Night Star

forty

“Do you think anyone’s ever done this here before?”

I kneel down, my knees sinking into the leftover dirt from the hole I just dug, as I glance up at Damen beside me. The rich, moist soil providing a nice cushion as I lean forward and place the velvet-lined box containing all that remains of Haven—her jewelry and clothing—into the space I just made, as Damen looks on.

“Summerland is a very old place.” He sighs, his voice tight, filled with unease and concern. “I’m sure most things have been tried at least once.”

He places his hand on my shoulder, and I can feel the worry streaming off him. He’s worried that I’m only pretending to be fine with my choice. Convinced that deep down inside I’m not nearly as okay as I claim.

But even though I’m left incredibly saddened by my actions, I don’t doubt them or question them for a second.

I’m no longer that girl.

I’ve finally learned to place my trust in my self, to listen to my gut, to heed my own overwhelming instincts, and, because of it, I’m at peace with what I now know I had to do. Even if it means one more lost soul has been sent to the Shadowland, Haven was far too dangerous to be allowed to continue.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to honor her.

That doesn’t mean I can’t still hold out a bit of hope for her.

Having recently been there myself (thanks to her), I know exactly what she’s going through. Falling—floating—forced to watch the mistakes of her past, over and over again. And if I was ready to learn from it and better myself, well, maybe she can do so as well.

Maybe the Shadowland only feels like an eternity spent alone in the abyss.

Maybe there really is a second chance at some point—a shot at redemption for a newly rehabbed soul?

I lift the lid off the box, wanting to take one last glimpse at the sky-high boots, the skintight minidress, the tangle of jewels—all of them blue—the dangling earrings, and the pile of rings, including the silver skull ring she wore back on the day we first met.

Back when neither one of us could’ve ever imagined our friendship ending like this.

Then, just before I close it, I manifest a single red-velvet cupcake with pink sprinkles that I place right on top. Remembering how it was her favorite, one of the earlier, more harmless addictions she so happily indulged.

Damen kneels down beside me, squinting between the cupcake and me when he says, “What’s that for?”

I take a deep breath, take one last look, then close the lid again. Scooping up heaping handfuls of loose dirt that I let fall through my fingers and onto the top when I say, “Just a little reminder of the old Haven, the way she was back when we first met.”

Damen hesitates, studying me carefully. “And who’s this reminder for—her or you?” he asks.

I turn, eyes grazing over his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose, his lips, saving the eyes for last, I say, “The universe. It’s silly, I know, but I’m just hoping a sweet little reminder will convince it to go easy on her.”