He passed advertisements for newsoul-focused communities, others for oldsoul-only communities. Not everyone was satisfied with their second chance.
Where the temple once stood, now there was a memorial, an obsidian phoenix wreathed in roses of every color. The flutist played somewhere on the steps leading up to it.
He pushed between tents and stalls until finally he saw a girl on the stairs, lost in the music of “Ana Incarnate.” Heavy black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her limbs were all angles, like someone who hadn’t fully grown into her body. She would be tall, and for someone who looked barely a quindec, she played remarkably well.
He wasn’t the only music teacher in Range, but still. The way she moved with the music. The way she connected with it.
As he pushed through the crowd, the girl’s attention snapped up, and she looked at him. Her cheeks tightened as she played toward the coda, as though she were trying not to smile.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hope. Couldn’t stop remembering the light flooding from Ana into the silver chain.
Sam climbed the stairs two at a time as the black-haired girl played four long notes and lowered her flute. When she bent to place it in her case, obsidian-black wings stretched behind her: the phoenix statue.
He wanted to believe. Wanted more than anything.
He stopped only a step away from her while people milled around, ignoring them. Stef called his name in the distance, but he didn’t turn.
“Is it really you?” He’d never wished for anything so much.
The girl looked up at him. Her eyes were so blue they put the sky to shame. She could have been anyone, but she’d drawn him with her music. Even if he couldn’t trust his eyes, he could trust his ears and heart. She wasn’t just anyone.
With a strangled cry, he caught her in his arms. “I’ve been too afraid to hope,” he breathed. She was hugging him back, and they were both trembling. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She pulled away to turn her palms up, revealing pale scars. Chain links. When shadows passed over her skin, the scars glowed.
Ana leaned close and whispered, “I’ve been reborn.”
ACKNOWLEDMENTS
UNENDING THANKS TO:
Lauren MacLeod, my agent. I can’t imagine doing this publishing thing without you. From midnight crazy emails to editorial advice to contract negotiations: you handle it all, and more. Thank you for always believing in me.
Sarah Shumway, my editor. I’ve always thought the best kind of editor is one who can see through a messy draft to the heart of the story and help the author tell the tale they intended. You are that kind of editor, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Thank you for always pushing me to look deeper and work harder.
The entire team at Katherine Tegen Books, including:
Alana Whitman, Aubry Parks-Fried, Lauren Flower, Margot Wood, Megan Sugrue, Stephanie Stein, and King Snarkles, an epic team of epic people (and stuffed hedgehog) who make epic things happen for epic books. Love you ladies (and hedgie)!
Amy Ryan and Joel Tippie, art director and designer, who gave the Incarnate trilogy a series of amazing covers and gorgeous insides. You guys are magic.
Brenna Franzitta and Valerie Shea, production editor and copy editor, who not only catch missing commas but all sorts of stuff that would completely embarrass me if it ever saw paper. Thanks for making me look smarter than I really am!
Casey McIntyre, my publicist and occasional superhero. I’d throw a parade in your honor, but I don’t think I could organize it without your help.
Lauren Dubin, production manager, who doesn’t get nearly enough credit for all she does.
Laurel Symonds, editorial assistant extraordinaire, who Gets Stuff Done. You are amazing.
And, of course, Katherine Tegen herself, publisher of so many amazing books. Thank you for giving the Incarnate trilogy a home. I can’t imagine a better place for Ana and Sam.
Friends who doubled as critique partners for this manuscript:
Adam Heine, who read a super-early (and bad) draft of Infinite and still wanted to be my friend. Thanks, man. (As for whether I’ve actually taken a ride on a dragon, well, I can’t say. In public.)
Christine Nguyen, the sweetest smooshface who ever lived. You brighten every day. Thank you for always being so enthusiastic and loving. You are to me what Sarit is to Ana.
C. J. Redwine, my Brain Twin. Not only are you hilarious and talented and one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, you’re also one of the best friends I could have asked for.
Corinne Duyvis, who also read an extremely early version of this manuscript. You’re a trooper! (But seriously, no petting wild bears, okay?)
Gabrielle Harvey, who does her best to keep me from looking like a musical dunce (all mistakes are my own!), and who also helped create Dossam’s Greatest Hits. One day, we will persuade someone to make Phoenix Symphony real for us. One day!