The exact words he used.

And, even more important, why he decided to divulge everythingnow , when surely some of it could’ve waited ’til later—much later, in fact.

Closing my eyes for a moment, allowing my mind to merge with his. Knowing I’m reneging on my promise to never spy on my friends’ innermost thoughts or memories unless absolutely imperative, and forging ahead anyway, desperate to see just what went down that day.

The wordsforgive me filling the space that divides us, blossoming, growing, ’til I can practically see the letters taking shape.

Hoping he can sense the words too, and will soon find a way to pardon what I’m about to do.

Chapter 12

I reach over the counter quickly. So quickly Miles has no way to stop me. No idea what’s about to happen until it’s too late. Slamming his wrist hard onto the glass, harder than I intended, I secure my hand over his in a way that presses his palm flat against it, rendering him completely helpless. Vaguely aware of his struggle, the way he squirms and wriggles and tries to break free.

But it’s no use.

His fight barely registers. It’s less than a blip on my screen.

When it comes to brute strength, there’s no matching me.

And when he finally realizes that, he heaves a deep sigh and settles in, opening his mind, and surrendering to what he knows I’m about to do.

I slip inside his head, fluidly, easily, taking a moment to get my bearings and have a brief look around, before I discard all extraneous thoughts and swoop in on the exact scene I came here to see.

Seeing Miles climb into Damen’s car, at first relaxed and happy, anticipating a nice off-campus lunch, only to grab hold of his seat in a death grip—his eyes wide, face a mask of fright, as Damen speeds out of the school parking lot and onto the street.

And to be honest, I’m not sure what surprises me more—the fact of what Damen’s about to do—or that he’s still keeping his promise of going to school and attending all of his classes even though I’ve clearly reneged on mine.

“No worries,” Damen says, glancing at Miles, his face creasing into a smile. “You’re perfectly safe. I can almost guarantee that.”

“Almost?” Miles flinches, shoulders scrunching, eyes squinching, as Damen maneuvers in and out of a long string of cars traveling well below his unnaturally high speed. Cautiously venturing a quick glimpse at him as he says, “Well, at least I know where you get it—you drive as crazy as everyone else in Italy!” He shakes his head and winces again.

Causing Damen to laugh even harder.

The mere sound of it causing my heart to swell in a way I can barely contain.

Imiss him.

There’s just no denying it.

Seeing him like this—with the sun bouncing off his dark glossy hair, as his strong, capable hands grip the wheel—well, it just makes it clear how empty my life feels without him.

But then, just as quickly, I stop—reminding myself of all the reasons why I did what I did. There’s still so much left to uncover about our former lives together, stuff I need to know before we can go any further.

I blink it away, determined to move past all that as I continue to watch.

Seeing Damen brake at the Shake Shack, where he buys Miles a coffee shake with crushed Oreo cookies inside, before leading him toward one of those blue painted benches, the exact same one where he and I once sat. Taking a moment to gaze down at a beautiful beach filled with colorful umbrellas that look like giant polka dots pinned into the sand, at a lineup of surfers waiting for the next big wave, to a flock of seagulls circling overhead, before turning his attention to Miles, who slurps his shake quietly and waits for Damen to begin.

“I’m an immortal,” he says, looking right at him.

Just throws the first pitch without a warm-up, without a batter in place. Just tosses the ball right out there, face patient, still, allowing plenty of time for Miles to step up and take a swing.

Miles sputters, spitting the straw from his mouth and brushing his sleeve across his lips as he gapes at Damen and says, “Scusa?”

Damen laughs, and I’m not sure if it’s the result of Miles’s attempt to speak Italian or Miles’s dramatic

attempt to draw it all out and pretend as though he didn’t actually hear what he so clearly did. Still, Damen continues to hold his gaze as he says, “Your ears did not deceive you. It’s exactly as I said. I’m an immortal. I’ve roamed this earth for just over six hundred years, and up until recently, Drina and Roman did too.”

Miles gapes, his coffee shake all but forgotten as his gaze moves over Damen, attempting to make sense of it, attempting to take it all in.

“Forgive me for being so blunt—and trust me when I say that I didn’t put it out there like that to enjoy a little shock value at your expense. It’s just that, if nothing else, I’ve come to learn that news like this—news of the unexpected kind—is best told quickly and bluntly. I’ve definitely paid the price of holding back.” He pauses, his gaze suddenly saddened, faraway.

And I know he’s referring to me—the time he waited so long to tell me the truth behind my own existence—and how he’s made the same mistake once again, by not coming clean about our shared history.

“And I’ll admit, part of me just assumed you’d already figured it out. What with Roman making sure you’d find the portraits and all. You must’ve drawn some sort of conclusion about them.”

Miles shakes his head, blinks his eyes a bunch of times, and abandons his shake to the table. Looking at Damen with an expression that’s one hundred and eighty degrees past confused when he says, “But—”