When I emerge into darkness, I feel the way I did the very first time. I half expect to step out onto Alloy soil, to see Nick’s grinning face as he holds a hand out to help me onto the pod.

But I walk out into the scuffed orange heart of a cave. When I look over my shoulder, I find myself between a red door and a river. I’ve been here before.

“Again?”

The Ferryman shoves an oar into the water. Bright blue sparks splash up around him, lighting the side of the dinghy like lightning. He brushes his braid off his shoulder and marches off the skiff, onto dry land. His pupil-less eyes scour me out of the darkness. They narrow.

“It’s not your time yet, child of Ignis. For once…” He folds his arms over his chest, almost annoyed. “You have no coin to offer me.”

“But I have more, right? More coins?”

He does not answer me, though I didn’t expect him to. It would ruin the anticipation.

“I meant to ask you last time," I say, starting toward the skiff, to meet Death defiantly where he is standing. "Is a coin a soul?”

“A coin is just a ticket to the afterlife, offered to me upon the deliverance of a spirit. Your soul is still yours after the river’s crossing.”

“But it is not the only way to cross.”

The Ferryman raises a brow.

“Depends. There are exceptions.”

“Alexis Irías. Have you seen him?”

“His soul has not come my way, no,” He says with an unreadable expression. I swallow my nerves and rummage through my backpack.

“How about Laverna? The Element.”

“Yes.”

I swallow the pit in my stomach and straighten my shoulders.

“Take me to her.”

“I already told you, I don’t control these waters, I am only a messenger. And even if I wanted to I can’t, not without payment. No one rides this river for free.”

“Who said anything about riding for free?”

I hug the rabbit close to my chest one last time, almost swept up in a heavy ache. I close my eyes briefly and I’m back on that rooftop in Nova Carta, the dying sun setting us ablaze. Just Alex, the sky, and I. This is all I have left of that moment, of that place.

I hold it out to the Ferryman. Nothing is more important than getting Alex back. Nothing.

He looks down at the rabbit, and then back to me. The way the corners of his murky-white eyes droop, one could almost mistake it for softness. I look down, half-expecting to see the torn wings of a viceroy in my palms.

“This is not a round trip ticket, kid.”

“I know,” I say quickly. “I don’t care.”

His lips tug into a frown. The Ferryman sighs. And I wonder suddenly if he’s lonely. This is a lonely job. It must be. Does he know what it's like to love someone? To lose someone?

“Aiden,” he says, like I am an old friend. “You will not find what you’re looking for there.”

“I have to try.”

“Is it worth your life?”

“He is worth everything to me,” I say. “So do not try to persuade me, or tell me that this is selfish, that I’m failing the prophecy if I don’t come back. I know all that already. And I do not care.”

After a beat, he nods. “Very well.”

As he takes the stuffed animal in my hands, it begins to transform. In a flash of light, a coin rests on his open hand. He tucks it into the front pocket of his trousers. I have stopped becoming surprised by these things. There is no magic in the unusual, not these days.

He motions toward the boat with his head and I climb in, careful not to touch the water. He lights the lantern hanging at the bow with a match.

Blue and purple lights swim up around us, lost souls. One of them is him.

My eyes fall down to my hands. My markings are gone. No scars, no wounds, no blemishes.

I am silent as the Ferryman dips his oar back into the water. The numbness is excruciating. There is nothing left for me to say. I don’t think about what I’m leaving behind, the people and places. All I can do is keep my eyes down, on my hands, on the water. I can only seem to think about one thing.

My first kiss was with a girl from high school. I don’t remember her name. I don't remember much about her. I didn’t have many friends then, I never really did, though I didn’t care so much. After middle school I stopped being the district’s charity case. I hated those pity parties. The way everyone looked at me like a kicked puppy. So I was rellieved when everyone moved on - forgot about Lucy and I, about our dead mother and the fact that we lived in a group home.

It was a dare. She was dared to kiss me by her friends, like I was diseased or something. I was in ninth grade at that time.

She had black hair, straight and long enough to slide down her back like oil. Her eyes were a sharp blue or maybe green. I honestly don’t remember.

