I feel them. The others.
Watching…waking.
The bond isn’t just forged. It rings.Like a bell struck in a cathedral where gods go to die. Riven moves to me now, slowly, hand out, palm up. I press mine to his. Blood to blood. And the second our skin meets, the bond tightens like a knot around my heart. I gasp. War leaves scars. I just didn’t expect to want mine.
His eyes darken. We don’t speak. Wefeel.I step back first. Let the connection settle. Let the echo of whatever just happened roll through the house, through me, throughus.
The blade still drips. The bond is sealed. But I’m not finished.
I meet his gaze. My voice is steady, and unshaking. “This was my choice.” He nods once, with understanding and acceptance of what I gave. And I say it again, not as a vow. But as a warning. “I choose the fire.”
20
War and Ruin
I don’t remember walking here.
One minute I was in Riven’s bed—the sheets still warm from his body and my skin raw from what we’d done—next, I’m standing in the doorway of the bar, hands clenched, heart hammering like I ran the whole way here on foot with a storm chasing me.
Only…I am the storm.
The door swings shut behind me with a hollow clack. It echoes in my skull like the crack of a gun, final and sharp. No music. No chatter. Just silence. And the weight of every eye in the room crawls over my skin like they know something’s wrong.
Because something is wrong.
I feel it deep. Under my bones. Under my blood. Like something inside me is stretching, waking, snapping tendons and sanity as it rises. My fingertips tingle. The airsticks to my skin, heavy and wet, like the breath before a scream.
The lights above flicker, just enough to make everyone in the room still for half a second.
I step forward. The floor groans beneath my boots. Concrete shouldn’t creak, but it does, tonight it fucking does. And I know it’s not the floor that’s unstable.
It’s me.
A stool scrapes as someone stands too quickly. I hear the forced chuckle. The chair tipping over. The weak apology. The man doesn’t pick it up. He’s already gone, coat clutched in one fist, pushing through the door like the devil’s teeth are at his back.
A bartender I don’t recognize is working the taps, but she’s not pouring anything. Just going through the motions, head down, movements jerky. She wipes the counter twice with the same stained rag, then disappears through the back like she remembered she left the stove on and never comes back.
Coward.
I envy her.
The heat inside me rises in waves. It doesn’t burn, it suffocates. I can’t think straight. Can’t breathe. It feels like I’ve swallowed coals. Like I’ve been hollowed out and something ancient has curled up in the vacancy, setting fire to everything soft.
I catch sight of myself in the bar’s long mirror, and I don’t recognize what’s staring back. My red hair is tangled, wild, sticking to my temples like I ran through a storm. My eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing color. My lips are flushed too dark. There’s something feral around my mouth, like I’m one word away from baring teeth. My skin looks stretched. Too tight. Too pale. My collarbones are sharp like something inside is trying to break through.
This isn’t me. This is the aftermath of what I did. What I let him do.
That bond, when I took the blade, when I bled into his hands, it didn’t just mark me. It opened something. Peeled back whatever walls I’d built to survive. And now…now there’s nothing keeping it in.
“Lux?” I don’t jump at the voice. Don’t flinch. I feel it like a blade sliding between my ribs. Dragana.
Her voice is small, unsure. She’s still behind the bar, hands steady even though her eyes are not. She watches me the way someone watches a house fire…close enough to see the damage, far enough to pretend they’re not afraid. “Hey,” she tries again. “You okay?” Wrong question.
I blink once, slowly. My breath is shallow, chest tight, like my lungs are shrinking inside me. My hands twitch at my sides. And something in the room answers.
There is a slight shift. The kind that makes animals bolt and strangers look away. I feel the ripple move through the bar like a pulse. People start to leave. Quiet. Fast. They don’t look back.
I haven’t said a word. But they know. They can feel it.
