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Is it true?_ I ask him.__s what true?_ His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.__hat you still love me,_ I say, breathless. __ need to know.__lex nods. He reaches out and touches my face__arely skimming my cheekbone and brushing away a bit of my hair. __t__ true.___ut . . . I__e changed,_ I say. __nd you__e changed.___hat__ true too,_ he says quietly. I look at the scar on his face, stretching from his left eye to his jawline, and something hitches in my chest.__o what now?_ I ask him. The light is too bright; the day feels as though it__ merging into dream.__o you love me?_ Alex asks. And I could cry; I could press my face into his chest and breathe in, and pretend that nothing has changed, that everything will be perfect and whole and healed again.But I can__. I know I can__.__ never stopped._ I look away from him. I look at Grace, and the high grass littered with the wounded and the dead. I think of Julian, and his clear blue eyes, his patience and goodness. I think of all the fighting we__e done, and all the fighting we have yet to do. I take a deep breath. __ut it__ more complicated than that.__lex reaches out and places his hands on my shoulders. ____ not going to run away again,_ he says.__ don__ want you to,_ I tell him.His fingers find my cheek, and I rest for a second against his palm, letting the pain of the past few months flow out of me, letting him turn my head toward his. Then he bends down and kisses me: light and perfect, his lips just barely meeting mine, a kiss that promises renewal.