Tahereh Mafi - Ignite Me

I’m covered in blood, my suit ripped and riddled with splintered wood and broken bits of metal. My hands are trembling so hard I don’t even recognize them anymore.

And yet I feel so calm.

So unbelievably calm.

Like the depth of what just happened hasn’t managed to hit me yet.

It’s impossible not to brush against outstretched hands and arms as I cross the battlefield, and it’s strange to me, somehow, strange that I don’t flinch, strange that I don’t hide my hands, strange that I’m not worried I’ll injure them.

They can touch me if they like, and maybe it’ll hurt, but my skin won’t kill anyone anymore.

Because I’ll never let it get that far.

Because I now know how to control it.

The compounds are such bleak, barren places, I think, as I pass through them. These should be the first to go. Our homes should be rebuilt. Restored.

We need to start again.

I climb up the side of one of the little compound homes. Climb its second story, too. I reach up, clinging to the roof, and pull myself over. I kick the solar panels off, onto the ground, and plant myself on top, right in the middle, as I look out over the crowd.

Searching for familiar faces.

Hoping they’ll see me and come forward.

Hoping.

I stand on the roof of this home for what feels like days, months, years, and I see nothing but faces of soldiers and their families. None of my friends.

I feel myself sway, dizziness threatening to overtake me, my pulse racing fast and hard. I’m ready to give up. I’ve stood here long enough for people to point, for my face to be recognized, for word to spread that I’m standing here, waiting for something. Someone. Anyone.

I’m just about to dive back into the crowd to search for their fallen bodies when hope seizes my heart.

One by one, they emerge, from all corners of the field, from deep inside the barracks, from across the compounds. Bloodied and bruised. Adam, Alia, Castle, Ian, Lily, Brendan, and Winston each make their way toward me only to turn and wait for the others to arrive. Winston is sobbing.

Sonya and Sara are dragging Kenji out of the barracks, small steps hauling him forward. I see that his eyes have opened now, just a little. Stubborn, stubborn Kenji. Of course he’s awake when he should be asleep.

James comes running toward them.

He crashes into Adam, clinging to his legs, and Adam hauls his little brother up, into his arms, smiling like I’ve never seen him smile before. Castle nods at me, beaming. Lily blows me a kiss. Ian makes some strange finger-gun motion and Brendan waves. Alia has never looked more jubilant.

And I’m looking out over them, my smile steady, held there by nothing but sheer force of will. I’m still staring, waiting for my last friend to show up. Waiting for him to find us.

But he isn’t here.

I’m scanning the thousands of people scattered around this icy, icy ground and I don’t see him, not anywhere, and the terror of this moment kicks me in the gut until I’m out of breath and out of hope, blinking fast and trying to hold myself together.

The metal roof under my feet is shaking.

I turn toward the sound, heart pounding, and see a hand reach over the top.

He pulls himself up onto the roof and walks over to me, so steadily. Calm, like there’s nothing in the world we’d planned to do today but to stand here, together, looking out over a field of dead bodies and happy children.

“Aaron,” I whisper.

He pulls me into his arms.

And I fall.

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in my body comes undone at his touch and I cling to him, holding on for dear life.

“You know,” he whispers, his lips at my ear, “the whole world will be coming for us now.”

I lean back. Look into his eyes.

“I can’t wait to watch them try.”

I’ve reached the end.

And here, at the finish line, I am suddenly speechless, unable to articulate in any number of words just how many helpers I’ve had, how many hands have touched this book, or how many minds have shaped this story. But you were there all along, reading with me and writing to me and cheering me on, helping me through hard moments and always holding my hand. My many dear friends at HarperCollins and Writers House. My family, steadfast, always. Ransom Riggs, an angel on earth. Tara Weikum, a magician. Jodi Reamer, a saint.

And you, dear reader, you, most of all.

I am indebted to you for your support, your love, your friendship on the pages and on the internet. Thank you for following Juliette’s journey with me; thank you for caring so deeply. It is my very great hope that you will find this a worthy final installment.

Lots of love,