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“Of course, she’s in danger, Skye. She’s always in danger. That’s her life now. But this isn’t your fight to fix—it’s hers to figure out.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not going to argue with you about this right now. Let me pass.”

“Tell me, when was the last time you asked anyone’s permission before throwing yourself headlong into danger? Did you ask for Taly’s before you decided to do something that can’t be undone?”

Sarina’s gaze was pointed.

“That’s not the same.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was told what was coming.Shownwhat would happen if I didn’t act. Taly’s trying to prove a point.”

“Ah. I see.” Sarina’s voice was pleasant, almost amused. “So it’s reckless pride when she does it. But when you go carving yourself open behind her back, that’s what—necessity?” She chuckled, scratching behind Calcifer’s ears. “Come back when you’ve told her what you’ve turned yourself into. And bywhom. Then we can have a nice, long chat about the ethics of hypocrisy.”

He held her gaze, unflinching. She’d been a mother to him, but in this moment, she was an obstacle—standing between him and the woman who meant everything. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, Sarina.”

She laughed softly, the sound almost affectionate. “You haven’t tried that since you were nine years old. But go ahead—let’s see if it works out differently for you this time.”

He didn’t have time for games. So, he called her bluff.

As he reached for the door, the handle was still warm. The flames jumped, licking at his fingers, but they faltered just as quickly. Sarina’s fire was fierce, but it wasn’t cruel. Not to him. Not to anyone she considered hers.

He shoved open the door.

The impact never came.

The world didn’t explode into pain, or fire, or finality.

For a heartbeat—two—there was only the thundering in Taly’s ears and the breathless expectation of an imminent death.

Her arms stayed raised in front of her, rigid and trembling. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body was still bracing for the blow it knew was coming.

But the silence stretched too long.

She opened her eyes slowly.

The monster was still in front of her. But it was no longer standing.

It was…kneeling.

That strange, golden gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and unblinking. “Navan vel'thira. Mel'ethar lir'veth en'thalar.”

A pause. It took Taly a moment to realize that the beautiful, terrible thing before her was waiting—not to strike, but to be answered.

“I, uh… I don’t know what that means,” she said hoarsely.

The creature made a sound of disapproval. “It is a shame your kind have forgotten the old language. It was so beautiful, even on mortal tongues.”

Its voice shaped the words of the common speech into something almost musical, each syllable ringing like a note.

“I am no mortal,” Taly answered. “You know it, Weave beast. Otherwise, you would not be hunting me.”

The creature laughed lightly. “You do not die, no. Your kind were built to endure. But you can still be killed. You still tire even if you avoid the perils of steel and sorrow. The years pass, and you feel their burden. Until finally, you sleep and allow yourself to dream of death.”

Taly’s feet were rooted, her body frozen. “What are you?” she whispered, voice quavering.

Gold lips curved into an enigmatic smile. “Don’t you already know? This is my temple, after all. Even now, after they scraped away its meaning, it is still mine.”