We move among white marble columns that appear to have been lifted right out of ancient Greek times, along multiple rows of long, carved wooden tables and benches crowded with priests, rabbis, shamans, seekers of every kind, including: Jude?

The moment his name appears in my mind, he lifts his head and looks right at me. Thoughts are things, consisting of energy of the purest kind, and here in Summerland they can be heard by just about anybody.

“Ever…” He lifts a hand to his forehead, smoothing the area just above his spliced brow before moving to the tangle of long bronze dreadlocks he pushes away from his face. “And Damen…” His expression remains inscrutable, unreadable, though it’s clear he’s working pretty hard to keep it that way.

He rises from his seat, a little reluctantly to my eye. But when Damen moves toward him with a grin that lights up his face, Jude does his best to match it with one of his own, allowing his dimples to spring into place.

I stay put, watching the two of them engage in the usual palm-smacking, back-slapping, male-greeting ritual. Trying to read the meaning behind Jude’s reddened cheeks, not to mention the flash of chagrin in his aqua-green gaze.

I mean, even though he and Damen have called a truce, even though he’s now in on pretty much all of our biggest secrets and has no plans to spill them, even though I’m absolutely certain that his uncanny ability to thwart all my best plans is not at all calculated on his part, but that something else, some higher force, is driving him to do it, to always interfere at the absolute worst time possible—I can’t stop from hesitating, can’t overcome my reluctance to greet him.

But it only takes a moment for me to recognize that hesitation for what it really is.

Guilt.

Good old-fashioned guilt.

No more, no less.

The kind of guilt that comes from sharing a long, somewhat convoluted, and at times quite romantic past with someone, and yet, in the end, always choosing someone else.

No matter how hard Jude tried, I always chose Damen over him. And just very recently, I’ve done so again.

Yet despite my knowing I made the best choice, the right choice, the only choice, despite my instinctively knowing there’s someone else out there, someone who’s much better suited for him than me, Jude doesn’t quite see it that way.

He glances back and forth between us, his gaze ultimately settling on mine in a way that causes an unmistakable wave of cool, languid calm to flow through my body—a phenomenon I’ve experienced only with him, in this life as well as the others before it. And try as he might to stay distant and neutral, it’s impossible to miss the flash of longing that plays in his gaze—a small seed of hope he still isn’t free of. Even though it’s over in a second, even though he’s quick to replace it with something else, something containing far less ache, something far more benign, I take a moment to manifest a bright shining night star over his head, wishing once again that he’ll soon find the one person in the universe who’s meant just for him, who’s far better suited than I could ever be.

Then I make it disappear before they can see it.

“What brings you here?” I force a smile onto my face and keep it there until it starts to feel real.

He shuffles, rocks back and forth on his heels as his hands fumble at the loops of his jeans. Sorting through his thoughts, carefully weighing his options, deciding between complete or partial honesty, and going with complete when he says, “I just like it here. I can’t help it. Though Ava warns me not to overdo it, I just can’t seem to stay away.”

“Summerland is like that.” Damen nods, as though he completely understands, as though he’s actually struggled with the same temptation himself. And who knows, maybe he has and we just haven’t gotten around to covering that. “The lure is pretty great,” he adds.

“It’s a chore to ignore.”

“Are you researching anything in particular?” I strive to keep my voice light, conversational, despite rising up on my toes trying to get a glimpse of the tablet he was studying when we came in. But he’s too smart for that, and is quick to erase it the moment he sees what I’m doing.

Which is why I’m so shocked when he says, “Honestly, I was doing a little research on you.” His eyes burn on mine, causing Damen’s to narrow, trying to determine just what that meant. I glance back and forth between them, scrambling for something to say, but Jude beats me to it. “I was trying to figure out why I always seem to get in your way.”

I pause, my throat gone suddenly dry, forcing me to clear it before I can speak. “And did you come to any conclusions?” I ask, pretty much everything about me, my voice, my stance, my expression, my demeanor, projecting loud and clear that my interest in this subject knows virtually no limits.

He shakes his head, his face wearing an apology words can’t express. “No, or at least nothing concrete,” he says.

My shoulders sink, as a sigh escapes my lips, and I can’t help but think how nice it would’ve been if Jude could’ve done all of my homework for me, but it’s never that easy.

“Though there was something…”

He’s got my full attention again, Damen’s too from what I can tell.

“It’s not anything that I saw per se, it was more a thought that kept coming to me. One I couldn’t chase away.”

“That’s how Summerland works.” I nod, a little too vigorously. “Or at least the Great Halls anyway. It’s not always concrete, you know.