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“Yes, I do.” I lift my chin, forcing myself to meet his gaze when he finally turns to me.

His jaw tightens, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “If you jump and don’t emerge, I’ll come after you.”

“You can’t,” I beg.

“I can’t stand here and watch you fall, Aella. I won’t.”

Panic crashes over me. “Lyxander—”

“She is right.”

I flinch at the sound of Queen Khione’s cold voice a few paces away. Four Harpaurai stand at her back, their expressions grim and fixed on the man at my side.

“And I cannot take the chance of you doing something foolish,” the queen says. “Restrain him.”

The Harpaurai move without hesitation, their wings flaring as they close in on Lyxander.

“No,” he growls. “Don’t you dare—”

Lyxander twists sharply, breaking free of one Harpaurai’s grip, his wings flaring wide as he shoves another back. For a moment, it looks as though he might escape, but the others close in, their hands gripping his arms, his shoulders, dragging him down.

His voice is raw, desperate, as he shouts, “Aella, don’t—”

One of the Harpaurai tightens their grip, and my heart breaks.

Queen Khione meets my gaze across the struggle. “If you want to keep him alive, I suggest you run.”

I force myself to turn away, my throat tight and my vision blurring. The wind bites at my skin as I break into a sprint, each step a battle against the weight of my own fear, my own doubt. The archway at the edge of the cliff looms ahead, its frame stark against the swirling auroras, and with every step I take, it grows closer, more real, more final.

My stomach hollows at the sight.

What if this doesn’t work?

The thought arrives, clean and cruel, as the distant crash of waves climbs the cliff face and the wind carries the taste of salt and stone to my tongue.

Twenty paces left.

The wind howls around me, tugging at my hair, my clothes, as if trying to pull me back.

Fifteen paces.

Behind me, Lyxander still struggles, but I force myself to block him out.

Ten.

Storm clouds gather overhead, thunder rolls threateningly.

Five.

The void stretches out before me, and for a heartbeat, I feel the pull of it—the terrifying freedom of letting go.

The wind stills—

And I leap.

A scream lodges in my throat as air rips past me. My theïkós quivers, stirring against my will. But I shove down the instinct to call it forward, smother the growing whispers in my veins.

Not this time. Not like this. I force myself to feel the fall, to sink into it completely.