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“It's the most important reason, but it's not the only one.” I took a breath. “I'm also doing this because I want to. Because the idea of sharing this burden with you, of being your partner in every sense of the word, feels right in a way nothing else ever has. I want to be the person you can't do this without, not because you're weak, but because we're stronger together.”

Tristan jerked. “Damn it!”

I giggled.

“He said Mirana saw us happy,” he whispered.

“Blissful, I believe was the word he used. She a successful Severing without pain.”

Tristan pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe. “I'm terrified.”

“Change is always scary.”

He pulled back enough to look at me. “All right, we'll do it.” He let out a harsh breath.

“Agreed. But not tonight.” I touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw. “Tonight, we just rest. We survived. That's enough for now.”

“More than enough.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

I woke to the warmth of Tristan's hand on my shoulder, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. The bedroom glowed with pale gold light.

“Destiny,” Tristan whispered. “It's time.”

My heart kicked against my ribs, adrenaline forcing me awake fast. I blinked up at him, still half-tangled in sleep. “Now?”

“Now.” He sat up, and the golden sigil caught the sunlight. “Unless you've changed your mind.”

I pushed myself upright, the sheet falling away. The air was cool against my bare skin. “I haven't.”

“You're certain?” His aquamarine eyes looked bluer in the dawn's light as they searched mine. “Once we begin—”

“I'm certain.” I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together.

He exhaled and some of the tension left his shoulders. “Then we should begin. The ritual is best done with the rising sun.”

Tristan cast back the sheets, and we sat cross-legged, facing each other. Naked, his body bathed in gold, he was glorious, but I squirmed. Having sex was one thing, but just sitting there made me feel more exposed. With a smile, Tristan dropped his gaze over me and let me see his adoration.

Looking at the golden sigil on his chest, every instinct I’d honed at the conservation bench settled into focus. You never force fragile materials into shapes they can no longer hold, nor do you scrub away centuries of wear to pretend an artifact was never broken. You preserve the history so the piece can endure. The Severing was never meant to be a restoration to some untouched, pristine past. It was our stabilization—a careful, mutual anchoring of Heartbreak between Tristan and me, honoring what we were so none of us would have to bear the weight alone.

“Place your right hand over my sigil.”

I lifted my hand and pressed my palm against the golden mark. The skin was warm beneath my touch, and the sigil pulsed once as if it was nervous too. Tristan placed his right hand on my chest, just above my breast. He bent his arm a little so the square we formed was equal.

His palm was steady, but his throat constricted on a swallow. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Tristan closed his eyes, but I kept mine open, watching his face. He didn't speak or even move much, just fell into the blankness of meditation. At first, nothing happened. Then I felt a shift beneath my palm, the sigil rippling. A pulse came and it flared to life. Tristan's breath hitched. His hand pressed more firmly against me, and I felt a powerful energy tickle me there as it simultaneously vibrated into my hand from his chest.

Heartbreak entered me from both our hands at once. Through my palm, it flowed up my arm in a eager rush. Through Tristan's hand, it sank into my chest. The two streams met and merged over my heart, and the weight of it nearly knocked me backward. Swaying with the pain, I closed my eyes.

Heartbreak sank into me—the devastation of love torn away, the empty space left behind. I felt centuries of accumulated grief. Not the heartbreaks he had caused, but those he had been born of. He was ancient grief folded upon itself hundreds of times like the blade of a sword. And just like a blade, he was dangerous. If you held him wrong, he would cut you.

But I was familiar with his edges. I knew how to handle him and embraced the pain. I welcomed Heartbreak, opening myself up to his inspection, allowing him to see me and how I saw him. And I let him feel my acceptance. I knew him for what he was, and I loved all of him. I welcomed Heartbreak, eager to have the honor of holding him.

And it was an honor. I felt it with stinging clarity. He may be a Curse, but being Heartbreak's vessel was a gift. Pride straightened my spine, but gratitude softened it. He had chosen to make me a part of his magnificence.