"Yeah," Dylan replied, smiling tightly. "Where do we go?"

"This way." Tristan began to walk around the cottage, away from the lake. Dylan took one last look at the water. Today it seemed calm and peaceful, the surface gently rippling, causing sparkles where the sun tickled the tiny wave-crests. She remembered the horrors that lurked beneath and shuddered, racing after Tristan as if she could leave the bad memories behind. He had paused on the other side of the cottage, waiting for her. He stood casually, staring into the distance with one hand up at his forehead, shading the glare from the sun.

"Ready for the final bit of the journey?" Tristan asked, forcing humour into his voice. They were standing outside the cottage, preparing to go.

"See that?" Dylan looked in the direction that Tristan was gazing. The landscape was flat and bare. A small stream trickled its way towards the horizon, snaking lazily away from them. On the left side of the stream, a path wound parallel to the water and, besides a few bushes, there was nothing else to see. Dylan raised one eyebrow, puzzled. "Er, nope."

"Tristan, there's nothing there. What am I supposed to be looking for?"

He shrugged. "I told you, I've never been. This has always been as far as I've gone."

Her tone made him turn to face her. He grinned and rolled his eyes. "Look harder."

"Oh," she said. "And then what happens?"

Dylan squinted. The horizon was very far away. She could kind of make out a bit of a glow where the land met the blue sky, but it could easily be a trick of the light, or just the fact that she was trying to see something.

"Not really," she answered honestly.

He sighed at her, but Dylan could tell he was enjoying feeling superior. He moved behind her and leaned over her shoulder. His breath tickled her neck, setting her skin on fire.

"Look at the horizon." He pointed straight in front of her. "Can you see that shimmer?"

He looked at her incredulously. When he spoke he was clearly holding back laughter. "You think an enormous escalator descends from the sky?"

"I know, but what have you seen? I mean, is it like stairway to heaven or something?"

"Well, that's where we're heading. It's a join between the wasteland and… beyond."

"Sorry," he added, smiling sheepishly. "They just disappear. That's it. They take a step, and disappear."

"Well I don't know," she huffed, embarrassed and covering it with anger.

"Come on, we've got to get started," Tristan gave her a little push in the back to get her moving. She looked at the horizon again, straining her eyes at the so-called shimmer. Could she see it? It was hard to tell. It was, however, giving her a headache so she gave up and settled for gazing moodily at the path in front of them. It looked far. Not up hill, at least, but far.

Dylan wrinkled her nose. She could tell that he was speaking the truth, but it wasn't very helpful.

"As it's the last day," she started hopefully.

"You know, I almost drowned yesterday," she continued, sure that he wouldn't relent and carry her, but miserable at the thought of marching all the way across the plain. And the drowning had taken a lot out of her. Her legs were stiff, and her chest ached. Her throat was raw from vomiting up the water and the constant coughing to clear her lungs.

"I am not giving you a piggy-back," Tristan answered quickly, not even letting her finish the sentence. He overtook her slouching pace, striding off ahead. Grumbling, Dylan stomped after him.

"I could have died, again?" she asked, confused. Surely dead was dead?

"And if your soul dies?"

"You're gone," he said simply.

"You would have died."

"Okay, so I probably wouldn't have died, given that I'm already dead, but it was very traumatic."

He nodded.

"What?" she asked sharply. He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, and turned to face her.

Each word was spoken slowly and clearly, and each stabbed straight into Dylan's brain.

"But how? Where would I have gone? I don't…" Dylan tailed off.

He looked back at her, a strange expression on his face, but then turned and kept on walking.

Dylan stared off into space, aghast at how close she had come to oblivion. She had taken her body's death without too much complaining because, well, she'd still been here. To know that she might have disappeared, have lost the chance to meet the people she was counting on seeing again, shocked her into silence.

"You can die here. Your soul, I mean. When you're alive it's protected by your body. When you die, you lose that. You're vulnerable."

This time he did stop, but didn't turn. Dylan caught him in three strides but held back. Something about his posture made her wary.

"Yes you would have," it was a whisper but it carried far enough to reach her ears.

"Come on. I'm sorry, but we don't have time to stop, we need to move. There are no more safe houses, Dylan."

"Right," she muttered. Without looking at him, she marched forward. Although her limbs ached and she felt exhausted, she did not want to be caught out here in the dark. Tristan watched her walk away. Her head was held high and she walked swiftly, but there was a limp to her gait, and she rubbed her throat absent-mindedly. He knew she must be suffering after yesterday's trauma.

