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Of everything so far—the table, the vats of blood, the ever-rising dread of exactly where this was all going—those scars unsettled him the most. Not just marks, but imprints of all the agonizing chapters of a life gone horribly wrong.

His life. Or close enough that the weight of it pressed like ice against his ribs.

“What-what happened to you? Or… to us?” Skye whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of his heart, the shriek of the monitor, and the awful churning glug of the vats.

“The cost of power and sacrifice.”

Fantastic, more riddles.

The keeper folded his arms, the dense muscle in his forearms tensing, highlighting the intricate web of scars etched across his skin. “You’re probably wondering why I brought you here. At least, I’m assuming Cori left that detail out.”

“That assumption would be correct,” Skye answered dryly.

“You and I are going to have a conversation.”

Skye barked a laugh, brittle and restrained. “Right. Because nothing saysfriendly discussionlike waking up strapped to an operating table.”

“I needed you to listen. I can only keep the mimic contained for so long, and while you’re busy getting lost in the weeds of whether I did or didn’t strap you to an operating table, you’re missing the larger point. I’m not the enemy here. I want to help you… or help you, helpus.”

“Let me save us both some time,” Skye bit out. “I don’t need this kind of help.”

“Sure. Tell yourself that. Denial is a great coping mechanism. And when shit hits the fan—and trust me, itwill—you’ll be hung out to dry, bare-assed and alone, wondering why you didn’t listen.”

Other-him looked to Cori. “And don’t count on her to swoop in and save the day either. As you can see, she can’t even help herself. Time mages, they like to meddle, and nudge, and change the position of a glass 3 degrees on the table and then stand back to watch where the ripples land. Then they tell you a riddle and fuck off to who knows where.

“You and I, however,” his other-self went on, tapping a finger to his temple. “We’re not time mages. We know words andsubtlety can’t always win. That the world rewardspower. And there is only one way for us to become stronger.”

Skye understood—how could he not? Because they were the same person, weren’t they? Just divided by time, experience, and choices.

“You mean bloodcrafting, don’t you?”

A snort and a derisive look at the mad bloodmage’s laboratory around them. “Obviously. Which begs the question—why are you still acting like this is a choice? I looked beneath the hood and… nothing. No improvements to your body.”

“I asked Ivain to train me,” Skye said tightly. “He said no.”

“And you accepted that?” A scoff. “By the Six, you’re just as pathetic as I remember—always looking for permission, always too afraid to step up.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m just sitting around. Ivain has been teaching me—”

“Tricks? Yes, I remember. How’s that going by the way? Moved past wiggling your fingers yet?”

“Fuck you,” Skye snapped.

“Think, genius.” He jabbed two fingers against Skye’s forehead, hard. “You really think you can master morphing in, what, a few months? A couple of years? It takesdecades—decades that you don’t have. Bloodcraft may kill you, that’s true, but it won’t waste your time.”

Those eyes—his eyes—inspected him, critical in the way a person can only be of themselves. “You’re going to lose her.”

The frantic rhythm of the monitor faltered.

…

beepbeepbeep

“What?” Skye rasped, the word catching in his throat.

“That feeling in your gut that Taly is somehow already slipping away—that’s not paranoia. That’s your instincts tellingyou that something horrible is coming, and you’re not prepared for it. You’re not strong enough to save her.”

Skye’s jaw tightened. “You can’t know that.”