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The moon hangs heavy in the sky, but Thalia and Reyna sprawl out on grass and let their hair splay out like they're made of light. Their fingertips brush, and their hearts light up brighter than the stars with each glancing touch. Around them, the night chirps with the twitters and hums of birds and insects, the whistle of wind through leaves and the steady thunk of arrows hitting bark. Everything is alive and moving.
Thalia and Reyna don't move at all.
"Do you ever wish you'd stayed at camp?"
Reyna tilts her head, pushing her cheek into the ground. Her smile looks crooked in the silver light. "Do you ever wish you'd gone back?"
She doesn't respond. She doesn't have to.
Traitor to their respective camps, and childhood dreams, and their fathers, Thalia and Reyna defy fate in this little pocket of immortality carved out from the freedom (the infinity) of apathy. Not a love to their name, the Huntresses are free: to chase arrows, to hunt monsters, to leave behind the silver shackle of duty and expectation because—
Who they are is not who the Fates defined them to be.
There is love beyond the men they were loved by, when love is not enough to carry them to the heart of who they wanted — want — to be. There is freedom to love their sisters, the hunt... themselves, and each other.
There is love beyond their wildest dreams. They are free-floating on an earth made of stardust and soil, and nothing is left to hold them that they do not choose. In this life, through its quiet eternity, they choose themselves.
Thalia's fingers trail over Reyna's knuckles. This time, Reyna flips her palm over and holds on tight.