Page 142 of She Who Holds My Wrath

I stand there for a moment longer, clutching the bundle of flamebeast scales to my chest, the weight of what’s coming settling deeper into my bones.

After a quick shower, and dropping Vesindiyah’s scales off with my favourite seamstress—who nearly cried when she saw what they were made of—I make my way towards Ezra’s room. The corridor is quieter here. Less bumbling about, no shouting, or the sounds of steel clashing against steel from outside.

I knock once before opening the door, and Ezra is exactly where I expect him to him. Horizontal, face down, arms and legs starfished across the bed.

“I swear to the gods,” he groans into the mattress without looking up, “if you’re here to tell me it’s somehow not my day off, I will simply pass away.”

I laugh, closing the door behind me. “Relax, I come bearing no responsibilities.”

He rolls onto his side dramatically, squinting at me like I might be lying. “Oh, thank fuck. Because I have done nothing today. And I mean nothing. I have achieved perfect bed rot status.”

“Impressive,” I say, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “What did that entail?”

“Well,” he starts seriously, “I stared at the wall for forty-five minutes. Then I contemplated my life choices. Then I mourned the loss of Wi-Fi. Then I napped.”

I snort. “You’re really suffering.”

“You don’t understand,” he says, sitting up now, hair sticking up at odd angles. “I miss technology. I miss my phone. I miss doomscrolling at three a.m. I miss my TV. I miss background noise!”

“If we survive the war,” I say lightly, “I’ll see if I can somehow get modern tech into Hell.”

His eyes widen. “Daisy, if you give Hell Netflix, I will worship you.”

“Shouldn’t you, already? Since I’m queen and all that?”

He rolls his eyes, flopping back dramatically. “Also, healer’s training is actual torture. Cassyr wakes me up at six a.m. Six. That’s not a time people should be conscious. My first shift, was twenty-three hours long, Daisy.”

“Funny,” I say dryly. “He says you’re always late.”

He gasps loudly. “That is slander.”

We lapse into comfortable silence for a moment. It feels… normal. Nice, even.

Then Ezra glances at me, his expression softening. “You okay?”

I hesitate, then nod slowly. “I… I haven’t explained The Void to you properly yet, have I?”

Ezra’s expression turns serious as he sits up. “No, you haven’t. What’s that?”

I draw in a breath. “There’s something inside Korithax. Something ancient. It followed him back when he came back from death.” My voice drops. “It feeds on pain. Fear. Violence. It wants control.”

Ezra swallows. “That’s why he lost it when I showed up.”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “To him, you weren’t just a surprise. You were a threat. The Void screamed it at him. It twists what he sees, what he feels. And he has to fight it constantly.”

Ezra leans forwards, propping his elbows on his knees. “And that’s why he nearly killed me and Lucifer?”

I nod. “He was terrified. Not of you. Of himself. In his head, everything is a danger.”

Ezra exhales slowly. “And he’s managing it?”

“Kinda. For now,” I say honestly. “He didn’t spiral. He didn’t shut down. He’s choosing restraint and control. But it scares me, Ez. Because I don’t know how long anyone can keep doing that without breaking. He vanishes for hours at a time and returns bloodied and drained.”

Ezra is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods once. “I’d be more worried if he wasn’t scared.”

I look at him, my brows furrowed in confusion.

“If he didn’t care about losing control,” Ezra continues softly, “that would mean the thing inside him was winning. Fear means he’s still in there, fighting.”