“That’s not what I said.” A quick smile, smooth and dismissive, punctuates his snobbery. “I’m just being realistic. Foster kids rarely grow up to be like you, Max. You’re…an exception.”
An exception. A fluke. A statistical miracle he can parade around.
“You know almost nothing about me, or my family,” I say, my voice trembling in defeat as the lights flicker above our heads.
“What in God’s name?” He takes a careful step back. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
Heat blooms beneath my skin, burning so hot I can barely breathe. I’m a stranger in my own body.
“What do you mean,different?” I ask.
I blink a few times and feel the spark dissipate.
He rubs his face down. “Listen, it’s late. You’re obviously not thinking rationally, and we’re both tired.” He shoves his unopened beer back in the fridge. “I’m going to bed.”
There’s no invitation in his tone, no warmth. Just disappointment and confusion.
“We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re rested,” he adds, and it’s not an unreasonable request. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”
A fresh wave of shame bursts through me at the sound of the guest room door slamming shut. I wedge the knife from before into a thick book and head to bed, to a room where almost nothing belongs to me.
The only comfort is the absence of mist on the windows as I crawl under the covers, setting the book and hidden blade on the bedside table.
I don’t want to fall asleep. I don’t want to risk another dream, but around three in the morning, I succumb to this losing fight.
I’m in my wedding dress, standing in front of Lachlan, but the tower around me is no church. We’re in a narrow stone keep ringed with tall windows. Beyond them, an ocean of mist churns and swallows the horizon, hiding the world below.
Where a priest should stand behind the podium, E’s golden shadow officiates—half-light, half-smoke, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“Mortal love wanes. Fae love burns to the bone.”
The corset clings to my ribcage, the fabric twisting tighter with each breath. The tulle feels absurdly brittle, each smoothing motion threatening to turn it to dust. The ring slips from my hand, hits the floor, and rolls away—spinning, spinning—until it vanishes into the mist.
Lachlan turns to fetch it. For a heartbeat, I hesitate. Then I raise my dagger—a perfect blade carved from ice. Something borrowed. Something blue.
“Kill him. Kill him, and we can be together,” E urges.
My wrist trembles as I drive the weapon deep into Lachlan’s back. His cry is half pain, half disbelief, and the stone shifts beneath me. When he turns to face me, he’s no longer himself, but a fallen angel with platinum-blonde hair.
I lift the dagger again, aiming higher, but E moves between us. “Max, stop!” He knocks the blade from my hand, and it ricochets off the wall with a metallic shriek. A sudden wind hurls me backward.
The window behind me shatters on impact.
I’m falling—fast as a dying star, fire building under my skin. The train of my dress unfurls, meters of white fabric blooming like a dying flower in my wake. A sharp crack splits through my skull as I hit the ground.
I hit hard, but it isn’t earth that catches me. It’s ice. A pale, endless garden, frozen mid-bloom, sprawls on each side of me. Frost creeps up my neck and curls along my jaw like a lover’s hand before closing around my throat. Stealing sound. Stealing breath.
I’m dead.
I wake with a pounding at the base of my skull, and my toes are cold enough to ache. I rub them with my fingers, trying to bring back circulation, but the pins and needles only grow sharper. The bluish tint beneath my nails turns my stomach. I’m freezing. In my own bed.
The guest room is empty when I pass by, the first light of dawn filtering through the open curtains.
So much for talking things through in the morning.
If the wedding goes ahead now, it’ll be without Nick, Devi, Mabel, or Percy. I’d be turning my back on them forever.
In the bathroom, I twist the shower knob to scorching hot. Steam billows as I step under the spray, desperate to thaw the cold from my body, to rinse away whatever clung to me from the Dreaming. But when my hand finds the sore spot at the back of my skull, I pull away and stare at the smear of red on my fingers.
