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Mireille watches me a moment longer before returning to her shelves. I feel her eyes drift from me as I open the creaking door and step outside. The cool early morning air greets me, the sky still bruised with the last traces of night.

I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders and start down the street, lifting my hood over my head. As I walk, my mind drifts to amber eyes, glowing hands, fire, and the price Roman paid for his efforts. He could have died. What did the pain feel like when he takes it from me? Did it hurt him just as bad as it did me? The thought follows me down the narrow streets, past shuttered taverns and sailors passed out in doorways.

A few blocks later, the familiar shape of crooked timber and swinging signage comes into view. Pebble’s.

Home sweet home.

I glance up at the room over the bar to see the lamps in Zorren’s windows still burning low, casting a golden spill across the stone. Relief loosens something tight in my chest. And then the familiar scent of lavender hits me before I even round the corner.

“Nessa?” The disbelief in Nyra’s voice pulls my attention. I turn slowly. She stands a few paces away, sunlight catching in her dark hair, her eyes wide as if she’s looking at a ghost.

A breath escapes between my lips. She’s alive. After Maddoc, I’m uncertain of anyone’s safety. Another wave of relief surges through me so fast it almost buckles my knees.

“Ny,” I breathe, the word breaking on the exhale. “Thank the gods you’re okay.”

She steps toward me, eyes scanning my face, my shoulders, and my stance. It’s the absence of bruises and blood that takes her aback. I did go through the unimaginable, but thanks to healing hands, I look like I've been resting.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” she says, voice tight with restrained panic. “What the fuck happened to you?” The words lodge in my ribs.

I study her, trying to measure the space between what I remember. The night with Silas feels both immediate and impossibly far away.

“How long?” I ask quietly.

She frowns. “What?”

“How long was I gone?” This time my voice comes out colder. Like I’m bracing for impact. I usually know everything, or at least let people think I do, but here I am trying to piece my own life back together.

Her brows pull tight. “You don’t know?” There’s genuine worry in her tone now. “Are you okay?”

I slowly push back the hood of my cloak. The sun that finally found a way through the fog warms my face as I meet her gaze. “How long?” I repeat.

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Weeks, Nessa.” Her voice falters, her expression cracking with guilt. “It’s been four weeks since the last time I saw you.”

Four weeks. My gods… Was I truly out for four weeks? Was I balancing between the realm of the afterlife and the living world for that long? Did Roman stay with me that entire time? Feeding me, mending me, bathing me? The thought churns my stomach. When did he find me? I hate that he left before I could talk to him, before I could find out the truth that I’m so desperate to know.

Behind Nyra, two drunk pirates stumble down the street, laughing so hard they can barely stand. The world keeps moving, unaware that mine just tilted off its axis. My thoughts scatter, too many too fast.

“Nessa, what happened to you?” Nyra’s voice pulls me back. I blink, forcing the fog from my head, and finally focus on her.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I just had business to handle.” It’s a poor lie, but I need her to stop worrying. Some secrets aren’t meant to be shared, especially ones that involve the heir to the most powerful throne in existence, the throne I plan on burning to ashes.

She crosses her arms, unimpressed. “Business? You think disappearing for four weeks counts as business? You left your town, Nessa. Where’s Maddoc? Were you off with him? He always comes back weekly. If anything, I would’ve expected him to come searching for you.”

My throat tightens at the sounds of his name and I turn away. I can’t look her in the eye. So much has happened, and too much of it was my fault. Why did I have to run into her? Guilt and grief churns inside me. I don’t have to tell her right now, and I’m not ready to. Let her go on a bit longer believing her friend is still alive. “I wish I was,” I murmur.

Her face softens with worry. “What do you mean? Is he all right?”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I force them back down where they belong. “No,” I manage. “He’s not. And now’s not the time for questions.” I’ve never struggled this hard after a death. I can usually push the pain down, like I did with Sirena. But with Maddoc, I fear I will never feel any relief.

I take a deep breath, straightening my cloak and forcing the emotion out of my voice. “I’m back now. That’s what matters. Now, what did I miss?”

I turn back to meet her worried gaze. It isn’t fair to keep Maddoc’s death from her. She cared about him too. The ache hits deep, sharper than I expected. I find my hand wandering to the outline of the dagger he made me, tucked away safely in its sheath underneath my cloak.

“Well,” she starts, tucking a loose strand of her tight-curled hair behind her ear, “there’ve been some royals spotted. But nothing too crazy. They came in through the docks, buying goods, flashing gold, acting like they owned the place. A few were seen gambling in the Underground, and betting at the Ring.” She steps closer. The townspeople from Coral Haven are also considered royals. We don’t associate with them nor let them onto our lands unless a treaty’s been signed, by me.

“Were they young or old?” I ask.

“Young. Maddoc’s age. Our age, I should say.”