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Demos’s voice was soft. Gentle. I’d gone away again. When all I really wanted was to be here.

Standing in the marketplace in Celestara—the capital of Lyrinore. Surrounded by hybrids who went quietly about their day. Some of them jumped at the occasional loud noise. Others looked at the world through haunted eyes. But a group of children was running beneath a huge fountain, their shrieking laughs echoing across the square.

Demos linked his fingers with mine, and I met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed my temple. A silent support.

Tor had left this morning, returning to his family in Gromalia. He was planning to bring his wife and children back with him and had asked Demos to meet them. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

In the days following the battle, we’d barely spoken. His gaze had been shuttered when he looked at me, as if by using the orb, I’d broken everything we could have been.

Until one night, he’d come to me. And oh, how he’d raged.

He’d told me exactly what it had done to him to see me lying there. To know that I’d chosen to die to save everyone else. He’d told me that nothing he’d endured up to that point had hurt him as much as the sight of me gone from this world. He’d told me that some part of him had hated me for that. And that it would take time for him toforgive me, even knowing that he would have done the exact same thing in my place.

So, I’d listened. And when he’d curled up next to me, I’d tentatively put my arms around him. Until he’d wept. The next morning, we’d taken one of Daharak’s ships out to the middle of the sleeping sea, and I’d dropped the orb down into the depths of the ocean, where it could never be used again.

We all had scars. Demos’s would take time to fade too. Until then, I could wait for his forgiveness.

“I’ve got something to show you,” he rumbled.

When he looked at me like that, my chest lightened until it felt like I might fly away. Yesterday, I’d explored what felt like every inch of this city with Prisca, until our feet had ached and Prisca’s voice had grown hoarse from the many conversations she’d had with any who were brave enough to approach her. Lorian had insisted on sending Galon to trail after us—a threat to anyone who came too close.

But today was for Demos and me. A slow wander, soaking up the scents and sounds of the city.

“What is it?”

He popped me on the nose with his finger. “A surprise.”

Was he…nervous?

Several hybrids waved at Demos, and he nodded at them as he led me down cobbled streets, where I couldn’t help but stare at winged creatures—no larger than my thumb—their silver bodies glittering in the sunlight as they darted through the air.

And then Demos stopped.

I glanced around. We stood in a quiet side street, closeenough to the city market to attract those who were done with their errands from the day, but away from the worst of the hustle and bustle. To my left, a bookstore called to me, and I made a note of the location. To my right, a small bakery was operating, and as a patron opened the door, the scent of freshly baked bread made my mouth water.

Nestled between the bookstore and the bakery stood an unassuming building. The paint, once vibrant, had faded to a gentle blue hue, and the wooden door bore the scratches and chips that came with age. Large windows were dulled by dust, but the sun was valiantly attempting to fill the space within.

Demos stepped forward, pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door with a soft click.

“What are you doing?”

He just tugged on my hand, guiding me inside. The interior was spacious and bare, with scuffed wooden floors and high ceilings.

His expression held a strange mixture of hope and anticipation. “I thought this could be the start of something new for you. For us. A place where you could start that business you’ve always dreamed of.”

For me?

“There is no pressure tied to this, Sin. No time limit. There was some money tucked away for us—an inheritance created for Prisca and me and kept safe. I bought the building, but your name is on the deed. Use it to sell your creations. Use it just to have somewhere to sew or weave or whatever you want. Hell, set it on fire if you want to,” he snarled when I didn’t reply.

I burst into tears.

His arms instantly surrounded me. “I’m sorry. It’s too much. You don’t want it. You wanted to do this alone.”

“Stop talking,” I wailed.

He shut his mouth, but I could practically feel the misery radiating off him.