“I know.” Caz.
“It hurts.”
“I know,” he says again, and there’s a catch in his voice. “And I swear to you I will—”
I cover his mouth with the flat of my hand. I don’t want him to risk a promise he won’t be able to keep.
The room is quiet. The water ripples around me, smoke and light dancing on the surface. Sarai rises and steps back, giving us space. Ripples laps against my collarbones, sloshing softly as I shift. It should soothe me, cool me, but I’m still shaking. Not from pain anymore—but from the ache beneath it. The place the fire touched that isn’t skin or bone. Something deeper. Something I didn’t know I had.
Caziel hasn’t moved. He’s still kneeling beside the bath, one hand braced on the floor, my forehead presses to the solid muscle of his thighs. His other hovers near me, alternating between pushing strands of hair off my temple or skimming the line of my bicep. It’s not like him at all to be this unsure. He always knows what to do.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper.
The words barely make it out, but Caz hears them. He’s already shedding his outer coat, the heavy ceremonial drape falling to the floor. He kicks off his boots and pulls the crimson sash from his waist with one quick tug. There’s no hesitation in the way he steps into the bath. No shame. No ceremony. Only purpose.
Water splashes up as he lowers into the basin behind me, legs stretching to either side of mine. I feel the warmth of his chest before it touches me—radiating power, presence, something grounding. Then he pulls me back. My spine presses to his chest. His arms wrap around me, slow and strong. My head fits under his chin like we’ve done this a hundred times.
We haven’t. But it still feels like we have.
The moment his skin touches mine, the shaking gets worse. Hedoesn’t flinch. He just tightens his grip, folding me into him like I’m something fragile worth protecting. Like I’m his. I want to protest. I want to pretend I don’t need this. That I didn’t just fall apart in front of an entire realm. But I melt instead, sagging against him as my head tips back to rest on his shoulder.
His breath is ragged, and his voice—when it comes—is wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The words barely touch the air. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Again and again, like a mantra he can’t stop. At some point the words stop sounding familiar. I don’t understand. Not fully. Not yet. But I know he means it. He feels it.
My fingers twitch in the water. My eyes blur. Everything pulses, light, heat, memory. I’m drifting until a voice breaks through, soft and familiar.
“She’s okay now,” Sarai murmurs. “You hear that, George? She’s okay.”
I don’t know if I’m dreaming it. But I hear George’s name, and it anchors me. I think of his fur. His weight on my chest at night. I think of Earth, and the smell of my old hoodie, and that one cracked mug I will never get rid of, not when I still remember mom sipping her coffee from it every single morning. I think of everything I’ve lost. And how I’m not alone now.
Caziel shifts again behind me. His fingers trail along my arm, just above the glowing brand. He doesn’t flinch from the heat. He cups my forearms in both hands and presses his lips to the crown of my head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, barely audible. “I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve known. I should’ve fought harder.”
My lips part, but no sound comes. I want to tell him he did enough, I’m still here, alive, but the warmth and weight of him around me are already dragging me under, somewhere dark and quiet and safe. The last thing I hear is his breath in my ear, low and heavy, his chest expanding behind and around me. Breaking apart at the edges.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I swear I won’t let it hurt you again.”
And this time, when the blackness comes, I don’t fight it. Because I believe him.
ACT TWO
THE CRUCIBLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KAY
The first thing I feel is the heat.
Not fire, not pain, just the deep, pulsing warmth of something that’s already passed through me and left its mark. It radiates from somewhere beneath my skin, humming low in my bones. My arms ache in strange, rhythmic pulses. My back feels like it’s holding a second heartbeat.
I open my eyes slowly. The ceiling above me is smooth stone, veined faintly in red. Not glowing. Not flickering. Just soft, steady light like embers that never go out. My blankets are thick and clean even if I’ve never seen them before. I’m not in pain. Not really. More like I’m aware of every single part of my body.
My mouth is dry. My head is full of cotton. My thoughts move like honey.
