Page 36

In the back of my mind, I know this isn’t right. This isn't us. We fight, but not like this. We're closer than that. We're family. But right now, I don't think I’ve ever wanted to rip Mia's head off more than I do at this moment.

"If you don't do as you're told," I drawl, my words dropping lower, and my gaze sharpening like a blade, "I'll show you how little it'll cost me to destroy you."

"Grand Arbiter, calm down." Seth's voice shakes as I near them. Mia's eyes are on me, wide and uncertain, but it only pushes me forward. Good. Let her fear. Let her feel the weight of what she's awakened.

The room trembles, the air cries, and the tension is suffocating.

"Remember, I choose to be here. I choose to be the Saviour.

I choose to be in that floating castle and protect the dome.

Those are my choices." Mia's eyes widen, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides when I say my next words, slow and deliberate, and chilling.

"Do you really want to know what happens when I say no? "

Mia trembles, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and I know; I have her.

I step to the side, as Mia, draped in silks and jewels that shimmer with every haughty movement, walks past us. She tries to hold her head up. Tries to stop her regal posture from quivering under the weight of my threat as she approaches Nightmare.

Mia kneels beside Nightmare, and Kyrian moves away.

The golden light surrounding them radiates outwards in soft waves that seem to hum with power.

Her hands tremble as she whispers her prayer over Nightmare's wounds, the movement slow like she’s trying to drag out the moment for as long as possible.

The magic flows through her fingers in shimmering streams, pooling around the jagged tear in Nightmare's abdomen. The golden glow pulses faintly, almost in sync with her heartbeat. As it touches her torn flesh, the edges of the wound begin to knit together.

Nightmare's chest, which had been unnaturally still moments ago, rises and falls in a steady rhythm. Her breath comes evenly again, no longer the ragged, shallow gasps that had filled the room. I feel myself unwinding. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

Reece kneels beside them, her body no longer trembling, her tears gone, and her eyes, which were brimming with panic only minutes ago, now empty.

I narrow my gaze at her. Her posture is unnaturally rigid, and her shoulders pulled back too sharply as though she’s holding herself together by force of will alone.

I know it’s probably the shock of seeing Damien again. I know he was close to hurting her again. But even then, she usually smiled or assured everyone she was okay, because Reece never let anyone worry about her. It was like she thought she didn't deserve the attention.

"Reece," I call, and it’s as if a switch flicks in her brain. Her warm brown eyes turn to me, and her worry and panic return as if they had never left. I frown. "What happened here?"

Tears brim her eyes, her hands clenching into her lap, as she whispers, her voice fractured and small, "She saved my life."

****

The door slams open with a force that rattles the frame. She strides in, a picture of calm, but her footsteps are heavy, her hands are clenched, and I almost taste the all-consuming anger inside her that she tries so hard to contain.

I’m not surprised to see her; she seems to come to that realisation when her mismatched eyes connect with mine.

The first thing I noticed about her was her mismatched eyes—an imperfection that somehow elevated her natural allure, but when I first saw them, they were dead.

A blank picture that had so much potential. Now, that doesn't seem to be the case.

Her left is a deep, rich green; the colour of ancient forests after a heavy rain, alive with depth and mystery.

It seems to pull you in as though it carries the secrets of life itself.

The other is pale and colourless; nearly translucent as if it had been drained of its vibrancy.

It isn’t dead, though—far from it. It glows faintly, almost imperceptibly, like a distant star struggling against the vast darkness of the void.

Her eyes are finally alive, but what is the cost?

"You saved me." Her words are cold, dead. "Why?"

I lift a brow at her question, leaning back in my chair slightly and running a finger across my lip in thought at her question. I consider lying, but instead I say, "I didn't want you to die."

She places her hands on my desk and papers and leans her weight on her arms. Her eyes narrow. "So, what?" she grits, her teeth clenched tight, "you're not even going to try to kill me?"

Her anger almost matches the depths of my own— almost. The sharp, electric charge of it presses against the room like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking.

"You'll die, Nightmare," I say, smirking darkly, "when I say it's time for you to die."

Her eyes fix on me, sharp and unyielding, the light within them flickering like fire barely contained. But then she smiles, slow and deliberate, and there is nothing human about it.

"My Hero. Look at you, saving the worst of humanity, the most depraved and selfish. We really are incredibly grateful to you." Her words seethe with venom, but something inside me snaps at her next words. "It's a shame you couldn't do the same for your mate."

I have her by the throat before I've realised my hand moved. Nightmare falls forward, her body leaning over my desk even further as I get close. And I sneer into her face, "I did everything. Everything."

What is wrong with my voice? Why does it sound so weak?

The anger in Nightmare's eyes slowly disappears until I'm staring into dead fucking eyes. "You just stood there while she was saving you. You could have saved her, and you didn't. You failed because that's what you do— you fail."

Who are we talking about again? I’m not sure.

The silence which follows is oppressive, broken only by the hollow echo of my broken breaths. How long had it been since I lost her? I couldn't tell anyone. They say time heals all wounds, but not this one. This one is too deep, too dark, too fucking much —even for time.

I remember it like no time has passed, like I'm in that moment, on my knees, and her . She was limp in my arms—dead. Fucking dead.

I was too late; I failed.

"You were supposed to save her," she whispers coldly. “She was yours to save, yours to protect— yours."

Her words pierce me like a knife, my failure pressing down on my shoulders until my hand drops from her throat.

Things scatter as I pull myself back, the pain in my chest burning with a force I have no hope of fighting, because when it comes to Her, I never win—and that’s okay, because she said she was mine, and I was hers.

Mine to save. Mine to protect. Mine —and I failed.

I failed.

I failed.

I failed.

The thought echoes in my head with a brutal clarity, dragging me deeper into its depths. But then, faint at first, comes the sound of music.

It trickles into my mind, soft and familiar, like a distant light in the darkness. It’s a melody I know—one I can’t place at the moment, but feels like home, like safety. The notes weave through the chaos in my head, steady and patient, their gentle rhythm prying loose the grip on the memory.

My breath hitches as the music grows louder, pulling me into the present. I glance up to see Nightmare staring at my computer, her face blank. Then, the first words escape into the air, and the moment they do, my computer is hurled across the office, shattering against the backdrop.

She turns to me, her face a mask of calm, and says, "I'm going to my room."

She walks towards what is now a heavy industrial door.

Her white hair shifts and flows down her back, her inked arm frozen at her side, and her boots silent against my wooden floor.

There is suddenly nothing mesmerising or dangerous about her.

She’s cold and distant, and somewhere maybe even I can’t reach as the darkness of her cell swallows her up.

Until she is simply gone… like dust in the wind.