Hearing him speak her name jolted her out of her trance.

"Jump up."

"Hold on," he called, jogging over to her. She paused and turned, waiting for him. He didn't stop when he reached her, but took another step so that he was just in front of her. He smiled, then turned his back to her.

"What?"

"Oh." Dylan's face lit up with relief. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and jumped, circling his waist with her legs and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hooked his arms under her knees and began to trudge forward.

He turned and rolled his eyes at her. "Jump. Up."

"It's only because you're so pitiful," he joked.

"Thank you!" she breathed into his ear.

He took long, powerful strides that gently jostled Dylan with every footfall. Very quickly, she became stiff and uncomfortable on his back. Her arms were pained holding on to his shoulders and his arms under her knees were bruising her. Still, it was much better than walking. She tried to relax her muscles, and concentrated on revelling in being so close to Tristan. His shoulders were broad and strong, and he handled the burden of her extra weight as if she were made of feathers. Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck, and she inhaled deeply, savouring the musky smell of him. His sandy hair bobbed as he walked and tickled her cheek. She fought an urge to run her fingers through it.

"When we get there," he said, startling her, "you'll have to get down and walk yourself."

Her grip tightened compulsively. "I thought you were coming with me?"

"I am," he answered at once, "but you have to take the steps yourself. I'll be right behind you."

"Can't you go first?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. You can't go through to the next world following someone else; you've got to take the step yourself. It's a thing," he added, as if that explained it.

"But you'll be right behind me?" she asked, nervous.

"Put me down," she whispered.

"Tristan," she squeaked, her voice suddenly excited. "I can see it!"

"I promise. I said I would."

About half a mile in front of them, the air seemed to change. The ground beyond it looked exactly the same as that before, but strangely distorted, as if there were a transparent screen in front of it. The point on the ground where the screen met the earth did indeed seem to shimmer slightly. Dylan felt her stomach tighten as she stared at it. They were there.

"What?"

"I want to walk."

Tristan let go of her legs and she slithered down his back to the ground. Pins and needles stung her feet and lower legs, and she stretched out her arms. Then she squared her shoulders and turned to face the end of her journey. Without looking at him, she began to walk forward.

Tristan watched her with careful eyes. Although she did not look at or speak to him, he had the feeling that she was very aware of his movements. He deliberately kept one step behind her. When she got to within five metres of the line, she halted. She stared at it, breathing evenly. Her face was drawn, her mouth tight. He could read her stress in every muscle in her body.

Her heart was racing, thudding wildly in her chest. She felt adrenaline course through her veins. Although her arms and legs had been aching, they now felt as if they did not belong to her, and she was not entirely in control of them. Taking deep, even breaths, she tried to concentrate on not hyperventilating. The ground seemed to fly beneath her feet. It was little more than a hundred metres away now. As they got closer, it became easier to see the join between the two worlds. The world beyond the point was just slightly out of focus, like she was looking at it through someone else's glasses. It was beginning to make her slightly dizzy so she tried to look straight at the floor, occasionally glancing up to the shimmering line across the path.

Although the idea terrified her, and she knew by saying it she was making herself more emotionally vulnerable than she had ever been in her life, she was determined. The past few days had taught her a lot about herself; she was not the same girl who had dithered over packing her teddy bear. She was stronger, braver. She'd faced danger; confronted her fears, and Tristan had played a massive part in that. He had protected her, comforted her, guided her, and opened her eyes to feelings she hadn't known existed. It was important to tell him how she felt, even though it made her stomach flutter and her cheeks burn. Just do it, she told herself.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She turned towards him and her eyes were wild. He had thought she was in control but inside she was clearly petrified.

He was not quite correct. There were emotions running crazily through her body that she had never experienced before.

The tension of the moment had brought several things to the forefront of her mind, sharpened her focus on the things that really mattered. She did not know what was on the other side of that line and, even though he had promised to follow her, there was something that she had to say.

"I love you."

Her eyes never left his face, trying to read his reaction. The words seemed to hang in the air between them. Dylan's every nerve was tingling and alert, her hormones thudding through her veins. She hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but she hadn't known how to broach the subject and she needed to say it. She continued to look at Tristan, waiting for a smile or a frown, for his eyes to shine or freeze, but his face was impassive. Her pulse, instead of racing, was beating in a disjointed pattern that made her fear that it might stop. As the silence lengthened, she began to shake, her body preparing for rejection.

