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EIGHTEEN

CASSIAN

T he campfire was nearly dead by the time Cassian returned.

The wind had shifted since he'd left—colder, carrying the scent of damp moss and old ash. The kind of scent that clung to your bones and made you think of graves that never got filled.

He stood at the treeline for a full minute, watching them. Seraphine sat with her back to him, speaking low with Lira, her voice tight but steady. Brann was snoring in a pile of furs. Alek watched the woods like he always did—like he knew damn well monsters came dressed as men.

Cassian stepped forward.

The moment his boot hit the circle of firelight, every head turned.

Seraphine stood.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Her voice was sharp, but her eyes—her eyes held too much. Worry. Fury. Relief she’d kill him before admitting.

Cassian dragged in a breath. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. The shadows he walked through had followed him back, curling at his heels like memories.

“I found something,” he said quietly. “Something about me. About why I burn the way I do.”

Alek straightened. Lira muttered a curse. Brann just blinked blearily.

Seraphine folded her arms. “You vanished for days without a word. You better have more than cryptic riddles.”

He met her gaze. Held it.

“My bloodline... it’s not what I thought.”

Silence. Even the fire popped like it wanted to listen.

“I’m not just some rogue with a talent for flame,” he went on. “I’m Stormfire. The last of it. A forgotten line buried by House Drakar after the war with the Hollow first began.”

Lira’s mouth parted slightly. “That’s not possible. That line?—”

“Was erased,” Cassian said. His voice was flat. Final. “By Seraphine’s ancestors.”

Alek stared at him. “What does this mean?”

Cassian laughed, bitter. “It means I’m the very thing this mission was supposed to destroy.”

Seraphine’s jaw clenched. Not in confusion.

But recognition.

Cassian saw it—the flicker in her eyes. The way she didn’t flinch because the words were new, but because they weren’t. Because she already knew.

“You knew,” he said, quietly, venom in his voice now. “Didn’t you?”

She didn’t deny it.

“Who told you?” he asked, not caring that the others were watching. “Or did you read it in some dusty Drakar record and decide to keep it to yourself?”

Seraphine stepped forward, chin high, fire sparking in her gaze. “I didn’t know. Not fully. But I suspected.”

He laughed. It was sharp. Ugly. “And you didn’t think I deserved to hear that? From you? ”

“I was protecting you,” she said.

Cassian’s hands curled into fists. “You were protecting yourself. ”

Lira shifted uncomfortably beside the fire, clearly wishing she was anywhere else. Brann looked like he was about to puke. Even Alek’s usual stoicism fractured.

Cassian’s voice dropped, rougher now. “You stood there and watched me bleed for this mission. Fight for it. Kill for it. And you knew I was the blade they buried.”

“I just found out when you had left! Everyn and Lucien showed me when I was trying to understand how you could just take off. And besides, it’s not that simple,” Seraphine snapped.

“It never is with you, is it?” he shot back. “Duty before truth. Mission before mercy. What happens when you finally have to choose?”

Her silence said everything.

Cassian’s shoulders sagged like something heavy had just settled across them.

He turned without another word and walked out of the firelight, leaving the others in stunned, uncomfortable quiet.

No one followed him. Not even her. Because now they all knew.

He wasn’t just their weapon. He was their mistake. And no one knew what to do with him anymore.

He wandered back toward the edge of the trees, needing space to breathe.

That was when the pain hit.

It started in his spine—sharp, electric. Then behind his eyes, like something clawing for purchase inside his skull.

He dropped to his knees, groaning.

Then the vision struck.

He stood in a field of shadow. Everything was gray. Dead.

Ahead of him was the Heartblade—whole. Forged.

Seraphine knelt beside it, blood streaming from her hands.

The Hollow surged behind her like a tidal wave of memory.

Cassian… He was ash.

A voice whispered: “The blade seals the gate. But only when lit by sacrifice. Fire must die for memory to live.”

Silence.

He came back gasping. Cold sweat slicked his back. His palms bled where his nails had dug into them.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. He just sat there, eyes hollow, staring into the dark. Because now he knew.

To stop the Hollow… He would have to die.

Seraphine could never know.

Not while she still looked at him like he was more than a weapon. Not while he still needed her to believe there was another way. Because no matter how bitter he was right now, he knew there was something more between them. And she… She wouldn’t let what needed to happen just happen.

So he picked himself up and mad his camp like he hadn’t just seen his own end.