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The silence in his head was louder than ever.

She was right there —close enough to touch—and still stubbornly holding the door closed.

Not because she didn’t want him. They were long past anger and punishment.

Now, she wouldn’t let herself. And he had a guess as to why.

She’d been stuck in her own head for too long, alone with her thoughts and no one there to pull her out when she started chasing the stupid ones.

The water rolled under the shifting auroras.

“When I was a kid,” he said lowly, wind snapping at his hair, “everyone who got close to me died. My nannies, my guards, the doubles—they were bodies before I could even learn their names. She thinks I’ve never been where she is.

That I’ve never had to look someone in the eye, knowing they’re going to die for you.

To have their blood on your hands because you existed.

And now she’s pulling away, refusing to even look at the bond—because she’s convinced that wanting it, wanting me, is the thing that puts me in danger.

Like I wasn’t born with a target on my back. ”

“Have you ever told her any of that?” Cori asked gently.

No. When they were kids, he was scared if she knew, she’d leave. That she’d see the danger and decide he wasn’t worth the risk. As they got older, he got tougher, the assassins lost interest, and it mattered less.

He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion crashing over him. “I don’t know what to fucking do.”

Cori snorted. He gave her a look. “Sorry,” she said, chuckling as she refilled her glass. The bottle didn’t seem to empty. “It’s just… why are men so dense ?”

“Your compassion truly knows no bounds.”

“Oh, spare me. You call me cryptic, but you’re the one who needs instructions spelled out in three languages.” She leaned back, fingers digging into the sand. “Honestly, Skye, at this point, your angst is a choice.”

“You know what, I don’t need this.” He started to rise. “I don’t need you laughing at me.”

“No, what you need to do is ask yourself one very simple question. If she wanted you to open up, but refused to say anything herself—how would that make you feel?”

He froze, one hand braced in the sand, breath caught in his throat.

“Exactly.” She punctuated the thought with another sip, gesturing grandly.

“You want truth? Then be brave enough to go first. Radical, I know. But that’s always been our problem, hasn’t it?

Back then, neither of us knew how to stand beside the other—we both wanted to lead .

You wanted to protect me, and I—” She exhaled, taking another drink.

“I was just as bad. We didn’t know how to talk to each other—not when it mattered.

That probably would’ve solved most of our issues. ”

Wind whipped gently around her, lifting loose curls like soft banners in the moonlight.

“You think you’re scared? You don’t know what to fucking do?

” she threw back at him. “Well, newsflash—neither does she, genius. All she knows is that she’s scared, and you’re too busy brooding in your own storm cloud to listen. ”

Skye barked a laugh. “You call it brooding, I call it waiting for her to open her damn mouth.”

A huff. “Sure, okay. I’ll bite.” Cori’s smile was sharp.

“Say she told you everything. We both know what you’d do—twist it into another excuse to martyr yourself.

And no, you can’t argue that point. You joined a Shards-damned blood cult.

” He shut his mouth. “You say you want honesty, but when she shows vulnerability, you turn it into another reason to protect her. Which means you’re not listening.

You’re problem-solving. And that makes it less a conversation and more of a standoff.

Like playing a game where losing is the only prize. ”

Cori drained her glass. Then reached for the bottle, poured another. “Shit. I don’t know if I should’ve told you all that,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the waves. “Oh well.”

Skye didn’t move. Just sat there like the words had knocked something loose in him. He’d thought… but maybe that was the problem. Too many assumptions, not enough talking.

Again, it was like she’d turned a mirror on him.

He didn’t like everything he saw, but the picture made sense.

Every time he’d chosen silence, every time he’d decided Taly didn’t need to know, he’d been building the same walls he’d accused her of hiding behind.

And then he had the nerve to be angry when she shut him out?

No wonder she wanted nothing to do with him.

“Oh Shards, now you look like a kicked puppy.” Cori’s smirk wavered. She sighed. “Look. You both have secrets. You’ve both made assumptions. But before you pull the storm clouds over your head, just know—you have something that me and mine didn’t.”

