The fear in his eyes doesn’t vanish. But something beneath it settles.
Even as the power fails, even as the poison presses its advantage—that choice roots itself in the space between heartbeats that are growing further and further apart.
He heard me. That’s all that matters.
“Kaster.”His name escapes my lips. Barely a whisper. A breath shaped into syllables that might not even be audible.
His grip on me tightens. “I’m here.”
“I know.”
My fingers are still wrapped around his wrist. I don’t have the strength to squeeze, but I don’t let go either. This contact—skin against skin, his pulse beneath my fingertips—is the only thing keeping me tethered to a consciousness that’s rapidly slipping away.
“The dreams,” I manage. Each word costs more than the last, scraped from the bottom of an empty well. “They showed me this.”
His expression twists. “Don’t.”
“This is how it ends.”
“Shut up.” The words are vicious. Desperate. Furious in a way that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with grief he won’t acknowledge. “Shut up and stay alive.”
I want to laugh. Want to tell him that demands don’t work on dying bodies, that his commanding tone won’t convince my organs to keep functioning, that all the dragon fire in the world can’t burn poison out of blood.
I don’t have breath for laughter.
I only have breath for one more truth.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
The words come out broken. Fragmentary. Barely audible over the distant sounds of ice cracking and the creature’s retreating screams and the thunder of my own failing heartbeat.
But he hears them.
I see it in the way his whole body goes rigid. The way his hands tremble against my face—hands that have killed without hesitation, that have torn through monsters and obstacles and anything that stood between him and what he wanted. Trembling now. For me.
“Soreia—”
“I didn’t want to die alone.” The confession spills out without my permission. “I thought I did. Thought I could face it like I’ve faced everything else. Clear-headed. Without sentiment. No weakness.”
My voice gives out. I force it to work for a few more sentences, drag the words from lungs that are forgetting how to function.
“But when it came down to it, I wanted?—”
You.
I don’t say the word. Can’t say the word. My body has surrendered to the poison.
But he knows.
His face tells me he knows.
His roar shakes the canyon.
Not rage this time—agony. Pure, unfiltered anguish torn from a creature that has probably never allowed himself to feel this much, never permitted this depth of devastation, never let anyone near enough to leave this kind of wound.
The sound echoes off ice and stone. Reverberates through the cramped passage. Fills every inch of the frozen space with his desperation, his denial, his refusal to accept what’s happening.
I feel it against my skin. Through my bones. In the slowing chambers of my heart that are beating slower, slower, slower.