He didn't feel the same way. Of course he didn't. She was just a child. She had read what she'd wanted to into his words and his touch. Her eyes began to sting as tears fought their way to the surface. She gritted her teeth, determined to keep control. Her fingers curled into fists and squeezed tightly, the nails digging into her palms painfully. It wasn't enough. The pain in her chest was agony, like burning knives piercing her right in the centre. It rode over every other sensation and made it hard to breath.

Tristan stared back at her, battling with himself. He loved her too; he knew it in every fibre of his being. What he did not know was whether he should tell her so.

No. Her pain, hurt, rejection… it could not be her final memory of him. He had to give her this one truth, whatever it cost them both. Frightened that his voice would shake, he opened his mouth.

"I love you too, Dylan."

Seconds passed and still he couldn't decide. He saw her eyes widen, and heard her breathing become ragged, and knew that she was taking the worst possible meaning from his silence. She believed he did not love her. He closed his eyes, trying to get some perspective. If she thought he didn't love her, perhaps she wouldn't hurt so much at the end. Perhaps it would be easier. It was right to say nothing. His mind made up, he opened his eyes and stared into a sea of sparkling green.

She gazed at him for a moment, frozen in time. Her heart beat triumphantly as she processed his words. He loved her. She exhaled in a half-laugh, and broke into a grin, her eyes dancing. The pain in her chest melted away, replaced by a soft glow that crept up her throat and shone out of her smile. Taking a cautious step forward, she moved to him. She could feel his breath on her face; it, too, was coming in gasps. His eyes burned blue, penetrating into her very core and making her tremble slightly. She leaned up to him, close enough to see each freckle that patterned his nose and cheeks, then stopped.

"Wait," she said, drawing back. "Kiss me on the other side."

But Tristan's hand was suddenly wrapped around hers, his grip vice-like. "No," he said, his voice low and husky. "Now."

Tristan hesitated. Freed from the depth of her forest green eyes, doubts crept back into his mind. This was wrong. This was not allowed. Every feeling he had for her was wrong, though. He shouldn't be able to feel this way; it wasn't supposed to be possible. But he did. And this was going to be his only chance to experience the wonder that humans lived for, killed for. Letting his eyes slide closed, he pressed his lips against Dylan's.

With one hand he pulled her in closer to his body, with the other he cupped the back of her neck, sliding his fingers into her hair. Chills erupted over Dylan's skin and her half-hearted protest died in her throat. His thumb stroked up and down the nape of her neck and she watched unblinking as his face dropped lower until his forehead rested against hers. He was close enough for their breath to intermingle, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. He closed the final distance between them, dropping his grip on her hand and her neck and folding his arms around her back, pulling her nearer still. Tilting her head back a fraction, Dylan closed her eyes and waited.

They were soft. That was his first thought. Soft, and sweet, and trembling. He felt her fingers twist into the fabric of his jumper, her hands shaking slightly against his sides. Her lips parted, moving against his. He heard her utter a tiny moan, and the sound sent a ripple into the pit of his stomach. He squeezed her tighter, his mouth pressing harder against hers. His heart was crashing against his ribs, his breathing ragged. The only thing he was aware of was the warmth of her, the softness. He felt her grow bolder, going up on her tiptoes to lean further into him, lifting her hands from his side and gripping his shoulders, his face. He copied the movement, his fingers trailing down her hairline, around her chin. Memorising.

Tight in Tristan's embrace, Dylan was light-headed, dizzy. With her eyes closed, the world around her didn't seem to exist. Only Tristan's mouth, pressed against hers, and his hands, holding her close, stroking gently across her skin. Her blood was singing in her veins and when he finally pulled away she was gasping. He held her face in his hands and stared at her for a long moment, eyes glowing vivid blue. Then he dropped his head again and placed two soft, gentle kisses on her lips. He smiled at her, a slow languid smile that had the muscles in her abdomen contracting.

She twirled back towards Tristan, a slightly nervous smile on her lips. It froze on her face. Cold hands grabbed her heart and she drew in air raggedly. Her mouth opened, mouthing a silent, "No."

