"I'll go with you," she whispered.
Gabriel's eyes flickered into a smile, not too large, not too sad — just slightly to convey thanks unspoken.
"But…" she said quickly, "I don't linger. Just take me. and then home."
His gaze flashed, almost incomprehensible. "Of course."
He extended his hand.
She gazed at it. The warmth. The humanness. It shook ever so faintly, just like hers.
She accepted it.
The second their fingers crossed, the woods transformed.
The branches expanded like theater curtains. The moon sank below ground. Stars orbited tightly around her overhead. She sucked in her breath. The ground she stood on flexed and set.
She blinked.
And they were some place else.
Green.
Everything was green — and blue. Not the color of trees or grass. A darker, extraterrestrial green, as though the world had been painted with dyes from somewhere else. The sky shimmered like silk, rippled with creeping clouds that glowed between blue and turquoise. Flower faces. Throbbing vines. Trees that breathed.
"Where… are we?" she whispered.
Gabriel released her hand. "This is where I disappear."
"It's lovely," she turned slowly, eyes wide. "But… it doesn't look real."
He smiled gently. "Because it isn't. Not quite. This world is stitched together out of memory, out of pain, out of dreams people forget when they wake up."
She stepped out onto a bridge of glowing moss. Below, a river of light ran like liquid crystal.
"Did you build this?"
"No," Gabriel walked alongside her. "It was here a long time before me. But I added to it. Altered some of it. Every time I recall something I loved… it grows."
They walked through a meadow of laughter — not humans, just sound, suspended in the air like flowers.
"What's that?"
"A memory of children," he replied. "Some never grow up. Their laughter remains."
She looked at him. "Is this heaven?"
Gabriel's smile dimmed. "No. Heaven would not have teeth."
She looked again — and the flowers were chewing flies. The trees blinked. A bush coughed.
She shivered.
"You said you wouldn't keep me long," she reminded.
"I won't," he promised. "But let me show you one more place.".
He led her down twisting trails, rolling boulders, and stomach-dropping skies. And then, out of nowhere, they were on the edge of a lake. Smooth and quiet. The water mirrored not the sky — but seconds.
Margo breathed, and leaned in.
She saw herself in the lake — weeping in her old room. Julia embracing her. Her father screaming. Zara dumping spaghetti. Vielle smiling with wickedness. Lindsay hugging her at the adoption center.
"This lake," Gabriel answered, "tells you what you're made of. Things you try to forget."
Margo whispered, "Why would anyone want to remember these things?"
"Because without them," he said softly, "you'd forget who you are."
She looked at him. "Do you watch me? Always?"
Gabriel paused. "Not always. Only when I miss being real."
Her voice broke. "I don't know if I'm afraid… or if I want to stay."
Gabriel smiled, his tone less stern. "I won't hold you back, Margo. I only wanted you to understand that there's this place. You don't have to be as isolated as they made you believe."
She glanced behind her, where she'd wrapped a pillow around her and forced herself to laugh, a look on her face that hadn't occurred in weeks.
"That was when Lindsay showed me that room," she spoke quietly.
"That's when you considered, briefly, that maybe… you would be okay."
She nodded.
Silence descended between them.
Gabriel then said, "It's time to go back."
"But—"
"You said you wouldn't be long."
He extended his hand again.
She gazed at it.
And this time, she didn't move.
Cold seeped into her flesh as Margo backed away through the underbrush, the otherworldly landscape of green clouds and dream trees receding behind. Gabriel's warm hand lingered a fraction too long, and when she jerked away, the world turned and ran backward.
Darkness closed in once more.
Home.
Trainer skidded up on gravel. Lawn sparkled with dew. A snap of wind caught and knotted her hair.
The porch light of Lindsay's house hummed softly.
She ran.
"MARGO!"
Lindsay's voice cut the silence like a whip. She was in the doorway, housecoat tied tightly around her waist. Furious rage glared out of her eyes. "Where were you?!" she yelled, grabbing Margo's wrist the moment she began up the steps.
