“Where’s Finn?”
Chapter 36
Finn
The silence in this corridor is different.
Not the comfortable kind that settles between jokes, or the expectant pause before I say something brilliant and slightly inappropriate. This is the hollow kind. The kind that echoes back everything you don’t want to hear.
I’m perched on a stone ledge that overlooks the sanctuary’s eastern wall, legs dangling like I’m twelve years old again, hiding from responsibilities that feel too big for my hands. The departure preparations buzz in the distance—voices calling, leather creaking, hooves striking stone. All the sounds of people who belong somewhere, doing something that matters.
I should be down there.
I’m not.
Because about an hour ago, I felt Kaia and Aspen’s bond lock into place like the final tumbler in a lock I’ll never have the key to. And now? Now the phantom taste of her is gone from my mouth, the echo of shared pleasure has faded from my skin, and all that’s left is the cold understanding that I just experienced the most intimate moment of someone else’s life.
Someone who isn’t me.
Someone who chose someone else.
“Should’ve brought popcorn to the soul-bond climax,” I mutter to the empty air, but the joke falls flat even to my own ears. Nothing’s funny when you’re the punchline.
My chaos magic sparks restlessly around my fingers, little bursts of color that die as quickly as they form. Even my power seems confused about what to do with all this…feeling. This stupid, messy, inconvenient ache that won’t go away no matter how many times I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
It does matter. That’s the problem.
The bond is still there, humming in my chest like a wire that’s been pulled taut but not snapped. I can feel the others, Kaia’s contentment, Aspen’s quiet satisfaction, even the distant pulse of Kieran’s ancient magic. We’re all connected, all part of this grand mystical design.
So why do I feel so alone?
Footsteps echo down the corridor, measured and familiar. I don’t turn around. Don’t need to. There’s only one person who moves through shadows like he owns them, who finds hiding spots like he invented them.
“Did you draw the short straw,” I ask without looking back, “or just get bored of brooding in doorways?”
Malrik doesn’t answer immediately. Just stands there, close enough that I can feel his presence like a question mark against my back. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than usual.
“You weren’t at the courtyard.”
I shrug, still staring out at the darkening sky. “Didn’t want to spoil the magical sendoff. Nothing ruins group photos like the guy who’s having an existential crisis.”
Silence. The kind that suggests he’s not buying my bullshit.
“Besides,” I continue, forcing levity into my voice, “someone had to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart while you’re all off playing hero. I’m really more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy anyway.”
“No,” Malrik says simply. “You’re not.”
The certainty in his voice makes something twist in my chest. I finally turn to look at him, taking in the way shadows cling to his shoulders like they can’t bear to let him go, the silver eyes that see too much.
“What do you want, Malrik?”
He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “I felt it too.”
My breath catches. “Felt what?”
“The bond locking. The ache of being outside it.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “The way it felt like watching the door close on something you didn’t know you wanted until it was gone.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Yeah, well,” I manage, my usual grin feeling more like a grimace, “you don’t seem the type to come in your pants from someone else’s orgasm.”
