She staggered back a step, and it hit her all at once.
The Pattern was calling her. It was happening again. It was happening now.
The next pull yanked at her chest like a hook had sunk in deep behind her sternum. She doubled over, gasping, legs trembling beneath her.
Kazuma.
Panic spiked through her. The celebration. His hands on her. His voice in her mind.
He didn’t know.
He wouldn’t know.
She reached for him across the link.Kazuma—Kazuma, I—
The wall hit her.
Solid. Final.
The growing vortex sealed off the bond with the force of a slammed door. Her thoughts went nowhere.
She screamed anyway.
His name. A sob. A broken sound ripped from her throat, carried off on the wind.
The air surged, spinning around her in a violent funnel. Her hair whipped into her face. Her skin stretched taut across her bones as invisible hands began tearing at her, molecule by molecule.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
The final war hadn’t even started.
She should’ve stayed—would have stayed if she hadn’t…
A moan caught in her throat.
She’d touched it.
Two years ago. That bright, forbidden sliver of power. It had only been for a moment. When she’d thought he was going to die.
She’d hoped the Pattern had forgiven her. Or forgotten.
Aimee collapsed to her knees, fingers digging into the dirt, but her hands no longer felt solid.
Whatever task she’d needed to do here at the Hearth was done, and now, it was taking everything back.
One finger lifted, dissolving into ash. Then another. And another.
She watched them go, too stunned to scream again.
Her thoughts scrambled.
His voice. His scent. The way he said her name. The first time he touched her.
Each memory shuddered in her mind—then vanished, like a wick snuffed out.
Please. Not him. Let me keep him. Just him.
But the Pattern was erasing everything. Just like it always did.
