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Taly was tired. And not the kind that sleep could fix—this was a bone-deep exhaustion. The kind that settled in her ribs, in the hollow spaces behind her eyes.

She tried to muster anger, to claw together the tattered remains of her courage. She’d faced the nightmare, survived to tell the tale. But there was nothing left. Every ounce of fight had been spent, leaving only the weight of it all.

And so, for two weeks, she slept.

Sarina tried to coax her back with books and music, but just the thought of mustering the focus was exhausting.

Skye stayed nearby, quiet and steady, but there was an expectation there.

Not pressure—never pressure—just the unmistakable sense that he was waiting.

Waiting for her to meet him halfway, to say something, anything , about what happened that day.

But she couldn’t. And failing, again and again, only hollowed her out further.

Avoiding him was easier—sleeping, shutting down, anything but facing that quiet, stubborn hope in his eyes.

Ivain, though—he didn’t need her to say it. He already knew. He’d seen that drained, stretched-thin look before, the mark left behind when power took more than it gave. He saw the fear too.

The thing in the cistern. The face in the statue. The voice trailing her every sleeping and waking hour. She had a name for it now, even if it still felt too big, too impossible to believe.

Taly wasn’t angry at Ivain anymore for taking away her magic. Maybe she should’ve been—furious that he hadn’t warned her, that he’d decided for her . And yes, she recognized the irony. But what did it matter now?

He’d tried to protect her, but that all-consuming force had found her anyway. She begged him to put the runes back, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. She didn’t care if she sounded broken. She just needed him to fix it.

But he told her no.

It wouldn’t help anymore.

And that—that made her the most tired of all.

It was a morning like any other. Taly lay huddled beneath the blankets, her body curled in on itself. The morning sun crept into the room like an unwelcome guest from where Sarina had left the shutters open. A subtle nudge to get out of bed. To move. To at least try to start the day.

Taly stared blankly as the light crawled across the wooden floor, closer and closer.

Still, she didn’t move.

What was the point? Another day had come, indifferent to whether she rose to meet it or chose to stay buried beneath the safety of her blankets. At least here, nothing else could demand anything of her. Here, she could disappear.

She heard a door open and close in the common area, recognized the scent—the sound of slow, measured footsteps. She didn’t look up as Ivain pulled a chair closer to the bed and settled in.

“I have something for you. When you’re ready.”

The exhaustion didn’t vanish, but it eased. Just enough to stir a faint, forgotten sense of curiosity.

Slowly, Taly met his eyes.

Skye wasn’t going to push his luck. Most days, Taly was still in bed when he came to check on her.

Sometimes, he’d try to drag her out—gently, but firmly—just to get her through the exercises Aiden had prescribed for her recovery.

Or however many she could last before the pain became too much.

Most of her muscle and nerve tissue had been repaired, if not outright replaced, and both needed time and effort to adapt.

Every stretch burned, every movement stung.

But today, she was awake. And not just that—out of bed, sitting in the bath, chewing on her lip, and looking pensive.

“Hey,” Skye said tentatively, pausing in the doorway.

Taly’s head turned, her hair piled messily on top of it. And though her face was still limned with that familiar exhaustion, there was a clarity in her eyes that he’d sorely missed.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, a little unsteady and rough from disuse, but he was glad to hear it again.

“You started without me today.”

It began out of necessity. With her injuries, bathing on her own was impossible, and he was glad to help.

Plus, with all the pain potion Aiden had her on in those early days, Skye had half-worried she might pass out in the bath.

And though she didn’t need him now the way she did, he still found excuses to linger.

It was a way to feel close to her. Every day, she vanished a little more.

And he missed her. His days dragged without her around to cause trouble.

Taly’s mouth tilted, and he got a glimpse of something else he was starting to think he’d never see again—the beginnings of a smile.

“I got tired of waiting.” Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but there was a spark in her eyes, something almost hungry, as they flicked over him. “You’re still welcome to join.”

Skye didn’t need to be told twice. His shirt came off in one quick motion.

