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And he thought of her again as he kneeled at the threshold of the center of the labyrinth.

Tall, snow-laden hedges formed a protective barrier around the clearing with heavy snow falling from above. A golden gate marked the center. Its carvings resembled vines and blossoms, and it glowed through the blizzard.

This was it. This was what everyone sought. The shining heart of the labyrinth lay just beyond reach, bathed in a golden glow that seemed to promise salvation, answers, and an end to the endless maze.

But Clark was not running toward it.

He sat ten paces away, slumped against hedge wall, the once-pristine white around him marred with crimson streaks. Leif’s dagger—what once was Ren’s—jutted from his chest, its hilt slick with his blood. Sticky rivulets ran down his trembling hands as he clutched the blade. The world swayed.

Leif stood over him like a predator savoring the aftermath of its kill. The faintest trace of a smile curled his lips as he inhaled deeply. Clark’s stomach churned.

He smelled likeher.

“You were so close,” Leif said, his voice smooth as silk. “To reaching the center. To getting the girl.”

Clark’s gaze flickered past him, landing on the gate.

Ten paces.

It might as well have been miles away.

With a long sigh, Leif crouched, resting one knee on the snow-covered ground. He rummaged through his pocket, his movements casual, as though he had all the time in the world. Finally, he pulled out a small vial filled with a murky, swirling liquid.

“Take this,” Leif said, holding the vial out to Clark. “It’s my last one. It’ll keep you alive.”

Clark spat at it.

Leif pushed it closer. “She wouldn’t want you to die.”

Clark scowled. Leif had no right to say what Ren would or wouldn’t hate.

His breaths came in ragged bursts as he glared up at Leif, the faint light from the gate glinting in his eyes. “Go drown yourself.”

Then Clark watched as Leif walked into the center.

The center—and Leif—disappeared.

Clark remained in the cold of the labyrinth, his pride not yet worn down enough to drink the vial lying before him. The cold gnawed at his skin, seeping through his clothes and into his bones, but he wouldn’t give Leif the satisfaction. Not yet.

The silence of the labyrinth made it seem abandoned, until Clark believed everyone else had gone and he’d be trapped here forever. Then something crunched—a soft, deliberate sound, like a boot stepping on freshly fallen snow.

Clark’s head jerked up, his vision sluggishly sharpening.

Aurelia stood before him, radiant as ever. Her dress was made of rippling white fabric, the kind that shimmered like frost in the early morning light. The hem drifted over the snow, as soft as fresh flakes, brushing against his skin when she sat down beside him. She leaned forward, her black hair framing her face as she inspected the vial lying in the snow.

“You should drink it,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a faint undercurrent of insistence, like a gentle snowfall masking an avalanche.

Clark’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want anything that Leif had offered him. Not the vial, not the pain, and certainly not his pity in the form of a lifeline. His thoughts drifted back to Ren—slipping through his grasp like mist on a summer morning, neversolid enough to truly hold. Her presence felt faint, as though she had already left the labyrinth.

What more was there for him? He had no grand life waiting for him beyond these walls, no cherished dreams or noble aspirations to return to. Ren had been his goal, the only thing that had given him purpose. And now, with her gone, he could no longer see a path forward.

He couldn’t see a path to her.

“I can save you,” Aurelia said, her voice breaking through his thoughts. She tilted her head. “I have a soft spot for broken hearts, remember?”

Clark let out a bitter laugh, though it lacked strength. Broken heart? No, he wasn’t even sure he had a heart left to break. Right now, it felt as though it wasn’t there at all. As if someone had hollowed him out and left nothing behind but an echo of what he used to be. He waited for the grief, the anger, the desperation—anything—but all that came was a dull, numbing void.

Aurelia bent closer, her breath warm against the chill in the air. “Say it,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “Pledge yourself to Aurelia Brightspire, and I’ll save you. Become my wolf, and we will do great things together.”

Her words hung in the frosty air, tempting and treacherous.

But Clark was not lost. He clenched his hands, blood still drying on his palms, and hatched a plan.

Before the life left him, he lifted his green eyes to meet hers.

“I pledge myself to Dimitri.”