Josie smacked his shoulder as a smirk slid across his face. It pulled the corner of his mouth higher on the left side. It was a smile that Josie knew well. It was teasing and joyous and something that she would never grow tired of.

Later that night, when Josie was sleeping in his bed, Tristan snuck out for a smoke. He sat on the back porch, in the dark, staring out at the trees. Like the last time he’d been there, Bitsy tiptoed across the porch and took a seat beside him.

“She’s so different. So sad and hurt, but strong,” Bitsy said.

Tristan nodded and exhaled his smoke.

“She’s everything,” he answered.

Tristan felt disconnected from the moment. After everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to go back to this straight life of family dinners and holiday visits. Not until the sound of his mother crying jarred him from his inner musings. Finally meeting her glassy eyes, his brick wall fell away and he pulled her into an embrace.

“You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if we’d ever see you again, but I prayed every day that you were safe and happy. Were you happy, sweetheart?”

“‘The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was and the present worse than it is.’”

“Tell me in your words, Tristan,” Bitsy begged.

“I was happy for a while. Fiona broke my heart, just like you warned she would. I don’t think she ever really cared about me. But now I have Josie.”

“And you’ve found your way home.”

Tristan nodded and threw his inked arm around the back of the seat, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Daniel watched his wife and son’s exchange through the plate-glass window at the back of the house. Even with the rift between them, he could sense that things were healing. The way their bodies leaned toward each other gave him a sense of relief. The warm light cast from the den painted the pair in scattered highlights and soft golden shadows. He smiled, content in the resurrection of that uniting force known as family.

On a celestial body, the vertical direction below the observer’s feet.

“I want your papers turned in by Friday. Make sure to really delve into the underlying struggle between these two societies and cite your sources, people,” the instructor announced as the students filed out of the classroom.

Alex slid his pen behind his ear and tucked his notebook beneath his arm. Taking a look around the room, he still couldn’t believe that he was here. Surrounded by off-white paint and fluorescent lighting, he found it humorous that he sat among these young, impressionable kids four days a week. He’d once taken a vow to never set foot inside another cinder-block institution. This, however, would be his one exception.

It was the love and encouragement of Erin that had pushed him to do better, to be better. He wanted to be everything she needed and everything she deserved. Not to mention, for the first time in his adult life, he could be a role model. Her son, Parker, watched and mimicked his behavior. The boy looked at Alex like he was a superhero, making him accountable for his actions. Alex loved that Erin didn’t try to change him; she embraced all of his bad and his good. It had been his idea to pursue a bachelor’s degree in business management. Hell, he’d been managing some sort of business his entire life.

When Alex was younger, he had imagined what it would be like living the straight life. Punching in and out somewhere, paying taxes and collecting social security when he grew old. Though social acceptance appealed to most, it had never appealed to him. The thought alone had always felt suffocating. But when you have someone who holds you accountable, someone who isn’t afraid to question you and desire more from you, it’s all too easy to amend your aspirations.

In the past year, his relationship with Erin had been slow moving, but for the first time in his life he was okay with that. He loved her quick temper while she embraced his childlike personality. The sex was amazing, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Erin had taught him to connect on every level, and as far as Alex was concerned, there was no other way to live. They were equals and opposites all at the same time. It was strange to have such a positive outlook on his future, to be so unsure yet unafraid of what was to come. He was free and he was loved, what more could a hoodlum from Logan Heights ask for?

He thought about Tristan and Josie often, marveling at their ability to survive such tragedy and tricky circumstance. He wondered where they were and what their lives were like, but he never wondered if they were together. That was a given.

Confined to the shadows of the streets of Prague, Rob Nettles pulled the gun from his waistband. His pulse thundered in his ears, making it nearly impossible to hear anything else. The index finger on his right hand twitched against the trigger, and he cursed his edginess. Bouncing his head off of the brick wall a few times, he fought to maintain control of his senses, focusing on the pain of the rough brick against his scalp. He wanted to remain entirely aware of what was about to go down. This was his destiny, his death.

In the year since he’d lost Monica, Rob had been focused on exterminating this bastard. He stumbled upon this ring of human trading and child enslavement. He’d heard about it through some punk rookie when he’d returned to Manhattan. Before Monica, the idea of this would have displeased him, but he would have sat back and done nothing. Now things were different. The idea of children being bought and sold and mistreated enraged him. He took it as a severe dishonor to everything Monica had ever worked for.

For months, Rob had been climbing his way through the organization, feigning indifference to the suffering of innocents. He endured so many pain-filled nights alone that he could not survive it any longer. If he thought the world was dark before he met Monica, it was downright abysmal now that she was gone.

Rob had been planning this suicide mission for a while, his resolve never faltering. Finally nailing down the leader’s schedule, he waited in the most opportune place for an ambush. The man would be vulnerable for a few seconds, and with Rob’s accuracy, a few seconds was all he needed. The only problem was that the man’s guards would then descend upon him.

Echoing footsteps signaled their approach, and with self-loathing conviction, he stepped from the shadows and nailed his target before being perforated by their retaliation. He smiled at this, exhaling long and slow. He welcomed their punishments, each bullet bringing pain and absolution. He silently begged for forgiveness and pictured his Button’s smiling face. Rob embraced his death and all that it offered him, peace and the end of heartache.

“What makes them glow?” Josie asked, leaning against the scratchy bark of the old tree and trying to follow the fireflies’ glow.

“A type of chemical reaction called bioluminescence. The enzyme luciferase acts on the luciferin, in the presence of magnesium ions, ATP, and oxygen to produce light,’” Tristan answered, running his hands over her denim-covered thigh.

Josie rolled her eyes and smiled at him, showing that she loved his superior intellect just as much as his handsome face. She watched him watching her and no longer feared judgment or rejection. She loved having his eyes on her, among other things.

“Do you think we’ll ever be too old to climb this tree?” she asked, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah, one day,” he answered. “But then we’ll come and sit beneath it. We’ll enjoy the shade and think about the days we spent up here.”

“Hmm, that sounds promising,” she whispered, leaning forward and capturing his lips.