The alley stinks of cigarette smoke and sweat, the sharp buzz of neon signs flickering overhead.

A fist collides with Harry June’s face. His head jerks to the side, strands of brown-silver hair falling into his eyes as he wipes blood from his split lip. He doesn’t wince. He just spits onto the concrete, dark red staining the pavement.

Another blow lands, this time to his ribs. A sickening crack.

And somewhere, miles away— in the class he should normally he in— a girl, she, feels the pain.

This is a world in which you can feel your soulmates physical pain.