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Around forty, he had thick dark hair brushed back from a high forehead, faint silver dusting his temples, and striking gray eyes. He looked at Tristan, and for three long heartbeats, there was silence.

“I've left that window open for months, Tristan.” Fabian's voice was a rich, low baritone, seasoned with the cadence of southern Europe. “I was sure you'd find me sooner.”

Tristan stayed planted between Fabian and me, his shoulders rigid. “I thought you died, Fabian.”

“To quote Mark Twain,” Fabian said, “Correctly, I might add, 'The report of my death was an exaggeration.”

“You were mortal.” Tristan looked Fabian up and down as if he might find evidence of how the man had survived so long.

“I am a witch.” Fabian clasped his hands behind his back, his posture perfect. “But my magic wasn't enough to grant me true immortality.”

I watched Fabian closely. There was an uncanny stillness in his chest, a lack of the natural rise and fall that marked ordinary respiration. Haversham had carried the same composure—the weight of a man who had stepped beyond the boundary of living flesh and refused to let it stop him.

“I'd been studying ways to prolong life at the monastery,” Fabian continued. “At first, it was simple alchemy and borrowed vitality. Necromantic charms, forbidden seals, folk remedies. After Stylos burned, I found the ritual I needed.” He looked at me then. “Hello, Ms. Takeda. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm not surprised Tristan wound up with a restoration artist. He has always gravitated toward women who fix broken things.”

“Don’t talk to her.” Tristan took a step forward. The air in the room suddenly grew colder, the hair on my arms standing up as Heartbreak’s presence stirred beneath his skin.

“Peace, old friend.” Fabian held up a palm. “I have spent nine hundred years watching you from the edges of crowded markets, railway stations, and hotel lobbies. All so I may make amends for my past.”

“You freed me, Fabian. That's enough.”

“Hardly. I betrayed you at Stylos.” Fabian's voice dropped into an earnest, desperate plea. “They told me the reliquary would hold Heartbreak, that when the dawn came, you would leave Stylos as a mortal man. I loved you like a brother, and I wanted you to have a life that was all yours. It failed, but I've learned much since then. I won't fail again.”

“You don't understand what you’re dealing with,” I interrupted.

Fabian’s gaze shifted to me. “I have studied Curses and Tristan for centuries. I know exactly what I'm dealing with. I have a feeling that you, however, do not.”

“Really? So you understand that when you used the silver piece—the one either you or Osric stole—you made him suffer? The pain of it was overwhelming.”

Fabian sighed, looking genuinely disappointed, and focused back on Tristan. “I'm sorry about that, Tristan. It was necessary. I had to be certain it would do what I needed. For centuries, the Conclave has insisted that a Curse cannot be completely separated from its vessel without destroying the vessel. But if nothing else, the failed ritual proved it can be done. Heartbreak left your body, and you suffered nothing while it was gone. You were free. It is a wild, ravenous force that has kept you trapped in amber for seventeen centuries, feeding on your loneliness, forcing you to watch every woman you touch suffer. I'm going to free you again, my friend. This time forever.”

“And how will you do that?”

“The monks failed because they tried to trap a living, sentient force inside dead metal,” Fabian said patiently. “Heartbreak cannot live in gold or silver. It needs a soul that understands loss, a vessel capable of holding love and feeling the torment of its destruction.”

“So, your solution is to force it into me?” I asked.

“Tristan is too noble to ever ask someone to share his Curse. I think you know that, Destiny. He would rather wither in isolation than let you shoulder his burden with him. So the choice must be made for him.”

“By you?” I asked, my voice hard. “You think you have the right to decide what happens to us?”

“You will ask him to share the Curse with you,” Fabian said. “It's been seen. Your love for each other will form a bridge for Heartbreak to flow through. The Severing would work with you two, exceptionally well.” His eye twitched. “But there's one problem.”

“I will never do that to her,” Tristan vowed.

Fabian waved at Tristan. “And there it is. So, let me tell you what will happen if I don't do this. You will love each other until the day you die, Ms. Takeda. You will beg him, over and over, to share his Curse with you. You will love him so greatly that seeing his pain will torment you far worse than sharing the Curse would. But he will never see that. He will never sever the Curse. You will die, old and untouched, and he will mourn you as he has never mourned anyone before. When he buries you, he will lie down on your grave and shoot himself in the head. Oh, but he'll leave a note attached to his body, asking that they bury him with you. So, I suppose you'll be together forever either way.”

I flinched. There were no words to say. I just stared at Fabian, seeing the truth in his eyes. I would have recognized it as true even if I hadn't trusted him. Because it was exactly what the man I loved would do.

“You could be his savior.” Fabian held a hand out to me. “You would bear the burden so he no longer has to. Is that not the very definition of love?”

“That's the very definition of bullshit.” Tristan shot across the distance between them in a fraction of a second, grabbed Fabian by the throat, and slammed him against the wall. The impact rattled the framed paintings, sending two of them crashing to the floor. “Love doesn't need to be proven to be real. She certainly doesn't have to sacrifice herself because she loves me. Don't you dare put that on her!”

Fabian didn't fight back. He didn't gasp for air, because his lungs had no need of it. He looked into Tristan’s blazing blue-green eyes with nothing but endless, infuriating patience. “You cannot frighten a dead man, Tristan,” Fabian whispered, his voice unhindered by the crushing grip on his windpipe. “And you cannot undo the truth. The ritual is ready. The components have been gathered. All we need is Destiny to agree.”

“So you are working with Osric,” Tristan growled, his knuckles whitening against Fabian’s pale skin.

A faint, mocking smile touched Fabian’s lips. “Osric Taylor is obsessed with the supernatural. All I had to do was prove my immortality to him, and he was eating out of my hand. He finds and pays for everything I need. He's most eager to meet you.” Fabian looked over at me. “And you. He regrets having to scare you, but things needed to progress.”