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“Mm-hmm,” I hummed. “Talk.” My fingers drifted down her spine, and she arched into me.

“Slowly.” She barely forced the word out. Lifting my head, I met her clouded magenta eyes. “I want to go slowly.” Her tone firmed a touch, like she was trying to remember what she wanted to say. That had me pretending I had any blood left in my head.

I forgot sometimes that while I’d been dreaming about this for years, we were new to her. We were in different places, but I’d wait for her to catch up.

Concern averted her stare, but I turned her chin toward me, and she looked up from beneath dark lashes. Ophelia’s past was littered with delicate scars, ones she fought every day to keep from prying open. Together, we’d heal those wounds.

“If time is what you need, then that’s what we’ll do,” I agreed. “We have centuries ahead of us, Alabath, and I’m a patient man.”

She sighed, the sound a release of a fear I wasn’t sure she was aware she held. One grown from long fights and hurled accusations.

“I want those centuries,” she affirmed. “But first, I want to…heal.”

When I first woke in the infirmary and saw her waiting for me, those first moments had been the most dizzying, most fucking horrifying, and somehow the most breathtaking of my life. Her being there had fixed it all. I’d wait as long as she needed.

“I’d love to heal with you, Alabath.” I kissed her forehead, but an ache echoed in my chest at the thought of all the time I’d missed. I pulled back and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Spirits, I wish I’d been there.”

She tilted her head. “Where?”

“At your induction ceremony.” When I’d realized I’d missed it, my chest caved in. This life-changing moment for Ophelia, and I hadn’t been there to support her. She’d stood on her own, though, and for that I was proud of her. But selfishly, I wanted to see it. See that burst of Angellight she’d explained, too. “I’m sure you were radiant. The Angels will write sonnets about you.”

“I don’t think they’re my biggest fans currently,” she said, eyes trailing over the books.

“Then I’ll write them,” I promised and gestured to the table. “Now, show me what you’ve been working on here.”

She cleared her throat, taking a minute to steady herself, and I hid my smirk. I loved knowing I could do that to her. Then, she walked around the table, waving a hand. Probably for the best if we sat on opposite sides.

“This is all about the prophecy and what Damien said when he visited after the battle.”

“Which was?”

She slid a piece of paper across the table to me and placed a finger on the words underlined at the top. “Paint the shards with vengeance. Awaken the answering presence.”

Chills broke out along my arms. I dropped into a chair, pulling a spare journal toward me and scribbling down the Angel’s words.

“Shards refers to the emblems?” I tried to remember the details I’d been told since waking, ignoring the disappointment clenching my chest.

“Yes,” she said, toying with the piece of metal strung along her necklace. “One token for each Angel, strewn about the continent somewhere, that I’m meant to find.” She sighed, exasperation weighing her frame.

“We have two already,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but there are still five more. Those two came to us easily.”

“We’ll find them,” I assured her, locking my stare to hers. “We’ll find them and end whatever this damn Angelcurse is.” Before it wreaked any more havoc over her.

“There’s also the prophecies,” Ophelia said, flipping to another page in her notebook.

Born again through the shade of heart,

The Angelcurse claims its start.

Seek the seven of ancient promise.

Blood of fate, spilled in sacrifice.

Strive, yield, unite,

Or follow the last’s lost fight.