She didn’t though. She didn’t kiss me for the dare. And I was grateful for that, even though her friends only laughed at me more. And afterwards she apologized to me, told me that I deserved to be kissed by someone who likes me because they like me, not for any other reason. She was a sophomore, one year my senior.

She invited me over to her house the next day, told me she just wanted to hang out because her parents weren’t home, to apologize the right way or something. I should have refused. I didn’t.

And it was awkward for a bit. We watched cartoons, played Mario Kart on her brother’s busted up Wii. And then, after a stretch of silence, she reached over and kissed me.

It was a simple, chaste kiss. There were no sparks, no pounding heart. It was just a cursory collision of lips. And I didn’t feel anything from it. She was a very beautiful girl, which made me wonder why. I just remember brushing off the sticky strawberry gloss that had transferred to my lips with my sleeve. It tasted too sweet, too artificial.

Why did you kiss me? I had asked. Didn’t you tell me I should only kiss someone who likes me?

Do you like me? She asked in return. I told her she was very beautiful, because it was the truth, and any other answer I could have provided would not have been. And maybe I could like her. Maybe I could bring myself to.

She never answered my questions. But, satisfied with my own answer, she smiled.

Do you want me to kiss you again?

Ok.

I didn’t feel anything after that either. All I could think about was why not. Shortly after, the bedroom door slammed open and her father walked in. Screamed at me, and at her. It wasn’t a cruel kind of shouting, it wasn’t significant enough to be.

During that brief slew of shouting I wondered if her father ever told her clearly that he loves her; I wondered if fathers could only show love through coldness. At that moment I was very glad to not have a father. And I promised to never love like that, through screams. Even if it made me a coward, or less of a man. I would never yell at my daughter, not even for kissing a boy on the lips with the door closed. Not even if that boy is a pitiful loser.

I am grateful for the love my mother taught me, proud of its softness, even if it made me weak.

It’s an inconsequential memory. I don’t know why this is what I think about as I’m carried down the river to Hell.

“You should know,” the Ferryman says to break the silence. “I saw that kid’s soul the other day, the one who’s always watching me.”

“Wormwood.”

“Yes. He’s doing well, you know,” the Ferryman says. “Happiest I ever saw him.”

“He’s dead,” I say, numbly.

“There you go again, you mortals and your death. I mean it, you know. He’s ok. Him and his sister. Onto the next bigger thing.”

“You don’t have to console me,” I say, more bitter than I intended to. But the last thing I want now is comfort. I would rather be in pain, uncomfortable in grief and in guilt. He shrugs again, plunging the oar deep into the water to halt the boat.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “We’re here.”

This time there is no staircase. Beyond the rocky shore, an obsidian black door is carved into the cave walls. I don’t know why but I expected something far more grand than this.

“So this is goodbye?” I ask, taking his outstretched hand.

“Maybe.” I step foot on the rocks and turn around. The Ferryman rolls up his sleeves and shoves the skiff off of the shore. “Maybe not.”

I watch as he rows down the river, until the light of his lantern is swallowed by darkness. Only the slight shine of passing souls light my way.

On the other side of this door is the end of a prophecy. The place where I will die, where I will remain after death. Am I playing right into fate’s hands by walking there willingly? Or am I finally freeing myself from them? I do not know. Maybe it’s silly to still believe in destiny.

“Aiden.”

Goosebumps crawl over the back of my neck. When I look over my shoulder there is no one there. So why do I keep hearing voices? I swear they’re saying my name.

I shake myself out of it, grip the doorknob, and twist.

To calm my nerves, I find myself humming Stairway to Heaven. As I always do, I attempt to pretend my fear away. It doesn’t work. It rarely ever does.

In church I was told that I would ascend to pearly white gates, opening to an angelic choir, so long as I was baptized. But the door to the afterlife opens to a hallway, lit by torches hanging on marble walls. I step out onto obsidian tiles, polished to the point where it looks like I am stepping onto the undisturbed surface of a black lake.

Each step I take leaves a loud echo behind me. Another step away from life, closer to saving Alex. There’s another door at the end of the hallway, the only other door. It creaks open.