"I’m here, I’m here—I have you now." Her vision blurred.
She stared at his chest, and Lucien made a choked sound. "Vesperin, don’t look. Don’t look—please?—"
"Okay, I won’t look." Her voice wavered. He was protecting her, even now.
Behind her, she heard a low, muffled shout.
Kit had arrived. His right arm was held at an odd angle, dangling limply at his side. His left hand was tucked against his side. Though he wore his black suit, she saw the sleek, tight material at his ribs was wet, darker. He made no sound of pain, even as Rhyden pressed the muzzle of his gun to Kit’s forehead.
Kit wavered. Sparks fizzled around the joint of his useless right arm. He stared at Vesperin, then his brown eyes slid pasther—to Lucien. He drew in a sharp, ragged breath. And when he exhaled, he shook his head in denial.
"I will not hurt her," Kit said. "I will never hurt her—again."
Rhyden studied him, then dropped his arm, but didn’t holster his gun. His voice was deep with emotion as he spat, "Fucking watch yourself. If I see one thing I don’t like—I’ll blow a hole through your goddamned head."
"I will beg you to." Kit stumbled forward. He dropped to his knees an arm’s length from her and Lucien. His right arm was utterly useless, and this close, she saw small pieces of crushed metal sticking through holes in the suit. The prosthetic sparked. "Lucien," he said slowly.
Lucien rolled his head to the side, speaking with effort. His eyes were half-lidded, the green dull. "Kit—Kiton, I see you finally… came to your senses." Lucien tried to smile, but the blood on his teeth made it look tragic.
Rhyden knelt behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his chest firm against her back, protecting her.
Through the rubble and blood, she saw hints of chipped paint and familiar, splintered furniture. They were standing amid the half-caved-in remnants of her childhood room, the same place where everything had changed.
Atlas—he had known this was going to happen. "Why?" she whispered, eyes unseeing.
"I saw this," Lucien murmured weakly, drawing their attention.
They all stared at him.
Vesperin was the only one who still foolishly hoped he could be saved. This was what faith had gotten her: agony.
Why had she believed?
She had spent her whole life believing, only for it to… end this way. Because she surely knew if Lucien died, she wouldn’t live. She wouldn’t survive it.
"In trying to stop it, I made it… happen," Lucien forced out.
Lucien released her hand, raising it in the air between them and flipping it slowly to reveal his palm. His fingers trembled violently. He made a low sound, and before her eyes, a soft blue flower bloomed in his palm. A forget-me-not. The petals curled, fluttering.
Her eyes watered, tears spilling freely down her lash line, cutting damp, crystalline tracks through the ash on her skin. She shook her head.
Lucien’s fingers pressed against her chest as he tried to give the flower to her. "For you," he breathed.
"No, I don’t want it." She tried to shove his hand away. She tried to tell him she’d rather have him than a stupid flower. But words escaped her.
"I saw this in… in my dreams. For months," Lucien swore. "It is finally happening. I tried to stop it. I did—" Blood bubbled over his lips. Lips she’d kissed countless times. She could barely see through the tears obscuring her vision. "I did everything to keep you from it. The world—it’s ending. I dreamed of it. I will find you again." His voice was a thin whisper. "I promise." His head dropped to the side. The warmth left his green eyes.
He did not blink.
"Lucien?" Vesperin touched his jaw. "Lucien? Lucien, please wake up? Please… please.Please. For me? Wake—wake up?" She was sobbing. Violently. Her throat was raw. Her head pounded. Blood fell steadily from her sore nostrils, crawling up the back of her throat. She coughed and tasted iron. Her blood dropped from her lips, getting on his skin. It slid down over his unmoving chest.
"No," she hiccupped. "No,no. Don’t do this to me. Lucien, please—I cannot live without you. Not without you. I can’t do this." Her words were incoherent, broken with grief.
She folded forward, unable to remain upright beneath the weight of such pain. She fell on Lucien’s chest, the edge of the metal unforgiving and sharp on her cheek as she bowed over him.
The ground rumbled beneath them. Let it take them. She didn’t care anymore.
"What Lucien said…" Auren’s voice pierced through her wails, making her push herself off Lucien’s chest, heaving and sick. The Soul Searcher knelt by her side, reaching for Lucien’s face. His touch was gentle as he forced Lucien’s lids to close. She didn’t like it—not at all. "He spoke the truth," Auren said in a rush, then sighed. His head fell back as if in relief. "He spoke the truth." The words were slower this time.
