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I leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. There was no urgency to it, no heat, only an offer of comfort. He sighed, his fingers loosening their grip on my wrists. I removed his shirt and tossed it aside.

Tristan pulled me up onto the bed with him, drawing the heavy duvet over us. We lay facing each other in the dim room, our foreheads touching, his arm draped around my waist. His skin was cool to the touch, his muscles solid but not tense. Within minutes, the exhaustion claimed him.

I lay awake in the twilight shadows, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. I knew dinner was coming, and I wanted to stay awake so I could answer the door before they woke Tristan. I sighed and stroked him as I listened for footsteps. Then something caught my eye—a glow at the edge of the duvet.

I lifted the duvet to see his sigil glowing. It wasn't the violent, burning heat from the park, but a gentle luminescence. The entire design flared once and then winked out.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tristan needed his rest, so I waited till morning to tell him what I saw. Tension returned to his shoulders, and he agreed we had to tell the Conclave everything. We found them gathered in a meeting room, four of them seated around a massive mahogany table, surrounded by towering bookshelves and tall leaded-glass windows framing a view of the woods. Alistair leaned against the marble mantle of the fireplace to the left of the table, his dark curls tousled artfully. At the window, Cassian stood motionless, his bronze skin shadowed by the drapery. Seraphel, of course, occupied the seat at the head of the table.

“What's happened?” Seraphel demanded upon seeing Tristan's expression.

Tristan looked down at me for a fraction of a second before facing the table. “Destiny saw the mark react while I was asleep. It glowed and pulsed once.”

Edmund stood, his icy blue-gray eyes narrowing as he rounded the table. “A pulse? In response to what?”

“Nothing,” I said. “We were lying in bed, Tristan was asleep.”

Cassian stepped away from the window, moving gracefully to Tristan. “Show me your sigil.”

Tristan unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open.

Cassian's dark eyes fixed on the golden markings. He lifted a hand and hovered it above Tristan's sigil. The room fell into silence. Even Bart stopped drinking his coffee, his tired blue eyes fixed on Cassian.

“There is an active resonance,” Cassian murmured. “The baseline frequency of the Curse has shifted. The sigil is no longer dormant between Pulls.”

“For fuck's sake!” Bart waved his hand in exasperation. “Speak English.”

Cassian looked at Bart, undisturbed by his attitude. “The sigil is awake.”

“A sigil only awakens for a Severing,” Tanvi said.

“Is it just me or is it more pronounced than it should be?” Alistair stepped closer to Tristan to peer at the sigil. “It almost looks raised, like a scar. Mine isn't raised.”

Everyone stared at the sigil, even Tristan.

“Destiny, would you please place your hand upon Tristan's sigil?” Seraphel asked.

He asked politely which worried me. I set my hand on the sigil, prepared for it to glow. Nothing happened.

“So, it's not simply her touch,” Serpahel said. “There must be specific conditions required.

“There's more.” Tristan looked at me, and when I nodded, he continued. “After a few releases, the Pull decreased, but then it increased to an unbearable level. I asked Destiny to strike me unconscious. That's how painful it was. Honestly, I would have gladly died to be free of the pain.”

“Dear God,” Cassian whispered.

“Destiny took some of it from me. The relief was overwhelming so I didn't notice what was happening at first. Then the pain was gone. Completely. Heartbreak was still there, still ready to curse, but it didn't hurt me. It was content.”

“Content,” Seraphel repeated, the word rolling from his lips like distant thunder. He leaned forward, resting his corded forearms on the table. “You are claiming that an Echo Curse—a primal force of emotional devastation—experienced contentment? Not calm, but contentment?”

“I felt it,” I told Seraphel, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “When I touched him, the pain was astronomical at first. But I knew if I stopped taking it, he'd have to feel it. So I drew it deeper, took as much as I could hold, and accepted it as part of Tristan, as necessary to his existence as his lungs or his heart. And, as a part of Tristan, I love it. No, not just because of Tristan.” I paused as I worked through what I had felt then. “I love it for itself. Without Heartbreak, I never would have met Tristan. Without it, all those people today would be stuck in the past, never moving forward. Heartbreak has a purpose. It's a necessary part of life—a transition, a cleansing, a shadow to sharpen to the light. When I accepted Tristan's pain, Heartbreak came with it, and I felt its longing within all the grief. Feeling that, I didn't just want to help Tristan, I wanted to help Heartbreak. The moment I welcomed it and loved it, the pain stopped. The Curse didn't feel like a monster trying to break free. It felt like a weary soldier who could finally lay down his weapons.”

Tanvi stood up, her dark eyes darting between Tristan's chest and my face. “This defies reason. An Echo exists to perpetuate its state. Heartbreak draws human beings toward rupture because rupture is its nature. It cannot be appeased by the very thing it destroys.”

“Opposites attract.” I shrugged.

“Scientifically, that is true.” Seraphel tapped his fingers on the table. “But not for Curses. The Pull draws us to those the Curse can consume because Curses are like forces of nature. You can't appease Fire with Water. One destroys the other. Thus, if love can affect Heartbreak at all, it should destroy it.”