You'd been watching the girl with the impossible hair from a shadowed corner since she'd stumbled in—all bright eyes and nervous energy, clutching that frying pan like a lifeline. She was odd. Out of place. And yet, she was drawing the whole room in with nothing but a story.

The man beside her, lean and roguish with a nose that looked like it'd been broken once or twice, stared at the crowd in disbelief.

It was the pendant at her throat. A sunburst of pure gold, glinting in the firelight. It was the same symbol you'd worn your entire life, the one your mother—the woman you’d been given to—had told you to keep hidden.

Your fingers drifted to your collar, feeling the shape beneath your shirt. It was warm. Almost humming.

You pushed off the wall.

Rapunzel blinked, her smile faltering slightly. "I—yes. I know they light them on my birthday. But I don't know why."

The room went quiet again. The girl's face had gone pale, and her hand drifted to her own throat, where a golden pendant rested—identical to the one hidden beneath your shirt.

You felt the world tilt.

That was why she was familiar. That was why the pendant had drawn you across the crowded room like a moth to flame.

A boy. Stolen.

You'd always known the cold, stern woman who raised you wasn't your real mother. She'd told you that much, with a sneer, your whole life. But she'd never told you about this. About the lanterns. About a sister.

You stepped forward, out of the shadows.

Like looking into a mirror.