"But," I continue, "you're also protection in that darkness. You're the shadow that shelters. The darkness that hides the wounded while they heal. The night that gives rest from burning day."
"Shadows and darkness aren't evil, Cassius. They're just the other half of light. And I need both."
The words seem to echo through the broken mirror fragments, each reflection showing different understanding, different acceptance, different possibility.
"I could still hurt you," he warns, but the certainty is gone.
"You could," I agree. "So could Mortimer with his dragon fire. So could Atticus with his vampire hunger. So could Nikolai with his Fae magic. Power always carries the possibility of harm."
I step closer, eliminating the last distance between us.
"But you won't. Not because you can't but because you choose not to. That's not weakness—that's the ultimate strength."
The shadows around us shift, and suddenly the mirrors reform—but different now. Instead of showing possibilities of corruption, they show moments of protection. Every time Cassius used his shadows to shield rather than strike. Every moment of gentleness hidden in darkness.
"This is also you," I tell him. "This is equally true."
He looks around at the new reflections, seeing himself perhaps for the first time not as restrained monster but as chosen protector.
"I'm tired of fighting myself," he admits, the words escaping like confession.
"Then stop," I suggest simply. "Accept what you are—all of it—and choose what you do with it."
The trial space shudders, reality reasserting itself as the psychological loop breaks. The mirrors fade, the excessive darkness recedes, and we're left standing in a room that's solidifying into something more normal.
Well, as normal as a floating room in a dimensional labyrinth can be.
Cassius pulls me against him suddenly, not aggressive but desperate, his face burying in my neck as his shadows wrap around us both. I melt in his hold like butter, taking in his scent like its a lifeline while closing my eyes. He can feel the calm he delivers to me, and maybe that helps him realize he’s not a monster.
He’s not one to me anyways.
"I thought I'd lost myself," he whispers against my skin. "The trial kept showing me becoming everything I fear, and I couldn't tell what was real anymore."
"You're real," I assure him, holding him just as tightly. "We're real. Everything else is just possibility, not certainty."
I hug him even tighter.
“But you’re safe. A lover and protector. And see? Your shadows didn’t hurt me.”
“GREE!” Grim agrees, which makes me smile further as I tighten my hold on Cassius. I expected to be in agony with this trial but this trial was clearly an emotional confrontation than a physical manifestation of torture.
We stay like that until his shaking stops, until his shadows calm from writhing to resting, until he can pull back and look at me with silver eyes that hold recognition instead of fear.
"The others?"
"Atticus is safe, resting with Mortimer. We still need to find Nikolai and Zeke."
He nods, understanding immediately that we need to move, to continue the rescue before the labyrinth adapts again.
"Together?" he asks, and there's vulnerability in the question.
"Together," I confirm as I stroke his cheek, going on my tiptoes to kiss him gently. He kisses me back, not as hesitant now, though I can still feel those strings of concern, which will surely fade as time goes by. He’ll be okay, just like we all will when we make it though. .
As we prepare to leave his trial room, I think about what I learned in the nursery. About Gabriel and me, about the necklace that might separate us, about the true history hidden in children's books.
But also about what each trial is teaching us.
Atticus faced his fear of loss and learned to trust presence.
