Page 46 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

His expression remains effortless, as if holding me back from death requires no more effort than breathing.

The fury builds.

How dare he deny me this?

How dare he pretend concern when everything about me represents what his realm despises?

"Let. Me. Go!"

I pull with everything I have, expecting the same immovable resistance.

My hand slips free.

The momentum sends me stumbling backward toward the lava's edge. My arms windmill desperately, seeking balance that doesn't exist. The heat rises to meet me, eager for flesh to consume.

My hand shoots out instinctively, reaching for something, anything to stop the fall.

Gabriel watches with cold assessment. He's a child again—the transformation happening between one blink and the next. Six years old with ancient eyes, observing my descent with the detachment of someone watching inevitable physics play out.

"Fine," he says simply.

The word carries no emotion. No regret. No satisfaction. Just acknowledgment of choice made and consequence accepted.

This is how I die—not in battle or glory but because a child decided my request for death was worth honoring.

Time slows as gravity claims me. My eyes lock with his, this child who holds power enough to stop this but chooses not to. Who gave me exactly what I asked for with the literal interpretation cruelty of the Fae.

Is this what I wanted?

This ending that feels less like choice and more like another's decision made for me?

My gaze drops from his face, following the line of his small form.

That's when I see it.

The collar of his shirt has shifted during our struggle, revealing pale skin beneath. And there, etched in light that matches my own hidden mark, is proof of everything Zeke suspected.

A bond mark.

Identical to mine.

Gabriel—twin of Gwenivere, brother who shouldn't exist in the same body, prince of shadows and flame—is bonded to me.

Not to Nikolai.

To me.

To Nikki.

To the female form everyone says is worthless.

The mark pulses with recognition as our eyes meet again, his widening with something that might be surprise or might be plan fulfilled.

Time resumes its normal flow.

I fall.

The Observer's Choice