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My sword hovers at his throat.

What if I’m wrong?a voice inside me whispers.What if he was one of the good ones?

But I can’t risk it. Not with her life.

So the blade slides through, precise and terrible. But while my hands stay steady, my soul doesn’t. Because he may have been loyal. He may have fought for us.

But I’ll never know for certain, and certainty is the only currency I can afford right now. Love demands sacrifice… and I will always choose her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to no one. To everyone. To the man I used to be. Because these were my people—my knights—sworn to protect me. And here I am, extinguishing them like candles.

Kyler’s face is the worst. Just this morning, he’d joked about his wife’s terrible cooking. Now, his eyes are filled with hatred as he lunges toward where Sapphire was standing before she gave me the small mercy of turning away.

Every laugh, every shared drink—was it all the practiced charm of a man waiting to draw his blade the moment I turned my back?

I can’t think about it. Can’t dwell on it. There’s only the mission now: protect Sapphire. Get us safely to the Summer Court. Find Zoey. Defeat the Night Court. Save the world.

The compass’s ticking grows faster. Time is running out.

And so, coating my heart with a layer of frost so thick that it burns, I return to the task at hand and finish it.

SAPPHIRE

As I respectRiven’s wishes and turn, Nebula presses against my legs.

I sink my fingers into her golden fur, drawing comfort from her warmth.

Ghost stays beside Riven, loyal to the end. And, like Ghost, I stay close enough that Riven knows I’m with him, even if I can’t watch. Even if I can’t help.

Other than his one whispered apology—meant for the knights, not for me—there are no screams. No cries of pain. There are only quiet, methodical steps as Riven moves from one frozen guard to the next, doing what needs to be done.

I keep my eyes closed, but each moment of his guilt and grief spikes through our bond.

“It’s done,” he finally says, and I turn to see himstanding in the center of the clearing, surrounded by fallen bodies.

Calder, Lira, Kyler—people who shared meals with us, laughed with us, and protected us. All of them lie motionless, their expressions locked in their final moments of betrayal, rage, or fear.

Riven’s sword is still in hand, his face a perfect mask of control. But his eyes—the ones I know better than my own by this point—are shattered.

“We need to take care of the bodies,” he says mechanically. “We can’t leave them here like this.”

I want to go to him, to pull him close and share this burden with him. But the way he’s holding himself—too rigid, too controlled—shows me he’s barely keeping it together.

“Riven,” I say gently.

He doesn’t look at me. “We should build a pyre. It’s the fastest way.”

“Riven, please. Look at me.”

His eyes find mine, and the pain in them steals my breath away. This is Riven without his armor, without his defenses. This is the boy who lost his mother, who watched his father descend into madness, and who trusted Calder as a mentor—only to have that mentor try to impale his heart with a sword.

“This wasn’t your fault,” I tell him, stepping closer. “None of this was your fault.”

“I should have known,” he says again. “I’ve known Calder my entire life. How did I not see this coming?”

“Because you trusted him. Because he was family to you.”

“And he tried to kill you.” Ice crackles around his clenched fists. “They all did.”