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“A vision, maybe.” I’m surprised by his immediate acceptance. “Not uncommon when natural abilities are awakening, particularly in times of stress.”

“Do you think it was a premonition? That something is going to go wrong tomorrow?”

“I think your connection to this world’s magic continues to evolve in ways neither of us understands yet.” He steps forward, stopping an arm’s length away. “What you described could be literal danger, or something more symbolic—the completion of my power, the change it represents.”

Danger. Change.

The two words knot together, impossible to separate.

What kind of danger? What kind of change?

His presence makes it difficult to think, each breath drawn too sharply, too aware. Since the storage closet, the way he affects me has only intensified—every glance, every shift in the air between us.

I force myself to concentrate. “What will happen when you get your ring back?”

“I’m not sure. My power will be complete for the first time since my imprisonment. How that will manifest, I can only theorize.”

Shadows deepen at the edges of the room, closing in, making the space seem smaller.

"And me?" The words slip free before I can stop them. "What happens to me after tomorrow?"

He’ssilent for a long moment.

“I don’t know that either.” His voice is quieter now, as if admitting it costs him something. “Your connection to this world is growing. The silver in your eyes is brighter. Your abilities show more strongly every day.”

My stomach twists at the reminder—the visible proof of how little of me still belongs to the life I left behind.

"That’s not really an answer."

“It’s the only one I have.” He repeats the same answer from our conversation yesterday.

It’s that honesty, his refusal to comfort me with pretty lies, that unmoors me more than anything else.

I step closer, the space between us shrinking. He doesn’t back away.

“I’m scared,” I whisper. “Not just about tomorrow, but about—” I swallow, my voice shaking. “About what I’m becoming. Whether I’ll ever get home. What it all means.”

His eyes darken, shadows swirling in their depths. “You have reason to be.” The words are low, careful. “The unknown should inspire caution.”

“Is that what you feel when you look at me? Caution?” I step closer to him.

The pause before his answer is longer this time. His gaze locks onto mine, and for once, he seems to struggle with words.

“No.” His expression seems to shift. “What I feel is more complicated. And far too dangerous for us both.”

I don’t know which of us moves first, only that my hand findshis, and he doesn’t pull away. The moment our fingers intertwine, heat rises. Silver light rises, luminous trails that follow the path of my veins. In answer, darkness spills from him, shadows gathering along his forearms, reaching across the narrow space between us.

Time seems to stop. The air around us turns heavy. Where our powers meet, they dance around each other—light and dark circling, testing boundaries.

Then his free hand lifts. His fingertips graze my jaw, the touch so unexpectedly gentle it makes my heart ache. This isn’t the calculating strategist I’ve come to know. The contradiction draws me in, makes me lean into his touch. Warmth spreads from that point of contact, melting through me, curling deep, seeping into places I hadn’t realized were cold.

"This shouldn't be happening," he murmurs, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop tracing light patterns over my jaw.

"Probably not," I agree, my fingers tightening against his. “But it is, and I don’t want it to stop.”

His shadows respond to my words, extending from his body to mine—dark tendrils sliding across my collarbone, curling around my ribs, slipping beneath my clothes. They leave trails of sensation in their wake, cool against my heated skin.

Not asking permission. Not hesitating. Claiming.