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“Damn, Your Grace,” a familiar voice called from a nearby dune. “Next time give a girl some warning—I’d have brought my glamera.”

Skye didn’t flinch or speed up. He didn’t cover himself, just frowned at the nuisance as he walked by. Cori grinned, raising her champagne glass in salute. She was dressed for the ballroom, not the beach, in a long-sleeved gown with black and gold flowers embroidering the skintight mesh bodice. The neckline was high. A thin gold belt cinched her waist. The full skirts were a puff of silk and tulle.

“Another party?” he asked.

Cori’s grin soured. “Yeah.” Her hair was loose, crowned with a thin strip of black lace across her brow that dripped strands of jet beads through her curls. They shimmered in the aurora lights as she tipped her head back to finish off the glass. “I hate parties. I wish people would stop inviting me.”

Skye reached the pile where he’d left his gear and started getting dressed, sand clinging to every damp line of his skin. The only sound was the rustle of fabric and the steady grind of his teeth.

“I take it this wasn’t a happy naked swim.” Cori refilled her glass, lodging the bottle back into the sand. “That’s sad.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Skye growled, stabbing his legs into his trousers. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the grimble.”

“Obviously.” She sipped her champagne. “But hey, since we’re keeping score—how’s your conscience after that little secret deal with your brooding, blood-soaked alter ego? If you’d asked, I could’ve told you he was more forearms than brains.”

Skye didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes on the surf as he buttoned his shirt.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, voice low. “Still figuring out how to live with that.”

“Good,” Cori said, taking another sip. “Welcome to the club.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her kohl-lined eyes sweeping over him. She held out the bottle. “Want some? It’s no fun being sad and drunk alone.”

Skye sighed. Then dropped into the sand beside her. “Why are you sad?” he asked, grabbing the bottle and tipping it back for a generous swallow. It was good champagne. Expensive.

She considered a moment. “My… friend and I had a disagreement. He doesn’t approve of what I’m trying to do.”

“What are you trying to do?”

She huffed. “Nice try.”

His grip tightened on the bottle. Glass splintered. “And isn’t that just so fuckingonpoint,” he muttered darkly. “You don’t tell me anything. Taly doesn’t tell me anything. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a masochist.”

Cori grabbed the bottle from him, dusting at the cracks spiderwebbing the glass. They came away like lint. “Don’t be an asshole. You know I can’t tell you the future. You don’twantme to—trust me. No one should have to live a life that’s predetermined.”

Skye exhaled hard. “Fine.” He shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t even care about the future. Just… give me something for right now. A riddle. A cryptic gesture. Anything. How do I get her to talk to me?”

Cori didn’t answer. Just sipped her champagne, eyes on the tide.

His jaw flexed once, like he was trying not to spit the words. “Right. Of course. Because making things any fucking easier would be too simple, wouldn’t it?”

He laughed, short and bitter. She hadn’t changed. Cori, Taly—he didn’t care what the hell she called herself. She was still shutting him out.

The silence in his head was louder than ever. She wasright there—close enough to touch—and still stubbornly holding the door closed. Not because she didn’t want him. They were long past anger and punishment. Now, she wouldn’t let herself. And he had a guess as to why. She’d been stuck in her own head for too long, alone with her thoughts and no one there to pull her out when she started chasing the stupid ones.

The water rolled under the shifting auroras. “When I was a kid,” he said lowly, wind snapping at his hair, “everyone who got close to me died. My nannies, my guards, the doubles—they were bodies before I could even learn their names. She thinks I’ve never been where she is. That I’ve never had to look someone in the eye, knowing they’re going to die for you. To have their blood on your hands because you existed. And now she’s pulling away, refusing to evenlookat the bond—because she’s convinced that wanting it, wanting me, is the thing that puts me in danger. Like I wasn’t born with a target on my back.”

“Have you ever told her any of that?” Cori asked gently.

No. When they were kids, he was scared if she knew, she’d leave. That she’d see the danger and decide he wasn’t worth the risk. As they got older, he got tougher, the assassins lost interest, and it mattered less.

He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion crashing over him. “I don’t know what to fucking do.”

Cori snorted. He gave her a look. “Sorry,” she said, chuckling as she refilled her glass. The bottle didn’t seem to empty. “It’s just… why are men sodense?”

“Your compassion truly knows no bounds.”

“Oh, spare me. You call me cryptic, but you’re the one who needs instructions spelled out in three languages.” She leaned back, fingers digging into the sand. “Honestly, Skye, at this point, your angst is a choice.”