She turned away from him, and appraised the line. It held no fear for her now. Tristan loved her, and he would go with her wherever she was headed. Ten confident steps took her to the edge. She looked down, savouring the feeling. This was her last moment in the wasteland. She could say farewell to the demons, to the uphill marches and sleeping rough in dilapidated houses. She lifted her left foot and paused, just over the line. One more deep breath and then she hopped across.

"You were right," she said breathlessly. "Before is better."

She stood, evaluating. It felt the same. The air was still warm with a slight breeze, the dirt path beneath her feet still crunched slightly as she shifted her foot. The sun still shone in the sky and the hills still circled the landscape. She frowned slightly, curious but not overly concerned. She had expected something more dramatic.

The path was empty.

She stepped forward, but the shimmering line was gone. She reached out, feeling with her hands for the spot where Tristan had stood just a moment before. Though there was nothing but air, her fingers came into contact with an invisible wall, solid and impenetrable.

She was alone again. She had crossed over and there was no way back. Tristan was gone.

Dylan began to tremble all over, a sickening mixture of adrenaline, shock and horror coursing through her veins. She swayed unsteadily, then fell to her knees, her hands over her mouth as if she could hold in the sobs. She couldn't. They spilled over, beginning as quiet, gasping moans that deepened into agonised wails that screamed of the pain tearing at her heart. Tears streamed down her face and dropped onto the ground.

He had lied to her. His promises to accompany her had been nothing but deceit and treachery, and she had been his fool, believing it all. This must have been his plan all along. She saw again in her mind's eye the way he would smile at her, his eyes glowing, but then suddenly the expression would die on his face, becoming a cold and uncaring mask. He had known. But what about his final words? Were they a lie?

Tristan stood on the other side of the line, watching her fall apart. Like a policeman on the other side of a two-way mirror, he knew she could not see him. His deception had worked, and the pain he had caused was clear on her face. She knew he had lied to him, that he had planned this ending. She knew she would never see him again. Though it tore at his heart, he forced himself to watch every tear, listen to every sob and scream. He longed to rush forwards and comfort her, to embrace her and smooth the tears off her cheeks. To feel the heat of her in his arms again, the softness of her. He lifted one hand and placed in it the air, palm to palm with hers, cold agony -- a wall of glass between them. Tristan willed his feet to move forward, to take him over the line, but nothing happened. He could not cross.

Already she found she couldn't get a clear picture of his face. Little details were trickling away. She couldn't remember the exact shade of his hair, or the shape of his lips. Like grains of sand in the wind, she couldn't hold them in her head. A heart-wrenching sound escaped her lips, agony that set every nerve on fire. Knowing she was alone, knowing that there was no one to witness her grief, she gave herself over to the despair that engulfed her.

No, she did not believe that. Every fibre in her being told her the truth: he loved her. She loved him and he loved her, but they would never be together.

She slammed her fist against the wall in frustration, then pressed her palm against it, wishing with all her might that it would dissolve and let her travel back through.

Through the veil between worlds he watched her cry. She called his name and tears coursed down his cheeks. Shame, self-loathing, despair and agony welled up in him. He was desperate to look away, to hide his eyes from the consequences of his actions, but he would not.

He had allowed himself to tell her that he loved her, allowed her to hope, and this was his punishment. He had caused this pain and he would endure every second of it. He only hoped that she realised that his final confession had been true and heartfelt. Under all the lies and pretence, his love for her had been honest and real.

He had always known that he would not be able to cross over with her. His promise had been a trick, a wicked sham to give her the courage to take the final step. It had taken everything he had to make her believe him, to watch her gratitude and relief, to let her trust him, and know that this moment was coming. To let himself kiss her and hold her, and know that he couldn't keep her. To know that when she crossed the line and looked back, she would discover his treachery.

"Goodbye," he murmured, wishing with all he was that he could go with her. In the next blink of his eye, she had gone. He stared at the ground where she had been for a moment longer, then swallowed against the pain in his throat and took a deep breath. He turned back to the path, and began to walk away.

Although every second he watched felt like hours of torture, eventually she started to fade. The edges of her beautiful figure began to shimmer and blur, and she started to lose substance. As he stared, Dylan became transparent, diminishing until she was little more than smoke. He watched her leave him. It was what she deserved. As her shape became a haze, he feasted his eyes on her face, trying to memorise every detail, trying to lock the exact shade of her eyes into his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing that she could not hear it, but hoping somehow that she would understand.