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Aimee forced her back down. “It was like you were dancing with the water. I was sure you were going to be a water mage, and I had all these plans for us. How we’d go to school together, then university, and then we’d get our first apprenticeships in your father’s court together.”

Taly held onto the sound of her cousin’s voice for dear life. The pain continued to recede, flowing from her extremities.

But it didn’t fade.

It concentrated, growing sharper, fiercer, diluting down to a single point of agony.

“We used to have clambakes on the beach.” Aimee gasped the words, blinking hard against tears. “While you and I built sandcastles, Aiden would dig for crabs. And we were happy. For a little while, we were really happy, and it’s not your fault that went away.”

Aiden’s blade cut directly down her spine. Taly screamed, body twisting. The pain was bewildering.

And still building.

Still cresting like a wave of fire beneath her skin

Still reaching for its final zenith when—

release

Finally, finally , the pain released, the full effect of the spells settling over her like a weight that melted her into the table.

For the first time, Taly was able to breathe. For the first time, she realized she was tired . Utterly exhausted. There was enough room in her head for such things now.

Aimee loosened her grip, though one hand continued to gently stroke Taly’s blood-soaked hair. And she was glad for it. Glad for the comfort as Aiden continued to cut and trim the dead Vorpal Vine from her body.

There was someone waiting in his office when Ivain returned to the townhouse later that night.

He’d been expecting her, because Shards knew after today she owed him some damn answers.

Ivain closed his office door. Locked it. Cori said nothing from where she lounged on the couch in front of the fire, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey dangling from her gloved hand.

“I always liked this room,” she said, the picture of relaxation. “All these years and I still haven’t found a better place to just come and think.”

The curtains had been pulled, the light was dim, the shadows outside beginning to stretch as the sun sank beneath the horizon. The first sunset of a new dawn, and this was certainly not how he’d planned to spend it.

Taly had finally been moved upstairs. When he’d last checked, poking his head into the room to find Sarina and Calcifer keeping their silent bedside vigil, she’d been asleep and resting without pain.

Ivain stalked for the liquor cabinet. He felt restless.

His blood still sang with the thrill of battle, the thirst for vengeance unquenched.

Killing that man wasn’t enough. Removing his soul and scattering it to the wind—denying him the comfort of an afterlife, the chance to be reborn—even that still felt like a gross denial of justice.

His mind churned with plans, each more ruthless than the last. He’d never liked the Sanctorum, but they had made an enemy this day.

He made a vow. He would root them out, expose them for the cowards they were, and ensure they faced the full measure of his wrath. He didn’t care how long it took. He would see their Conclave burned to the ground.

Ivain poured himself a finger of liquor from a bottle that was already half-empty. “I see you helped yourself.”

“Always do,” she answered, lifting her glass.

He downed his glass, savoring the burn. Any other day, under any other circumstances, he would’ve taken to the forest to run, not stopping until he hit the ocean. The water would be frigid, but he’d wade out until the roar of the surf finally cooled the molten rage heating his bones.

But right now, he didn’t have the forest or the ocean. He had shitty booze distilled from corn and flavored to taste like whiskey. Pouring himself another, he figured it would have to do.

Moving to the fireplace, he claimed the seat beside her. For a while, he simply stared into the flames.

“You could’ve stopped it,” he finally said. “Why didn’t you?”

Cori’s eyes remained closed. “It wasn’t my place.”

“Don’t do that,” Ivain seethed quietly.

The frown came first. Then her eyes opened.

“Oh, come on,” he snapped. “After all these years, do you really think I can’t see through your bullshit?

” He was shaking, caught somewhere between grief and fury.

“If you’re so intent to meddle, if you’re already changing things that were never your place to change, then why not this?

Why couldn’t you have spared yourself this? Spared us all?”

She snorted. “While I’m flattered at how much faith you seem to have in me, some things must happen. Some things always happen. And I learned a long time ago not to waste my time trying to outrun the inevitable.”

The words were matter-of-fact, plain and pragmatic. Ivain finally looked at her. Really looked.

She appeared exactly as she should, no marks on her face, no scars, not a speck of blood on her clothes or in her hair. Who knew how many years she’d had to forget the sting of the Vorpal Vine. To use that memory to make herself stronger.

But for him… For him, it was still fresh. In his mind’s eye, he could still see her falling through the dawn, still hear the jeering crowd as he raced through the streets to find her. The smell of another man’s soul still clung to him.

Nobody had told him what would happen when he became a father. That his heart would become so twisted with love he would never be the same. That her safety, her joy, would become his everything.

“Can you answer one thing?”

Cori sipped her whisky, arching a brow in that way that said, Depends on the question.

“Are you okay?” His voice cracked slightly. Today, he’d seen her brutalized, nearly killed for what she was. He just needed to know— “Wherever, whenever, you are now, are you safe? Are you happy ?”

“Of course.” But her eyes dipped, just like they always did when she was lying.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

She glanced at him, and that smile she wielded like a shield finally slipped. Beneath it, he saw only exhaustion, a woman stretched thin and barely holding together.

“It’s funny,” she said after a moment. “Whenever I travel, everyone always assumes so many things about me. They assume that because there’s a primary timeline, one unbroken chain of events leading from the past into the future, that I’m exactly who I should be.

They take comfort in my mere existence, as if that’s some sort of guarantee for a brighter future. ”

“Isn’t it?”

“If it helps you sleep at night, then by all means, believe whatever you like.” She uncrossed her legs, stretching her booted feet towards the fire. “Lately, I find myself thinking about echoes.”

“Echoes?”

She nodded. “Decisions branch, and for most people, they’ll never know the outcome of the road untaken.

But I can see it. I can see the echo of what might’ve been.

I can pick it out of the mess before it dissolves into nothing and use it to get a glimpse of the world that would’ve spawned if events had conspired to go another way.

I can see paths where everything just… worked.

And believe me, that’s a special kind of fucked-up torture.

To know where you went wrong and just how badly.

To be able to see where all those little mistakes spiraled out. ”

“And which mistake are you trying to undo?” Ivain asked softly.

Cori looked over, eyes narrowing. It was the look of someone not used to being read so easily. “She’ll be fine,” she said—deflecting, retreating, before he could dig any deeper. “At least, as far as today goes. She’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

Ivain knew it to be true, but hearing her say it… a bit of the tightness in his chest eased. “And you? Will you be alright?”

She thought it over a moment, no doubt weighing what she could and wouldn’t say. “I’m working on it.”

She emptied her glass in one sharp tilt, rising from the couch and reaching for her coat draped over the back of it. It was time to go, but not without one final warning.

“The fifth gift in the Procession has been bestowed. Only one remains. I trust you know what that means?”

A wave of dread washed over him. “I do.”

Cori nodded. “She knows, by the way. Other me. She’s figured out what’s coming for her. She’s scared and confused. You should go to her. Prepare her for what happens next.”

Cori turned to leave, but Ivain called out to her.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said the same to the woman upstairs, though it was unclear if she’d heard him. “I should never have put you in a position where you had to hide. You deserved better.”

Cori didn’t turn back, but she did say, “It was never about what I deserved. Only what had to happen next.”

She left him with that. The door didn’t slam—just clicked shut behind her.

Somehow, that made the silence that came after feel worse.