He coughed hard, body buckling. Every nerve burned. Every muscle screamed like it had been torn and rewoven with wire. And through the agony, he heard it—her voice. Ripping through the haze like a lifeline.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
There she was.
Seraphine.
Hair wild, skin smeared with ash and blood, her cheeks stained with tears she never let anyone else see. Her hands cradled his face like he was something sacred. Fragile. Breakable.
He managed half a smile. “D’you always cry this much when I nap?”
A sob broke in her throat—half-laugh, half-fury.
“You bastard.” She punched his shoulder. Gently. “Don’t youeverdo that again.”
He closed his eyes, dragging another breath into ruined lungs. “You mean die? That one wasn’t exactly voluntary.”
“Youletthem take you.”
“I letyoulive.”
“Don’t you dare turn that into some heroic speech.”
Cassian’s smile faded. Because the pain in her voice wasn’t just grief. It was betrayal.
He looked down. At the burn across his chest that wasn’t a burn. At the shard still pressed against his ribs, glowing faintly. At his fingers—where the fire danced along his knuckles in pulsing blue light.
Beneath it all—shadow.
Moving under his skin.
Not Hollow.
Him.
He sat up slowly, ignoring the scream in his spine.
Seraphine moved to steady him, but he waved her off. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Barely.”
Cassian didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know what to say.
The magic inside him wasdifferent.He could feel it.
Stormfire still burned—but now it hummed in tandem with something deeper. Something colder. It didn’t feelwrong.It felt familiar.
He flexed his hand and watched the flame curl into his palm. It shifted in color—white, then blue, then black edged in silver. The shadow wrapped around the fire like a shroud.
“Gods,” he whispered.
Seraphine stepped in front of him, kneeling.
“I called Malrik,” she said quietly.
