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In the beginning, she was there just until Ivain could track down her next of kin, but a few days turned into a few weeks, then a month, and there was nothing—no record of her or her family, which wasn’t unusual. Human births weren’t always recorded.

Sarina fell in love immediately. Even Ivain, always quick to remind them not to get too attached, seemed to be thawing in the warmth of Taly’s glow.

Skye kept his distance mostly, wary but curious. Like a lost pup tentatively approaching a new friend. He liked her smile. He knew that much. It made the odd little divots in her cheeks even more pronounced. More and more, he found himself trying to find ways to coax that smile out and discovered he liked even more being the reason behind it.

Then the Aion Gate opened, and Ivain announced one morning over breakfast that he would be taking Taly to the human realm to continue the search. Families often gathered on either side before the crossing, waiting to be reunited. Perhaps someone would recognize her.

Skye felt the first breathless wave of apprehension—as if the ground suddenly opened up beneath him. And he realized he’d made a fatal error.

He’d started to care.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen. She’d just sort of slipped into his life, filling up all the empty spaces, and made all those old wounds start to heal. And now they were being ripped back open.

The day Ivain took her, Skye woke to find her already gone. He wished he could say he handled it gracefully. He screamed and sobbed in his room for hours. Worse than Orin, worse than losing anyone else. That pain was old, at least. This was fresh—a reminder of why he was better off an island.

By then, his strength had already surpassed Sarina’s ability to restrain him. She and the rest of the staff could do nothing but stand back, powerless, as he turned his room to splinters.

When he was drained entirely of both rage and sorrow, he retreated to the meadow to wait. It had the best view of the driveas it turned off from the main road, and it was there that Taly found him later that evening as the sun was setting.

Skye listened silently as she explained how they failed to find any evidence of her family. She sounded lost, lonely, unsure of the future.

“What’s to become of me…” she’d sobbed over and over, each cry a sharp, broken gasp that shuddered through her whole body. “Where will I go…”

In that moment, he hated himself. Because he saw those tears on her face, heard the ache and the helplessness, and he just felt so damnhappy.

She was alone in this world. There was no one to take her away.

Right then and there, Skye made her a silent promise. He would make up for his selfishness. The humans had a saying—if you save a life, you’re responsible for it. And since he’d been the one to find her, then by her own people’s customs, that meant she was his.

He would be her hero. He would keep her safe. Always.

Skye surfaced in pieces.

First came the pain—sharp, blinding, and so deep in his skull it felt like something had cracked open inside him.

Second, the pressure—pressing behind his eyes, making his pulse pound like a hammer against bone.

Third, the realization—he was no longer in the tower.

The ceiling above him swam in and out of focus. His sheets were tangled around him, the air too fragrant, the bed too soft after the metal slab he barely remembered. He was back at the townhouse, in his room.

He forced himself to breathe, slow and even, cataloging the damage. Migraine. Nausea. Full-body ache, though it wasimpossible to tell where the keeper’s work left off and the hangover began. He’d kept burning through the anesthesia. Two doses, and then his other-self had resorted to more primitive methods of sedation.

“Here, have some pre-op whiskey. Nature’s painkiller.”

Skye frowned. “What—” That was as far as he got before the wave hit. His whole body warmed like he’d just downed three shots in under a minute. Then five. Then—

Shit.

His tongue felt thick, his limbs went loose. “Did you just put liquor in the IV line?”

“I did, indeed,” the keeper said, taking a swig from the bottle.

Skye tried to glare at him, to muster some kind of complaint, maybe come to his senses, but the effort lasted all of two seconds before the floor and ceiling switched places.

His shirt was gone. Cori must’ve dressed him, replacing his blood-spattered trousers with new ones before putting him to bed. She wasn’t…happy, to say the least, when she came to.

A wail rose, high and furious.