Page 73 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

over Joan. “Who’d have thought it would be me saving the world at the end?” he added, with a shaky smile.

“ Aaron! ” Joan screamed. “ No! ” She lunged for him.

Beside her, Nick was already hurling himself forward too—and he almost caught him. His fingers brushed Aaron’s as Aaron jumped. But it was too late. They’d both been too late. Aaron had

already fallen into the shadows of the void.

For a second, Joan’s lungs locked up. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t believe what Aaron had just done.

She was still reaching for him, as if he wasn’t already gone. As if every future version of him hadn’t been obliterated.

A scream tore from her throat, the sound harsh and agonized. She felt her legs give, and then she was on the ground, her throat

raw, Nick beside her. She had a feeling he’d caught her and eased her down. That he was holding her.

Under her hands, the strands of grass felt unreal. The entire world felt unreal. Sobs wrenched from her, making her whole

body shudder. Aaron was dead. Joan couldn’t bear to believe it. It couldn’t be true.

She was vaguely aware of shouts from the others; of the earth beginning to shake like she was shaking. Back at the house,

she hadn’t been able to access the deepest well of her power, but now she could feel it inside her, vast and terrifying as

a rising flood. This time, she welcomed it.

Rage and grief washed over her, and the grass began to twist and turn like worms under her hands, wriggling back into the earth.

At the edge of the field, the tree line shrank and shriveled to saplings, and then vanished to seed.

The road melted and steamed, the stink of hot asphalt cutting through the wind.

Beyond it, houses were being flayed to bare frames and then sinking back to their foundations.

“ Joan! ” Nick sounded a little afraid.

Joan looked up and saw—with shock—that the whole field was rolling like the sea. “What’s happening?”

“It’s you ,” Nick said. He held her tighter. “Your power!”

Joan gasped, fear mingling with her grief. She could feel it now—herpower surging from her in a torrent, violent and wild.

You have to break that bond , Aaron had said, and another racking sob shuddered out of her. Aaron was dead .

“He jumped ,” Joan choked out. “He did it to save us all!”

Nick’s expression was achingly gentle in response, his eyes full of pain. “I know.”

Joan gasped for breath. Aaron was gone. He was gone . Not for one timeline—forever. A fog of horror had descended on her, but even within it, Joan knew that Aaron had asked her

for one thing. She had to do it—for him.

She forced herself to her feet and walked over to Eleanor across the shaking field.

Her sister stared back, wide-eyed, as houses and trees unraveled around them. In the moonlight, the bond around her waist

was an eerie glow that reminded Joan of the luminescent display at the Court.

Joan reached out, throat tight, half expecting Eleanor to stop her. But Eleanor just watched as Joan took hold of the bond

at her waist. It didn’t feel like anything at all, but it crumpled like fabric under her hand.

Joan folded her fist around it and wrenched. Earlier, at the house, she hadn’t come close to breaking the bond, but now it tore away like a delicate gauze.

Eleanor’s breath hitched. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Joan. “You did it,” she breathed. And then her face creased, and she

groaned in shocked pain as the bond began to unwind itself from her. She tottered back, and then her knees gave, and she fell

on her hands and knees to the ground.

Joan stumbled back too, shaken, as the bond ribboned into the air, its curling movements reminding her of the shadows of the

void. Unlike the shadows, though, it shone in unearthly colors as it twisted and writhed.

Joan felt another stab of debilitating grief as she watched it rise. There was something alien about it, but it was beautiful

too. Like a cold flame. Like an aurora come to life. She wished Aaron could have seen it.

The eerie coil of it floated above Eleanor, and Joan could feel it searching for someone in the vicinity strong enough to

take the leash—to wield control over the timeline itself.

Then to Joan’s shock, it leaped toward her .

It hovered before her, offering itself, and Joan’s breath stopped. If we kill Eleanor , Nick had said, we’ll be able to mold a new timeline.

Joan could . She could feel it—the possibility of it. She could make a better world—a good world, where people were happy and at peace. Where monsters and humans weren’t in conflict. She could forge the kind of peace

that her original self had wanted. No talks or persuasion needed. She could make that happen.

She could almost hear the timeline speaking now. A vast intelligence, asking her the question: Are you going to take the leash?

Joan took a step forward. Behind the glow of offered power, she could see another shape—just a silhouette in the darkness.

She drew a sharp breath. It was the great beast of the timeline itself. There was something cruelly confining knotted around

its neck, and it took Joan a long moment to understand that she was looking at the collar on the other end of the leash.

She turned, searching for Nick. He was just a few paces from her—he’d followed her over to Eleanor—and he gazed back at her

steadily now.

Molding the timeline to your will means molding people , she’d said to him in the library that night.

And she could. That was the power on offer. She could take hold of the leash and create a new timeline, forcing her will on

everyone—humans and monsters. She could force everyone to be as she wished them to be.

But... “It wouldn’t be right,” she said to Nick. And who was even to say that Joan would make a good timeline? Eleanor and the King had both believed that they were doing that.

“I know.” Nick’s eyes were very soft. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said that night.” His mouth curled up wryly. “I guess

we’ll have to do a bunch of talking instead.”

“Just like we did in the original timeline,” Joan murmured. Except that this time, they’d be without Aaron. Grief rolled over

her again, so consuming and overwhelming that she could hardly breathe. Aaron would never be with them again.

She turned back to the glowing light before her. Are you going to take the leash? the timeline asked again.

In answer, Joan stretched out her hand. She reached beyond the leash with her power—right across the field to the beast itself, until she

could almost feel the rough rope of the collar against her hand.

Then she tugged hard, ripping the collar from the beast’s neck. The rope fell away, and there was a snap all around them as the timeline was freed.

Eleanor gasped again in agony—as if a few last threads of the leash had still been attached to her. Her eyes sought Joan’s

as she died, her pained expression easing to something closer to relief as her breath stopped. She’d bound the timeline so

tightly to herself, she couldn’t survive without it.

Joan swallowed. Had there been an apology in Eleanor’s eyes in those last moments? She wasn’t sure.

Above, the light of the timeline was filling the holes in the sky, and the field was beginning to change.

Nick cried out a warning as a wall shot up near Joan. The house was returning. The timeline was already re-forming into something

new.

Nick grabbed Joan’s hand, and they ran together with the others—into where the garden had once been. Then, with the last of

her strength, Joan threw up a shield, protecting herself and the others from the changing timeline.

They’d done it, she realized. They’d saved the world. And as soon as she thought that, she was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably.

Eleanor had died, and some part of Joan wished she had too. Because Aaron had stepped into the void. He’d saved them all—but he wouldn’t be there to see it. He wouldn’t be in the new timeline, or any other. He was lost to them.

When the darkness came, it was a relief.