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The rooftop is slick with rain.

Wind tears at my dress, catching the torn fabric and whipping it against my legs. My feet are bare—cut, burning, slipping every few steps. The stone beneath me is cold, soaked through, streaked with something darker than water.

Blood.

Some of it is mine.

Some of it hers.

Emilia chokes on a sob as I drag her by the arm across the rooftop, the knife pressed tight beneath her jaw. Her heels scrape against the tiles, fighting for traction. She’s trembling, whimpering.

I can’t.

The sky above is low and furious. Thunder rolls overhead like something waking. Wind surges through my hair, plastering it across my face, in my mouth. I taste salt. Iron. Rain. My vision blurs. I don’t know how much of it is water and how much is grief.

Across from me, five men form a line. They move like wolves—silent, armed, focused. Their guns are raised, steady despite the storm. Trained on me.

In front of them stands Serevin. He looks ruined.

He’s shirtless, soaked to the skin. Rain runs down his chest in rivulets, mingling with the blood already smeared across his ribs. His hands are lifted—open, unarmed. A quiet plea in every angle of his body.

“Fioretta,” he says. His voice is low. Broken. “Please. Let us talk this over.”

I shake my head. I can’t stop trembling. My breath hitches, and a sob escapes before I can choke it down. “Then why do your men have their guns up?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The silence screams louder than the storm.

His jaw clenches. “Let her go,” he says finally. “Let Emilia go, and we can talk. You and me. Just us.”

“You’re not on my side.” My voice splinters.

He takes a half step forward. The guards behind him don’t lower their weapons. “I am.”

I stare at him. At the rain in his eyes. At the blood on his chest.

“No, you’re not!” The scream rips from my throat, raw and cracked.

I shove Emilia hard. She stumbles forward, slips on the stone, and crumples in a heap near Serevin’s feet.

He lunges toward her, dropping to his knees. “Emilia. Are you hurt? Look at me—”

My breath stops.

He touches her like she matters. Like she’s glass, and I’m the hand that broke her.

And just like that, something inside me gives way.

He never loved me.

Of course, he didn’t.

He whispers to one of the guards. The man nods, lifts Emilia, and disappears with her down the stairs. She clings to him. Doesn’t look back.

Serevin stands again. His hands are still raised, his chest rising and falling too fast. The rain runs from his lashes.

“We can fix this,” he says. “Please.”

I don’t answer. I just turn.

Behind me, the edge of the roof waits. The stone ledge rises only a foot off the surface, the last boundary between me and the air. My feet slip as I step toward it. One step. Another. My toes curl over the edge, searching for something solid that isn’t there.

The garden is a blur below—hedges, paths, wet stone.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to see him. His eyes. That flash of something desperate in them.

“No,” I say quietly. “No, we can’t.”

My fingers release the knife. It clatters behind me, forgotten.

Rain pours down my back, soaking into the torn threads of my dress. My hands lift, trembling. I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

Then I take a breath. One last breath.

And I step forward and I jump.

There is no wind beneath me. No wings. Just space. Cold air rushing past, howling in my ears, dragging at my clothes. The rooftop vanishes above. Serevin vanishes. Everything does.

The world turns upside down. Then the ground rushes up.

The pain comes first, then peace follows.