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Cori looked over, eyes narrowing. It was the look of someone not used to being read so easily. “She’ll be fine,” she said—deflecting, retreating, before he could dig any deeper. “At least, as far as today goes. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

Ivain knew it to be true, but hearing her say it… a bit of the tightness in his chest eased. “And you? Will you be alright?”

She thought it over a moment, no doubt weighing what she could and wouldn’t say. “I’m working on it.”

She emptied her glass in one sharp tilt, rising from the couch and reaching for her coat draped over the back of it. It was time to go, but not without one final warning.

“The fifth gift in the Procession has been bestowed. Only one remains. I trust you know what that means?”

A wave of dread washed over him. “I do.”

Cori nodded. “She knows, by the way. Other me. She’s figured out what’s coming for her. She’s scared and confused. You should go to her. Prepare her for what happens next.”

Cori turned to leave, but Ivain called out to her.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said the same to the woman upstairs, though it was unclear if she’d heard him. “I should never have put you in a position where you had to hide. You deserved better.”

Cori didn’t turn back, but she did say, “It was never about what I deserved. Only what had to happen next.”

She left him with that. The door didn’t slam—just clicked shut behind her.

Somehow, that made the silence that came after feel worse.

Sovereign

-From the personal diary of Corinna Venwraith, Dawnbringer

There are moments when time narrows. When all the vastness of the Weave condenses down to two choices, like standing at a fork where the roads are steep, impossible to walk back once chosen. I didn’t realize it at the time—how carefully everything had been orchestrated. How Azura made sure he was an impossible distance away when the Weave tightened.

I’ve been working for this. I know the signs now. I’ve studied every ripple, traced each thread back to its source. I’m not walking blind this time. It was never about just me and the choice I made—it was about us.

Me and Skye.

He needed to be there.

Chapter 77

Taly was tired. And not the kind that sleep could fix—this was a bone-deep exhaustion. The kind that settled in her ribs, in the hollow spaces behind her eyes.

She tried to muster anger, to claw together the tattered remains of her courage. She’d faced the nightmare, survived to tell the tale. But there was nothing left. Every ounce of fight had been spent, leaving only the weight of it all.

And so, for two weeks, she slept.

Sarina tried to coax her back with books and music, but just the thought of mustering the focus was exhausting. Skye stayed nearby, quiet and steady, but there was an expectation there. Not pressure—never pressure—just the unmistakable sense that he was waiting. Waiting for her to meet him halfway, to say something,anything, about what happened that day.

But she couldn’t. And failing, again and again, only hollowed her out further.

Avoiding him was easier—sleeping, shutting down, anything but facing that quiet, stubborn hope in his eyes.

Ivain, though—he didn’t need her to say it. He already knew. He’d seen that drained, stretched-thin look before, the mark left behind when power took more than it gave. He saw the fear too.

The thing in the cistern. The face in the statue. The voice trailing her every sleeping and waking hour. She had a name for it now, even if it still felt too big, too impossible to believe.

Taly wasn’t angry at Ivain anymore for taking away her magic. Maybe she should’ve been—furious that he hadn’t warned her, that he’d decidedfor her. And yes, she recognized the irony. But what did it matter now?

He’d tried to protect her, but that all-consuming force had found her anyway. She begged him to put the runes back, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. She didn’t care if she sounded broken. She just needed him to fix it.

But he told her no.