Skye waited.

Rolling her eyes, Cori punched him on the shoulder. “Me, idiot. I’m meddling, remember? And she’s going to find out about the bloodcrafting, the same way that you’re going to find out about the voice, and it will all even out in the end, so stop looking so hopeless. You’re bumming me out.”

Skye went still. Even the waves seemed to pause.

“Wait,” he asked. “What voice?”

“Oops.” Though Cori didn’t look remotely sorry for this slip, one corner of her mouth tilting up.

“Cori,” Skye warned. “What voice?”

“The one that talks to her in her dreams.” She straightened, arranging her skirts. “You saw her, I think. In the cistern? Though not at her best. Azura starved her to the bone before unleashing her onto the world.”

The Aion Gate was miles away, but the air was suddenly too thin. Skye couldn’t breathe.

“People say monsters can’t be beautiful, but that’s not true.” Cori leaned back on her hands, the beads in her hair hissing as they slid across her shoulders. “It was always the same words, over and over. Kairó vuun’manii . She doesn’t know what those words mean yet. Only that they frighten her.”

“Do they frighten you?”

“Yes,” Cori answered plainly. “But only when I let myself remember.”

She pushed herself to stand, walking barefoot through the sand. She approached the water, then kept going, her skirts dragging through the surf.

Lifting two fingers to her mouth, she whistled long and loud.

There was an answering cry in the distance. And the thing that poked its head above the water—

Skye bolted to his feet, but Cori called back to him, “Don’t worry. It’s not a real kelpie. I sent Calcifer to fetch. It’s a… Kelpifer.”

He grimaced. “That’s horrible.”

The creature drew closer, inch by inch rising from the water.

The shape of a massive horse, it was black as night with crystalline scales intermixed with fur.

Its nose was long and narrow, sharp like a blade.

It had a long seaweed mane that floated on top of the surf.

From a mouth lined with too many sharp teeth that jutted over equine lips, a metal box dangled by a broken, rusty handle.

Cori took the box, scratching the “Kelpifer’s” neck. Enormous blue eyes blinked, looking over her shoulder to Skye, still hovering at the edge of the water.

“Indifferent, my ass,” Skye muttered. The mimic was looking at him like he owed it blood.

Turning, Cori took a step, then another, each one just a little slower, a little more labored. Muttering a curse, she heaved at her water-logged skirts, trying to push back through the surf.

“Okay, this is… this isn’t working the way I planned.” She waved her arms, teetering. “Calcifer! Skye! Both of you, to me. I’m kind of, maybe a little bit… stuck.”

It was strange. Sometimes, Skye looked at Cori and couldn’t see anything of the woman he knew. But during moments like this... well, it was plain to see that not everything had changed.

Wading out, he caught her under the shoulders and pulled her back up. “My hero,” she said, smiling and pressing a hand to his cheek. Not his Taly, but she still had a knack for saying the thing he needed.

She grabbed hold of Calcifer’s mane when he lumbered by, letting him pull her to shore.

Skye lingered in the waves, the cold biting up his legs. The auroras danced on the horizon, their colors rippling through the dark.

He breathed in. And then out.

He knew what he needed to do now. He had to tell Taly.

About Cori. About the bloodcrafting. About every reckless choice he’d made in her name.

The silence between them hadn’t come from nowhere.

It had been built—stone by stone, secret by secret.

And he was just as guilty. If he wanted to tear it down, he had to start with his side.

He turned back toward the dunes. “Hey,” he called. “Thanks…”

But the beach was empty. No footprints. No mimic. Just the gentle hiss of waves on sand.

He was alone.

Then he saw it.

Half-buried near where she’d been sitting—one bottle of champagne, nestled in the sand like a buried treasure. The foil still glinted under the moonlight.

The note beside it read:

The bottle won’t finish until you do. —C

P.S. Thanks for the show.

P.P.S. If you want to win this, stop sulking. Take your shirt off. You’re easier to forgive that way.