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I don’t look at him. “None of these are right.”

“They’re not supposed to be,” he says, calm. Always calm. “They’re meant to test certainty. To see what remains after doubt finishes its work.”

“I’m not doubting myself.”

“You’re doubtingher.”

That earns him a look. He meets it, steady, unflinching. There’s no challenge in his tone. Just knowing. Like he’s already lived the version of my future I’m still running from.

“I’m doubting whatIam when she’s near,” I correct.

Orin inclines his head. “So you run.”

“Irecalculate.”

“Call it what you want.”

We stand there for a breath. Two.

“She doesn’t know,” I say finally. The words taste like shame.

“She suspects,” he answers. “And I think she’s waiting.”

I narrow my eyes. “For what?”

“For you to stop punishing yourself.”

He walks away after that. No dramatics. No pointed last word. Just leaves me alone with my thoughts, my mark-carved pillars, and the truth I keep trying to outrun in this too-quiet chamber. I turn to the next crest, already knowing it’ll be wrong. Because nothing in this room is real. Except what she makes me feel.

I don’t remember telling my body to move. One minute I’m carving rejection lines through another fake version of my crest, and the next—I’m walking. Not fast. Not overt.Subtle.I tell myself that like it’s a ward against humiliation. Like she might not notice if I justexistmy way toward her. Casual. Controlled. I’m good at that. It’s what Iam.

But every step feels like exposure.

I keep my eyes on her, tracking the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her back to me now as she studies a pillar covered in copper glyphs. The light catches her skin—barely visible through the strands of her dark hair—and it’s ridiculous how it hits me.

Like I’ve never seen a woman before. Like I haven’t watched her bleed, and command, and break a god down to nothing with nothing but her voice. Like I haven’thurther.

Silas spots me first. He’s lounging across a pile of cracked stone, half-sitting, half-doing something he probably shouldn’t be. When his eyes catch mine, they go wide, then narrow. And then—hewinks. Followed byfinger guns. I’m going to kill him. No—worse. I’m going toowehim if this works.

I school my face back into stillness, ignoring him completely as I keep walking. The others are busy. Or at least pretending to be. Riven knows better than to interfere. Caspian watches me like I’m a weapon about to misfire. Elias sees me and immediately looks away, like proximity might infect him with whatever emotional malfunction I’m clearly suffering.

And now I’m close enough tosmellher.

I hate that I notice it. The way the air shifts around her, like it bends just to hold her scent a little longer. Warm. Metallic. Sweet. Magic clinging to her like an afterthought.

Gods.

I need to say something.Say something. Anything. Something cold. Or clever. Or commanding. Something that doesn’t sound like I’ve been memorizing the way she stands when she’s thinking.

But my palms are—sweating.

What thefuck.

I wipe them down the sides of my slacks in one quick, practiced motion. If she sees, I’ll lie. Say blood. Say ash. Say the pillar burned me. I’ll say anything except the truth—that I’m standing here like a teenager in front of the only girl who’s ever made me forget how dangerous I am.

She hasn’t looked at me yet. She knows I’m here. She’salwaysknown. Her magic flutters slightly under her skin, reacting to my presence like it’s some instinct older than her name. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t turn. She’swaiting. And I don’t know what to give her.

Cool?