Because whatever’s humming beneath my skin is pulling me forward. And it doesn’t feel like a question. Itfeels like a summons. The corridor bends left but I don’t remember this hall. Not this path. Not this door. It’s open just enough to see the light spilling through. Not warm, not inviting. A cold silver that slithers across the stone like moonlight poured from a vein.
And through that door, standing perfectly still in the center of the room, is Vale. I stop at the threshold. I don’t say his name out loud. I don’t have to. Because he’s already looking at me. He’s dressed in black. Not ceremonial. Not formal. Just…final. His shirt is open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, pale skin catching the light like frost in a graveyard. He stands with his back half-turned toward the window, hands folded loosely behind him. Like he’s been waiting for me. Not for hours. For eternity.
The air in the room doesn’t move. The smoke that curls along the floor is too intentional, too thick.
“Vale,” I murmur, voice barely louder than the hush of the sheet dragging across the floor. His gaze flicks to mine, and the silence stretches so long, I feel it down to the marrow. “You shouldn’t be up,” he says.
“You’re in my house.”
His brow lifts slightly. “No. You’re in ours.”
My fingers twitch. I don’t move any closer, but I feel the draw between us like static. Like something unresolved. Like a door that was opened once and never fully shut. “You didn’t answer me,” I say. “Why are you here?”
He doesn’t shift. Doesn’t blink. His voice is low. Cold. “To see what you’ve become.”
The words cut deeper than they should. Not because of what he says, but because of what he doesn’t. I wrap the sheet tighter around myself. Not out of modesty, because his gaze doesn’t feel like it’s on my body, it feels like it’s underneath it. “You knew,” I whisper. “What was in the vault?”
He nods once. “We’ve always known.”
“And you said nothing.”
“There was nothing to say.”
I shake my head, heart beginning to pound. “I felt it. I heard it. Something’s…moving in me now. Like it recognized me.” He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t try to comfort. He doesn’t even flinch. “That’s not possible,” I say, too quickly.
“It is.”
“Then why not warn me?”
His expression is still. Unreadable. His voice is a blade. “Because it doesn’t matter now.”
The floor seems to shift beneath my feet. My throat tightens. My mark pulses once, faint but sharp. “I deserve the truth.”
“I didn’t come here to give it.”
“Then why are you here?”
Vale finally moves. Just a single step forward. Controlled. Measured. But it lands like thunder. “To make sure you rest.”
My pulse spikes. “You think I’m dangerous.”
He doesn’t nod or speak. The answer is carved into the space between us. I back up a half-step. The sheet loosens at my hip. I don’t care. I look into his face, not for a hint of violence, but for a reason. Something to hold onto. Something human. But I don’t find it.
Only silence. Only smoke. Only inevitability.
His voice, when it comes again, is soft. “You’ve taken the first step.”
“Toward what?” My voice cracks. “Toward becoming the thing in the vault?”
Vale says nothing. And the worst part is, I know he already sees me that way. I could scream. I could run. I could reach for Riven and demand to know why he isn’t here. Although none of that would stop what’s coming.
Vale takes one more step forward. Close enough now that I can smell him…cedar and wind and something faintly electric. Death made clean. “You should sleep,” he says again. His tone is so calm it might be a kindness. But it’s not. It’s a fucking eulogy.
I take a final breath, and the air tastes different. Like metal. Like surrender. “Will you be here when I wake up?” I ask.
The answer is a whisper. Barely a breath. “I’ll be here.”
And I know, without question, that he’s not talking about me waking up tomorrow. He’s talking about after. After the mark fades. After the scream. After the stillness.
