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The rush of the descent vibrates through every bone, every tendon. My chest tightens—not against fear, not yet—but against something heavier. Anticipation.

Wings.

I wait for the crack, for the unbearable pain of transformation, for the crescendo of my body ripping itself apart only to become something wholly new. My arms spread wide even as the sea presses closer beneath me.

Any moment now.

I tell myself the words over and over like a prayer, drowning out the sound of the wind screaming in my ears.

Nothing happens.

Nothing pierces the air. No light bursts from my back, no power flares bright enough to meet the void. There is only me, unarmed and untethered, plummeting with nothing to stop the fall.

The panic begins to rise, thin at first, a shivering hum in the back of my throat. But then it grows as the truth tries to tear its way free from my denial.

The sea rushes closer, its surface a roiling mass of dark water and white foam. The full weight of realization crashes into me like the waves against the cliffs below.

I’ve failed.

A sob tears from my mouth, one I can’t swallow back.

I screw my eyes shut, surrendering to the pull of the aether.

And fall.

Chapter 42

Nyssa

Thena stands at the top of the steps, her silhouette framed by the flickering, uneven torchlight.

Any warmth is gone from her eyes, replaced by cold, pitiless steel. The hesitant smile that had made an appearance of late has twisted into something sharp and cruel, and her brown hair, always curling around her cheeks, is now braided back tightly, pulling her face taut.

I can’t stop staring—taking note of all the small, subtle, horrifying changes in her demeanor. But my chest tightens as my gaze catches on the final, damning detail—the golden eagle swaying from her ear.

Maxim moves closer, instinctively stepping in front of Kallias and me. Around us, the remaining few terrified nymphai huddle together. Deke clutches his side, his green eyes darting between me and Thena as the realization dawns on his face.

“You almost had me, you know,” she mocks. “For a day or two, I thought you might really be who you said you were. But then…it was impossible to miss the way he looked at you.”

Her eyes shift to Kallias, dragging over him appreciatively.

“Don’t look at him,” I snap.

Thena laughs, brittle and icy, and I shiver. “Oh, my rumors were true, then?” she muses.

Her rumors.

Memory unspools, and the edges sharpen. It wasn’t warmth. Not at first. It was the way she watched without inviting, spoke without offering. The clipped answers. The door left half shut even when I stood on the threshold. Then there were the small moments I mistook for kindness. A warning about the gossip spreading among the other servants. The way she stood up for me in the infirmary. Even the concern she showed before she left our room tonight. I thought it was all the natural end of a slow thaw.

A trap made of careful distance, then careful closeness, until I couldn’t tell the difference.

As if she can see the conclusion being drawn in my mind, Thena smirks.

Something inside me breaks. Rage, pain, betrayal—they all burn together, bubbling up, eating away at my composure like acid against steel. My hands tremble, fists clenching at my sides as I fight to hold myself together, but it feels like I’m standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.

Maxim draws his short sword, its metallic hiss slicing through the charged air with a deadly promise. The sound, sharp and cold, jolts me, snapping me out of my haze. I see the familiar glint of fury in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens like he’s already made his decision.

“Don’t!” I blurt out, panic sharpening my voice and cracking it at the edges. “Max, no—this is a trap. More are coming.”