“Harper,” I say hesitantly. “Avitas . . .” “Mmm?” I love you. Such simple words. But they are not enough. They don’t convey what I mean. “Emifal Firdaant,” I say to him. “You’ve said that before.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “What does it mean?” I cannot quite look at him when I say it. “May death claim me first.” “Ah, no, my love.” He gathers me close. “You cannot go first. I could not make sense of the world if you did.”
