“What happened?” I ask.

War’s throat works. “When I woke …” he draws in a shaky breath, “You were gone.” His eyes are wild with emotion. “You came to save me and I couldn’t save you.”

I glance down at my body. My clothes are in charred tatters. Just seeing the state they’re in … there must have been an explosion. One that I don’t remember and never felt.

I take in my outfit again. The fabric is almost completely burned away, and yet my skin remains unblemished.

The abrupt end in my memory … I must’ve been hurt badly enough to black out. Which could only mean that War somehow healed me.

“You did save me,” I reply, confused. How could he say he hadn’t done so? If he hadn’t, there would be wounds, and I would be in pain.

“Not with my own two hands,” he admits.

My brows furrow. I don’t understand.

“Then how?” I ask.

He strokes my hair back. “I am free, Miriam.”

I must’ve hit my head really hard because I’m not following. “Free of what?”

“My purpose.”

It’s as much as he’s admitted before, but this time, I truly process his words. “You really aren’t going to kill anymore?” I say.

He shakes his head. “Not unless it’s to protect you—or our daughter.”

I raise my eyebrows, then glance down at my stomach. “Our daughter?”

He smiles at me, and that smile seems to stretch to every corner of his face. He’s so painfully gorgeous. “Sorry to ruin the surprise.”

Our daughter.

“How did you find out?”

“I told you, I didn’t save you. My brother did.”

“Your brother?” I say quizzically.

“Death.”

With that one word, my light mood vanishes.

There’s only one reason why Death himself would save me.

“I … died?” I can barely force the words out.

War stares at me for a long moment. “For a time.”

Oh God … I died.

I touch my stomach again, panic clawing up my throat. “And the baby—she’s still alive?”

“I made sure of it.”

I begin to weep then—because apparently crying is contagious right now.

I don’t understand. I went from dying to living. As did War. As did our child.

“I surrendered,” I say nonsensically.

War pulls me tight against him. “So did I.”

For a moment, the two of us simply stay like that. His body is as solid as ever; he feels unchanged, and yet things must’ve changed.

“What’s the catch?” I ask him.

Everything I love, I lose. Now, when it seems like I have regained it all, I’m afraid it’ll slip away from me again.

“There is no catch,” War says, “unless you count the fact that now I am well and truly mortal. I will live and age and die as you will.”

When he said he was free of his purpose, he meant it literally.

Whatever happened while I was … gone … it came at a steep personal cost to War. So steep that he lost his immortality.

My heart breaks a little at that. I’ve seen enough of death to last me at least twenty-seven lifetimes.

“And Deimos?” I ask.

“He will endure the same fate.”

“What about the other horsemen?” The ones who haven’t yet walked the earth.

War’s expression turns grim. “My brothers will not stop, and they are even stronger than me.”

So the world still isn’t safe—but it isn’t beyond saving, either. Pestilence and War laid down their weapons. Not all hope is lost.

Besides, that’s a worry for a later time.

I’m alive, War’s alive, and my child’s alive. Oh—and there will be no more killing.

The corner of my mouth curves up as a thought hits me. “Are all your powers gone, or can you still speak every language that has ever existed?”

“San sani du, seni nüşüna ukuvı?”

Can you still understand me when I do?

A laugh slips out. “I can.”

War and I stare at each other, and for the first time, it truly sinks in.

It’s over. It’s really over. The fighting and killing and suffering. I get to have this man and my child and a future too.

My smile slips away. “What do we do now?” I ask him.

“I don’t care, wife, so long as I do it with you.”

Chapter 63

Two years later

My heart is in my throat when I knock on the blue door in front of me. The house, like many others in Heraklion, Crete, is picturesque, despite showing some signs of weather damage.

Maybe we got it wrong again. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately.

On the other side of the door I can hear muffled voices, then the sound of footfalls approaching.

It’s taken me a long time to get to this moment—nearly a decade if I tally up all the time that’s passed. If, of course, this is in fact the moment I’ve been waiting for.

The door opens, and I don’t breathe as I take in the woman standing on the other side.

I got it right. I know it in an instant.

She looks different—much, much older than I remember—but all the familiar features are still there.

“Mom?” I say.

For a moment, my mother just stands there, her face blank. She studies my own face, like this might be a joke, and then—there it is. Recognition flares in her eyes. She covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes welling up.

“Miriam?”

I draw in what feels like my first breath. I nod, blinking back my own tears. I’ve waited so long for this.

Can’t believe it’s happening.

“It’s me,” I say, my voice shaky.

She lets out a sob, then opens her arms wide, sweeping me up into her embrace.

My mom is really still alive. And I’m hugging her.

Years of pain and separation dissolve away in that moment. I dreamed of this embrace so many times.

Her entire body is shaking. “My baby. My daughter.” She’s now openly weeping and rocking me against her, and I can’t see straight through my own tears. She pets my hair back as she holds me. “For years I prayed to whatever god would listen,” she says, the apology thick in her voice. “I stayed here, on Crete, because I wanted to be close in case—”

I shake my head against her. I’m not here for explanations. I understand. Everything I went through had to happen for me to find War and end up right here, and it all started with my miraculous survival from that first explosion.

“It’s alright, Mom. I found you.” And you’re alive. This is my wildest hope come true. “It’s alright,” I repeat again.

Now she clings to me, like I’m the mother and she’s the child. “My daughter, my intelligent, resilient daughter. There are so many things I want to know about you—so many years and memories …”

“Mama?” a woman calls from inside the house.

I stiffen at the familiar voice. I remember that voice singing me to sleep years and years ago. It’s like music, hearing it again when I thought I might never get to.