But it’s enough. Enough to let the tears fall, slow and silent. I don’t wipe them away.
Because tomorrow I’ll be stronger. Tomorrow, I’ll be fire.
But tonight… tonight I’m only the girl still holding on. The girl who still believes in bonds that can’t be severed, in love that crosses planes, in the boys who swore they’d come for me.
SIXTY-EIGHT
The dream starts with fire.
Not the warm kind. Not the kind that crackles behind a hearth or dances in candlelight. No—this fire screams. It devours the world in silence. Everything around me burns, but I hear nothing. No wind. No cries. Justabsence.
And she’s in the center of it. Lillien.
Her back is to me. Her long, dark-red hair whips in a wind I can’t feel. Her silhouette glows like embers, burning into my retinas like punishment.
I run toward her. But the ground fractures beneath my feet, splitting into jagged chasms that bleed black smoke. The more I run, the farther she drifts.
“No,” I snarl, reaching forward. “Get back here.”
She doesn’t hear me. Or she doesn’t care.
Because he’s there. Zepharion. He emerges from the smoke like he belongs to it—tall, regal, fuckingwrong. His hands curl around her waist. She doesn’t resist. His mouth brushes her ear. She shudders.
And then she turns—towardhim, not me—and smiles. That smile is the worst part. Because it’s the one she gave me once. In the woods. After she called me dangerous and didn't flinch.
Now it’s his.
“No!” My roar splits the sky—but the world stays silent.
I lunge across the crumbling stone. I reach for her. My fingers graze her skin—And slide through smoke. She vanishes. Dissolves into Zepharion’s chest like she wasnever mineto begin with.
I fall. Through flame. Through smoke. Throughpowerlessness.
A voice follows me down.
Not hers. His. “She was promised to me. You were never strong enough to keep her.”
I wake up with a snarl in my throat. The sheets twist around my body, soaked with sweat. My chest heaves, muscles coiled tight like I’d fought someone in my sleep.
I didn’t. That’s the problem. I couldn’t stop it.
My heart isn’t racing from fear. It’s rage. White-hot and choking.
I run a hand down my face, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The scent of smoke clings to my skin—but it’s not real. Just a memory.
A warning. She slipped through my fingers. In the dream. But I won’t let that happen again.
I’ll tear the world apart before I let him touch her. Even if I have to burn with it.
I’m pacing now. Back and forth across the throne room of Deimos’s keep, the floor slick with cold obsidian and the ghosts of our failures. My feet know the rhythm of fury. They carry itbetter than I do. Each step is a silent curse. Each breath tastes like ash and memory.
Deimos stands near the hearth, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. I’m not even sure he’s blinking. Just staring into the flames like they might spit out answers.
“She’s slipping,” I mutter. “I can’t feel her. Not really. Just… noise. Echoes.” Static on the line where there used to be warmth. A presence. Her.
Deimos doesn’t look at me. “Mine’s gone.”
I stop pacing. Whip toward him. “What?”
