Someday, I think maybe I’d like to track down his father. I did some quick internet sleuthing but could only find out that he quit his sheriff’s job and left Paradise. I’d like to tell him what happened to Mark and what he did for us before he died, even if he might not want to hear that.

There are some things I’m not ready for. That’s one of them. The other is here too.

I land in the Goode family’s backyard, happy to find Malcolm working in the garden. It takes me a minute of watching him to realize why the patch of earth he’s tending looks so strange—it’s where his bunker used to be hidden. Looks like Malcolm and Mrs. Goode decided to level the old well that used to lead down to Malcolm’s secret chamber. In the fresh soil, they’ve planted flowers of every conceivable color. I assume Pittacus Lore’s body is still buried underneath there, and, if so, I imagine he’d be pleased with this resting place.

Malcolm hugs me for a long time when I surprise him. My eyes well up when he does. It’s the place. I can’t help thinking about everything that happened here. I can’t help imagining, for just a second, that Malcolm is Henri.

After I give him the same gift that I’ve given all the others, Malcolm tries to get me to stay for dinner.

“I can’t,” I tell him. “Too much left to do.”

He shakes his head ruefully. “Still off saving the world, huh?”

“Nothing quite so serious,” I reply. “I’m going to visit Sam next.”

“Tell him to call his mother!” Malcolm says with a shake of his head. “And tell him he needs to come home eventually and finish high school or he’ll never get into a good college. There’s a limit to how much vacation a young man should be allowed to take, no matter how many planets he’s helped saved.”

Laughing, I promise to tell Sam all that. Then I fly out of Malcolm’s backyard, turn invisible again and land a few houses over.

Sarah Hart’s house.

I stand on the front walk, not turning visible, not moving. It’s just like I remember it. I imagine jogging up the sidewalk and ringing the doorbell, how excited I would be to see her, my heart racing. She’d invite me in, and her house would smell amazing like it always would, and we’d—

There’s no movement in the windows. The house is dark. There’s a FOR SALE sign driven into the front yard.

I’ve imagined this a hundred times over the last year. How I would come here and ring the doorbell like old times. How I would see Sarah’s parents and tell them how much I loved their daughter, how much she meant to me, how much she meant to the world even if not many people know it and how sorry I am that I dragged her into everything that happened. I would tell them that I miss her every day. And then I would throw myself on their mercy.

I’ve imagined it so many times, but I can’t do it. I can’t take that walk up those steps.

I’m too scared. I don’t want to see the look in their eyes. I don’t want to grapple with the pain I’ve caused them.

Maybe someday I’ll be ready.

Not today.

In their tour of Europe, Six and Sam have made it to Montenegro by the time I catch up with them. They’re camping on a secluded part of Jaz Beach. Even at night, the water shines like crystal, the purple swells of the nearby hills a stunning contrast. I’m happy for them—the way they’ve traveled, how much they’ve seen in a year—and at the same time, my heart aches because it isn’t me.

On the beach, I find their campfire and their tent, but I don’t find Six or Sam. No, for that I need to follow the trail of clothes towards the water’s edge. I see them out there, silhouettes in the moonlight, tangled together in the water.

I laugh quietly and look away.

I’m not going to be a third wheel here, even if I do miss them both badly. I also haven’t talked to Six since—well, since she saved my life. A life that I was more than ready to throw away. Like Sarah’s family, I’m not sure what I’ll say to her. For now, better to let it go unsaid.

From inside my wooden box, I withdraw two pendants. They’re carved from Loralite stone that I chipped off the main rock back in the Himalayas. Chiseled into both of them is the Loric symbol for Unity. I drape these across their sleeping bags and find a scrap of paper to write them a short note. I let them know how the pendants work, that they just need to visualize the Himalayas and it should bring them to the chamber I’ve set up, the one I’ve scrubbed clean of the past and made ready for the future.

I write that I hope I’ll see them soon, and I mean it.