Everything was perfect. Bea's dreams had finally come true, and Dre's team was coming home soon. All she had to do was wait, then welcome, then celebrate. She should not have gone to Palaestra.

It was a stupid decision, but Bea just had to follow her partner because ... that's what partners do. They go places together. They did things for each other, with each other. (No, it had absolutely nothing to do with doubt and fear and jealousy.)

Palaestra is perfect. Every person has a home; every traveler, a destination. Every creature has a soul. Every soul has a mate. Every soulmate has a mark — a tattoo, a watch, a dream, a scar — something.

But she's ... perfect. Not a freckle on her skin, not a strand of different shade, not a leash in the guise of a necklace. Not a single clue of her partner's whereabouts. Not a memory of them. No idea how to make it out of Palaestra alive.