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She suddenly released them and jerked her gaze around, searching. “Krave!” she half screamed, both arms reaching and shaking.

Kaos and Kross stepped back, and he hurried in and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “My Lost Saint,” he croaked around thick breaths, his agony a vice on Reuban’s chest. “How I love you.”

“I love you! I love you so much.” She pulled away, frantic. “Kildare!” she called, opening her arm for him to come. He sat next to Krave and kissed her cheek and forehead.

“My Queen,” he whispered hotly.

“Reuban?” she gasped, pulling away, looking.

Reuban hurried forward, keeping hold of Larena’s hand as Krave and Kildare made space for him. His heart battered his ribs as he dropped to his knees beside the bed, Josie’s trembling hand falling into his.

“Josie,” he said thickly, barely recognizing his own voice.

Her fingers gripped his with frantic strength, as if terrified she might slip away again. Tears streaked down her pale cheeks, but her eyes — God, those eyes — still burned with life.

“Thank you,” she gasped, her gaze darting to Larena. “And thank you,” she added, voice hoarse with wonder before she swept her gaze over all the faces around her. “Where is your Parvor?” she asked Larena, her voice breaking. “I want to thank him too, he was so very kind.”

Reuban tightened his grip on her hand, grounding her as Larena sat carefully on the bed and brushed dark hair from Josie’s damp forehead. “I sent him home to his family,daughter,” Larena said softly, her voice a soothing balm against the storm still trembling through the room.

She leaned and pressed her forehead lightly to Josie’s, the gesture so intimate it tightened something raw in Reuban’s throat. “And it is I who must thank you,” Larena whispered, stroking Josie’s hair with infinite tenderness. “For choosing with your mother’s heart... no matter the cost.”

Josie’s whole body shuddered under the weight of those words as Kross edged forward, still cautious, still reverent.

Josie opened her arms without hesitation and pulled her son against her, burying her face into his chest with a sob so deep it ripped at the soul.

“You brought me back,” she whispered, raw.

Reuban blinked against the sting in his eyes, feeling Larena’s steady hand still wrapped around his own — grounding him.

“No, Mother,” Kross murmured against her hair. “You never let us go.”

A sacred ripple of their combined powers went through the room and Reuban bowed his head at the weight of it — the miracle breathing right in front of them — a love so fierce it had ripped a hole through death and dragged her back.

And somehow, impossibly, she was stronger for it. They all were.

****

Reuban stood near the panoramic window, his hands braced against the cool stone frame as he looked out over the endless stretch of cliffs and restless sea below. The safehouse sat like a ghost etched into rock, half-hidden by mist — a place no one could ever stumble upon without a map. And yet Kross knewthe exact way there which meant he had it written on the walls of his mind. Something only Raviel could draw.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze resting on the misted line where moonlit sea met sky.

Waiting. Raviel would come. And with him, answers they weren’t sure they wanted.

Behind him, a single lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the sparse furnishings and the single, narrow hallway leading to private rooms.

An hour had passed since their arrival. Josie rested in one of the rooms, tucked into a simple bed in one of Kaos’s healing sleeps. Larena was in the single large bathroom, following Reuban’s orders—a long soak in the stone-carved bath.

The Sinner’s Bond pressed down on his every cell, demanding pleasure punishments now—no more waiting. Reuban knew better than to ignore it. He had no doubt that if it was forced to take matters into its own hands, the punishment could turn public. And he couldn't permit that.

His body stirred in the building hunger, now less quiet than before his last breath. A threat. A warning.

Reuban caught the reflection of Kaos in the window, sitting at the head of the table in the black Henley sweater he’d selected for him. The scarf Larena had thought of, remained in the bag after he’d regarded it with a thousand degrees of dark disgust. His hair hung in chaotic strands to his shoulders, like glistening tar made of thick silk. A picture of evil perfection. Personified.

“How much longer will she need to rest,” Krave muttered to Kaos. “She’s been dead asleep for three days.”

Kross stood at the wall, tracing his finger over a map then quickly blowing out the fire he accidentally created. “It’s only been seven hours and forty-three minutes,” Kross casually informed, still oblivious to sarcasm.

“She needs her strength for what’s coming,” Kaos said, his tone a dark grumble.