’re still feeling froggy.”

“I don’t hate them. Our kind created them, after all.”

I glower at her. “What’s your deal, then?”

“I’m making sure it doesn’t become my deal. I have my own best interests at heart, and I refuse to allow them to be influenced by temporary emotions.”

I part her feelings, combing through the fear and resignation. She wants more, but if it means giving anything up, she won’t do it. “You’ve never had to fight for what you wanted, have you?”

She laughs, contrasting her regret, while her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Who I am now and who I was then are two completely different people.”

“Nothing you miss?”

“Not a thing.”

“Then why fight change? Why not embrace this new prospect offered to you?” I’m not saying the L word out loud. That would incite a riot, but that’s exactly what I mean. Love.

“Things are great now. Well, they were.” She frowns. “If we keep rocking the boat, we’ll all end up overboard.”

“Tally, you want more than this.” I wave my hands, growing frustrated. “You have infinity, yet you’re limiting what can be offered. Why? Are you afraid to change? What happens to water when it sits too long? It stagnates.”

“Lucky water isn’t my element, huh?”

I scoff. “Earth is even more prone to change, especially with your flora designation. It means constant growth.”

She swallows hard. “The thing is, nature just sort of crawls up wherever it wants.” Her voice is hollow like she’s remembering something that requires mourning. “I’m a dandelion. You can spritz me, pluck me out, or mow over me, but I’ll come back. I’m just that resilient.”

My eye twitches. “A weed grows, doesn’t it?”

“You can say whatever you want, Firebreather. You won’t change my mind, and you’re far too selfless to make me see things your way.”

We pull into the hospital parking lot instead of her dropping me off at the entrance. “Why did you bring me here?”

I circle my thumbs and index fingers, hoping to appear sympathetic to whatever she shares. I’ve learned with these people that sharing is rarely caring. As far as evolutionary milestones, there are many more vital ones than fully empathizing with Tally Keane.

“If it were me, I’d have wanted to be here, too.”

She tries to control her emotions, but I still feel her paralyzing sorrow. The expressed grief seems fresh. Is this the first time she’s ever allowed herself the freedom to mourn what happened to her?

She wants a family. She wants to live a truly human life. While she doesn’t particularly dislike the Solathair designation, the concept of forever without someone to share forever with is undesirable. That’s what confuses me the most. She has a chance, yet she’s avoiding Barry. I initially assumed she was playing a game, entertaining herself since she has nothing but time on her hands. The more time passes, the more I accept she’s serious about severing all contact. What I can’t understand is why.

She watches the people entering and exiting the hospital. “You’re the only one.”

“The only one, what?”

“You’re different. For once, I’m not even referring to your poor presentation.”

I tilt my head to the side. That sounded almost like a compliment, considering the source.

“Your mother...”

I suck in a quick breath.

“Every would-be-Solathair before you failed at what you’ve accomplished.”

That gives me pause, but not enough. My hand reaches for the door, stuttering on the release when she says something demanding my full attention.

“We all murdered our mothers, and yours got to live.”