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What’s hard is seeing my Omega’s eyes still locked on the floor, like the potential consequences of daring to look up are too terrifying to risk. The way her fingers frantically twist and pull and smooth the fabric of her shirt fucking shatters me into a thousand pieces.

I wish they hadn’t ducked.

I inch closer to my Omega, stopping when I’m about four feet away. Her shoulders hitch in silent sobs, tears carving shimmering tracks in the pale skin of her face.

“Sweet girl.”

I don’t know what makes me choose that endearment, but the moment Idril hears it, her breaths stutter, her movements still, and her head snaps up in recognition. Those bright blue eyes latch onto mine. The Bond thrums like a plucked cord, and then I’m back in that blood-splattered foyer with Idril in my lap, and her head is cradled in my hands, and I’m promising, ‘It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s going to be okay. Breathe. I’ve got you. I’m here. Everything is fine.’

And we both know it’s a lie, but a lie is all we have, so we latch onto the lie, holding it tight with both hands and refusing to let go.

For weeks we’ve held on to that lie, pretending it was the truth. Telling ourselves there was still hope over and over until it started to shift and reform, becoming a permanent part of us—a part of our story.

We held onto that lie until eventually, we turned it into the truth.

“It’s time,” I whisper, taking another step closer.

She shakes her head. Her voice cracks when she whimpers, “I can’t.”

“You can,” I insist fiercely. “You are so, so strong. And you’re not alone anymore.”

I take another step.

Another.

One more, and I’m right in front of her. So close I can see the fear in her eyes.

But under the fear… hope.

She watches as I lift my right hand and curl it into a fist. Her eyes grow wide with recognition as I lift it to my sternum and press it against my chest—right over my heart.

With a relieved whimper, Idril deflates and lurches, taking a stumbling step forward. She’s shaking so hard she buckles as her legs give out, and I lunge, reaching out and catching her as she collapses into my arms with a strangled sob.

I wrap my body around my Omega and bury my face into her hair. “Idril. Idril. My Mate. My Omega.”

Wrapping my body protectively around my Omega, we both collapse to the floor. I pull her closer—tighter—thanking all the gods and Fate and anything listening for the solid weight of her in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, and because once will never be enough, I repeat the words over and over and over again, rocking back and forth with her in my lap, uncaring that I’m breaking apart in front of witnesses.

“Fates, I’m so sorry. I failed you. I fucking failed you. I thought you’d be safe. I thought they’d protect you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know how long we spend wrapped up in each other on the floor of the War Room, but I know it’s not long enough. I’d happily stay right where I am all night if not for Daxen’s inability to read a fucking room.

The panic in his voice tells me all I need to know about his state of mind as his shout slices through the heavy silence.

“Someone explain to me what the actual fuck is going on!”

Chapter 13

Daxen

The sound the Omega makes when she falls into my brother’s arms is something I’ll hear for the rest of my life. It’s branded onto my soul, burned into my brain.

Despite being alive for over five centuries, I’ve never heard anything like it. I’ve held mates as they’ve lost the Fated half of their soul. I've seen mothers grieve the death of their children. I’ve witnessed families’ homes, with everything inside, destroyed in war.

I’ve heard grief, lived it.

This… this isn’t grief.