The washroom was warm, steam curling from the water as he lowered himself down behind her.

Her skin slid against his. Want stirred, low and sharp.

It always did with her. But he pushed those feelings aside, stretching his legs out so that she could settle against him.

She moved gingerly, wincing as her back met his chest, then tucked her head beneath his chin.

“We saw the first distortions around the Aion Gate today.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

“They said the air is shifting—light bending, like heat off a forge. Everything is on schedule, which, of course, worries Ivain. He says he would feel more comfortable if everything was going wrong right now and they were scrambling.”

Skye wasn’t expecting an answer. All week, he’d watched her try, and fail, to muster even the simplest response, so he’d gotten pretty good at holding conversations with himself.

But it must’ve been a day for miracles, because she said softly, “Six weeks is still plenty of time for everything to go to hell.”

He hid his smile in her hair. “That’s what we keep telling him. It actually seems to calm him down.”

Again, that ghost of a smile—it was a small triumph.

“I was at the Swap this afternoon,” he said. “It’s still a little dreary, but they managed to clear enough of the damage to get the vendors back in. Someone was even selling these cheap amulets with your name on them. ‘Blessed by the Savior.’”

Taly let out a long, pained groan. “Who would even buy that?”

“Lots of people, actually. There was quite a long line.” Another groan. “Though, to be fair, they were claiming your blessing could get them through the Aion Gate safely.”

Taly snorted. “Might as well slap my name on a gravestone and call it blessed. That’s about as much protection as they’re getting.”

Skye grinned widely. “Taly.”

“What?” she asked dubiously.

“You made a joke.” Sure, it was morbid, a little depressing, but he’d take what he could get.

“Shut up.” She jabbed an elbow in his ribs—half-heartedly, but still, it was progress.

Her legs slid against his, smooth and unhurried in the water. His body tightened, that familiar ache stirring low in his gut. Not wanting to ruin the moment with expectations he knew she wasn’t ready for, he shifted, forcing space between them.

“Time to wash your back,” he said.

Taly exhaled, as if bracing herself—then leaned forward.

Her back.

Skye bit back a growl. For not the first time, he wished—oh, how he wished —he could rip those responsible from the grave just to kill them again.

It had taken Aiden days to remove the Vorpal Vine. Hours upon hours of surgery, of cutting every individual thorn loose from where it had dug into tender flesh. He’d managed to free her face, her neck, and every other part of her body. No scars remained.

But her back…

Beginning at the base of her spine and moving upward as it widened, the scars branched and twisted in delicate fractal patterns. Still red but fading, the skin would be slightly raised when it healed.

It was day four of surgery, and Aiden had finally worked his way to the root of the Vorpal Vine. Had just made the first cut into her back when she stopped him.

No more. It was a broken, nearly inaudible plea. Please, no more…

Skye had felt it through the bond, the crushing tide of pain. It was too much. She was tired of fighting. All she’d wanted was rest.

“Is it ugly?” Taly asked in a small voice.

The anger surged hot and fast, but Skye buried it beneath a steady breath.

Reminded himself that there was no one left to hunt down for making her feel this way.

“It looks like… lightning,” he said, grabbing a cloth and soaking it in warm water.

“Like someone took a bolt of it and injected it beneath your skin. When I see it, it reminds me of how strong you are. So, no—it’s not ugly. ”

She gave a little nod. “Sarina thinks I should let Aiden remove them.”

“Sarina can see that they cause you pain. None of us like seeing you in pain, Tink.” He pressed the cloth to her back, and she hissed as the heat of it soaked into her skin.

The thorns had burrowed deep into her muscles and other soft tissues, and her body was still trying to adapt to the intrusion. Healing around it.

“I need the pain,” she said through gritted teeth. “Ivain said it would help.”

“Help with what?”

She was silent for a long moment, arms folded tightly around her knees. This was more words than he’d gotten out of her in weeks, so he’d half given up by the time she finally whispered, “Em, there’s something I need to tell you.”