Like everyone else in the world you were born with a number, one that told you how dangerous your soulmate was. Most people had a 1 or 3, occasionally a 6 would be seen.

But you? You had a 9. Which was practically unheard of.

You had been confused, and a little bit scared. After all, who was dangerous enough to warrant a 9?

Cassandra was.

You smile as she crouches besides the pond, feeding the ducks.

“Come on,” Cass urges, “I want to make it to the pavilion before we miss the sunset.”