I regretted not listening to Lucian when I was alive.

Every time he saw Julian, he made some cutting remark.

Looking back, his warnings had been painfully clear.

And every time, I had leaped to Julian’s defense.

Once, after working until the early hours, I saw Julian post that he missed the vegetable pastries from Briar House Bakery.

The bakery was famous. It made only a hundred a day. Once they sold out, that was it.

People lined up before dawn.

I drove across most of the city that night.

The shop opened at six. I arrived at four thirty.

Afraid I would sleep through an alarm in the car, and afraid the pastries would sell out before I got any, I stood outside in the cold for an hour and a half.

By the time I bought them, my hands and feet were numb.

Then my car broke down.

Lucian happened to pass.

For once, I swallowed my pride and asked him to drive me to Julian’s place.

He let me into the car.

He looked at my frozen red hands, then at the pastries cradled against my chest like treasure.

“Are you auditioning to be the tragic heroine of some melodrama?”

I glared at him.

“Does Julian have no hands? No feet? No brain? If he wanted them that badly, he could pay someone a few extra dollars to stand in line. But here you are, staying up all night to prove how devoted you are.”

His tongue had always been vicious. I couldn’t be bothered arguing.

“If eating them makes him happy, it’s worth it. Real love is priceless. I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

His face turned dark.

“You’re beyond saving.”

He told the driver to stop.

I thought he meant to throw me out. I was ready to leave.

Instead, he moved to the front passenger seat.

“Sitting beside you is lowering my IQ.”

Even the back of his head looked exasperated.

The memory was so clear I laughed softly.

Then the laughter faded, leaving only sadness.

He sat beside me now, his face as familiar as it had been that morning.

But life and death stood between us.

We would never truly meet again.

The thought hurt.

“Lucian.”

I had said his name countless times while alive.

Usually with anger.

This time, all I felt was gratitude.

Whether I was his enemy or his prey, he was the one person who had never betrayed me.

He had saved my life twice.

“Thank you.”

His eyes opened.

He turned his head abruptly.

Suddenly, we were looking straight at each other, our noses almost touching.

Too close.

I could hear his heart.

Strong.

Steady.

Something trembled in his gray-blue eyes.

I knew he couldn’t see me.

Still, I grew nervous and drew back awkwardly.

What was wrong with me?

I was dead.

Why did I feel hot?

Miles noticed in the mirror.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Lucian pressed his fingers to his temple.

“I thought I heard…”

He stopped.

“Heard what?”

“Nothing.”

He lowered the window halfway and let the cold wind in.

I stared at him.

Had he heard my voice?

Impossible.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought.

Outside, daylight faded. Neon signs came on.

The roadside trees were bare. Winter was beginning, and darkness fell earlier now.

The car left the overpass and headed toward the river.

What was he doing here?

He got out and opened the trunk.

I followed.

The trunk of his million-dollar car was filled with boxes of fireworks.

I looked again.

Fireworks.

Not weapons.

He rolled up his sleeves and carried the boxes to the bank.

Miles started forward to help.

One look stopped him.

I watched, increasingly confused.

It was freezing. Why had he decided to come here and set off fireworks?

Patiently, he carried every box himself and arranged them in a line.

Then he lowered himself onto one knee and lit the fuses.

Light shot into the boundless dark.

One burst after another opened overhead.

Roses.

I went still.

A realization passed through me like electricity.

Roses bloomed across the sky.

Their reflections opened again on the river.

Two displays. Two dazzling gardens of light, one above and one below.

Lucian stood where they met.

For a moment, he looked unreal. More beautiful and more fragile than the fireworks themselves.

He gazed upward with an attention so complete it was almost tenderness.

At last, as the final flowers faded, his lips moved silently.

“Happy birthday.”

A few steps away, Miles scratched his head.

He could read lips.

“Who gets a birthday like this? They’re not even here, and he’s setting off the fireworks himself.”

My mind rang.

Lucian turned and walked toward us.

I could barely think.

Nobody knew today was my real birthday.

Nobody but me.

The Whitmores had considered my original birth date unlucky. They made the day they adopted me my official birthday instead.

Later, I secretly found the actual date.

Every year, I went somewhere quiet and celebrated alone.

Last year, I had come to an overlooked corner of this riverbank.

Nearby, a couple were celebrating their daughter’s birthday.

They brought cake and sparklers from their car. The little girl wore a crown. Her smile was impossibly sweet.

After making her wish, she ran around waving the lights.

Their happy laughter reached me.

The cake in my mouth tasted bitter.

I envied her.

Each year, I wrote down a wish and hid it in a hollow tree I considered my own little hiding place.

Last year, I had wished that someone would set off a magnificent display by the river for my next birthday.

On impulse, I had drawn a rose beside the words.

This couldn’t be coincidence.

The date.

The river.

The roses.

These fireworks were for me.

But how had he known?

No.

More importantly, why?

I clenched my hands as he came closer.

Just before he passed through the place where I stood, I spoke.

“What are you doing, Lucian?”

Everything he did after my death was something I hadn’t expected.

Suddenly, he seemed like a stranger.

I was only prey to him, wasn’t I? Something new and exciting to hunt.

A hunter set traps. Watched a cornered animal struggle.

He didn’t do this.

“What am I to you?” I whispered.

“Sir.”

Miles had answered a call. He hurried forward.

“We have Owen. But…”