“I’ll never be what you are,” he says, wielding it like a threat, like a weapon, a knife thrown at her in a lazy arc.

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be who you really are,” she says, stepping close, as if daring him to flinch.

When he doesn’t, they both breathe a bit easier, some dead knot in Kaz’s chest easing a fraction apart, fiber by fiber.