Goldie exhaled slowly, spreading her hands over the cards, her fingertips brushing the worn edges as if she could draw steadiness from the card stock itself. Her gaze traced the spread once, twice, a third time. Anything to keep from looking at him. Anything to drown out the echo of the words she hadn’t meant to say.
Splice’s voice hesitantly broke through. “What do you see?” he asked carefully.
Goldie huffed a sharp laugh, shaking her head without looking up. “I see a mess. That’s what I see.”
She tapped the first card, nail clicking against the inked surface. “The High Priestess. Secrets at the heart of it all. Something hidden.”
Another sharp tap. “The Tower. A collapse waiting to happen. Sudden ruin.”
Her fingers hovered over the last card, almost reluctant. “The Devil. Chains, obsession, corruption.”
For a long moment, Splice didn’t move. She couldfeelthe weight of what he wasn’t saying, the air heavy with it—an apology, maybe, or some mythic pronouncement to match the gravity in her voice. He drew a strangled breath beside her.
“That sounds… rather vague.”
Goldie glared at him. “Welcome to tarot, sweetheart. Wow!” She gave his shoulder a light slap. “You are really going for the gold in saying things you absolutely shouldnotsay to me right now.”
Splice’s head jerked toward her. His voice came rough, too loud, like it had splintered on the way out.
“I am sorry, Marigold.”
The frustration in it made him seem painfully human. Against her will, that did something strange and aching in Goldie’s chest.
He dragged in a breath, jaw tight. “This isn’t anything I know.”
She started to roll her eyes. “Well, yeah, me either.”
“No.” The word cracked like a whip. “You don’t understand. When we—when we were… performing the ritual?—”
His voice faltered, strangled. “I began to feel. As anI.That has never happened before. And then—gods—you felt it. I know you did. The ground opening. The earth itself, pulling. When that happened, Mycor—I felt him—I don’t—this has never—oh, green gods?—”
His voice broke, cracking like dry bark. The vines along his neck writhed violently, then shriveled in place, curling in on themselves with a sickeningcrackle.Brown spidered across his skin in branching lines, like leaves scorched at the edges.
Oh, hells,Goldie thought, the realization hitting her like a physical blow.He’s having a panic attack.
Oberon scrambled across Goldie with a self-important chirp, tail flagging high, then clambered straight into Splice’s lap and butted his chin in a valiant, utterly misplaced attempt at comfort.
Splice shrieked. The sound was sharp and inhuman, high enough to make Goldie flinch. He recoiled like he’d been burned, vines whipping out from his wrist before snapping back tight against his arm.
“Not helping, cat!” Goldie hissed, scooping Oberon out of the way before Splice collapsed onto him. She forced her voice to be steady and calming. “Splice. Look at me.”
He didn’t look at her. His eyes were wide and wild, breathing shallow, his whole body trembling like a tree about to crack in a storm.
Goldie lunged forward, seized his shoulders, and wrenched him toward her. “Look at me. Look at me, Splice.”
His eyes weren’t right. Too wide. Too bright. Pupils blown until the green around them fractured. Not human eyes. Panicked, cryptid eyes.
She didn’t know what else to do. So she reached across the cushion and hauled him against her chest, arms banding tight around him, squeezing like she could wring the storm out of his body. “Breathe. In with me, come on. Now.”
His chest hitched against hers, ragged and uneven. She pressed her cheek to his chest, shut her eyes, and held on.
And then she felt it. Not just his panic battering her ribs, but something deeper, spilling through the cracks between them. A hollow roar, spiraling down and down. The rasp of something far too vast to fit inside one body, flooding into her.
Her throat tightened, but she forced her voice steady, anchoring them both. “With me, Splice. In.” She dragged air into her lungs, slow and deliberate. “And out. Do it with me.”
He shuddered. Slowly, his frantic gasps began to find a rhythm with her breath. Still raw, still trembling, but less like a tree about to splinter. He tried to wrench back, his hands braced as if to push her away.
“No,” Goldie murmured, tightening her arms around him. “Not done. Just a little longer.”
