Page 178 of The Immortal’s Mark

His thumb brushes my cheek, catching tears I didn’t know were falling.

“I’m grateful for your incompetence.”

I choke on something that’s half laugh, half sob. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“My poetry is better.”

“Your poetry is terrible.”

“You’re alive to criticize it.” His forehead drops to mine. His breath warm on my face. His voice finally, finally steadying into something that sounds almost like him. “That’s enough.”

We stay like that.

His arms around me. My hands fisted in his robes. Both of us shaking. Both of us still not quite believing we’re here, that I’m back, that whatever happened in the void somehow let me come home.

Home.

When did this become home?

The answer is obvious. I’m literally staring right at it.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “I don’t understand what saved me.”

“Neither do I.”

“He saw something. He looked at me and he saw something and he couldn’t—” I stop. Shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Not right now.”

“Lián—”

“I know.” I pull back enough to look at him. Really look. “I know we need to figure it out. I know he’s still out there. I know the ritual failed but that doesn’t mean he’s done. I know—”

“Stop.”

The word is quiet. An order, but not really. A request dressed up in imperial clothing.

“Stop thinking about what comes next. Just—” His hand cups my jaw. Careful. Reverent. The way he touches me when he forgets to be the emperor. “You’re alive. You’re here. Can that be enough? For one moment?”

I should argue. I should plan. I should do what I always do—fill the silence with noise, the stillness with motion, the fear with jokes.

Instead I close my eyes.

Let myself be held.

First time I’ve let anyone see me like this—raw and scared and still not quite believing I get to stay.

Maybe that means something.

His heartbeat against my chest. Steady. Real.

His arms around me. Warm. Safe.

The mystery hangs—what stopped the ritual, what did the Hungering King see, what part of the blessing was too painful for him to read—but it can wait. For one moment. For this breath and the next and the one after that.

I’m alive.

I don’t understand why.

But I’m here, and he’s here, and somewhere in the palace a fat orange cat is probably yowling for his dinner, and for right now, just for right now, that’s enough.