"I— I just needed air—just a walk—I wasn't—"
"Do you know what time it is?! Something might have happened to you?" Lindsay's fingers shook. "You're no longer in that mansion. You don't just vanish into the night!!"
Margo's head reeled, eyes staring wide, as guilt consumed her. "I'm sorry—Lindsay, I promise—I didn't mean to—"
"No more sneaking around. Ever. Or I'll take you in to the center. Do you hear me?"
"I said I'm sorry!" Margo's voice cracked, louder than she meant, and for a moment, they just stared at each other—two shadows burning in opposite winds.
Then Lindsay stepped back, her expression falling like broken glass. "Go to your room."
Without a word, Margo turned and strode up the stairs. Her bedroom was a prison. Her hands shook as she wrapped them around the pillow. She didn't weep. Not yet. She just gazed at the ceiling. A ceiling that was. Lower than normal. The walls were breathing. Her nightmares arrived too soon.
The sun was nearly too bright the following morning.
She did not wait for Lindsay to call her.
As Lindsay shoved open the door to her bedroom, Margo was already on her way to making herself toothbrush-ready, uniform crisply pressed, shoes polished. She did not say a word. At breakfast, they could hardly look at one another. Lindsay pushed a plate in front of her.
"Eat," she said. Quietly. Levelly.
Margo ate.
Silence was their language that morning.
When she was done, Margo did not wait around for the car. She got up and approached the front door.
"You're walking?" Lindsay asked.
Margo did not turn. "Yeah."
She stepped outside—and felt free.
A voice at her back cracked the tension. "Wait up!"
Vielle ran toward her, backpack swinging, boots scattering pebbles.
"You deserted me yesterday, didn't you?" she kidded. "Where were you?"
Margo stumbled. "Nowhere. Just walked."
Vielle's eyes grew narrow with amusement. "Well, next time, at least leave a trail of breadcrumbs or something."
They walked together.
"Did you hear?" Vielle whispered. "People said I was glowing yesterday."
Margo blinked. "Glowing?"
"Yeah. Like, literally. Some people said I was… too bright to look at. Weird, right?"
Margo scrunched up her face. "That's. creepy."
"Creepy or jealous?" Vielle laughed.
"I think… both."
They reached the school gates just as a voice cut through the air. "My favorite stars of NorthFord!"
George.
He spun toward them like he was born on a runway, walking backward, grinning like the sky owed him light.
"You ladies good?" he asked.
"We're okay," Vielle said.
Margo just smiled, eyes flicking to his hair, his jawline. He had a stupidly perfect jawline.
"Happy you didn't vanish," he said, looking at Margo now. "The school's not so lyrical without you."
"Shut up," she growled, her face flushing.
They walked in together. It was supposed to be ordinary. It wasn't.
The moment they stepped into the hallway, eyes flicked. Mouths formed words. But this time… the glares weren't for Margo.
They were for Vielle.
It was as if someone had turned a knob on her. Her face pale under the fluorescent lights. Her uniform less vibrant. Even her sunny smile subdued.
"What's with the staring?" Vielle growled. "Do I have something on my face?"
A girl who walked by snickered. "She looks. off."
"Maybe she got something," another whispered.
"She looks sick."
Margo pushed in front of Vielle, voice booming and cut-glass sharp. "Say it louder, cowards."
The corridor became still.
Even the teacher who emerged from Room 4B hesitated. "Girls, get into line," she snapped.
Margo continued to observe the whispers as she entered along with Vielle.
"Thanks," Vielle whispered softly.
Margo did not smile. "They're worms. Don't let them touch your light."
Vielle touched Margo's arm. "But what if. what if it is fading?"
Margo shook her head. "It's not."
But even as she spoke, she wasn't certain. Because something wasn't quite right. The lights in the hallways, the faces—everything seemed a little awry today. As if something had pulled back a curtain and the underbelly was exposed.
Gabriel wasn't at school again.
But she could sense him.
Somewhere—watching.