Page 35

35

LIORA

T he first thing I taste is rain.

Cool. Clean. Real.

I collapse into it when we hit the ground, the wet grass soaking through my knees, my lungs burning as the air—actual, unfiltered, Veil-free air—rushes in and reminds me that I’m alive. That I made it out. That he’s beside me.

But even as the storm rinses Seraphiel’s court from my skin, I can still feel his laughter on my spine like it’s tattooed there.

“Liora,” Dante’s voice cuts through the downpour, low and raw.

“I’m okay,” I rasp, even though it’s a lie. “Just—give me a sec.”

I press my palms to the earth like I’m trying to anchor myself, but my power’s pulsing too hard beneath my skin. It’s wild. Frantic. Awake. Like Seraphiel flipped a switch I didn’t know I had.

And now everything burns.

By the time we get to Dante’s loft, the rain’s let up—but the tension’s thicker than ever. The moment we step inside, he slams the wards into place, reinforcing every barrier, every lock, every ancient protective spell carved into the walls like they’re holy scripture.

The rebels fan out, quiet and watchful. Mara’s already stripping weapons from her belt and lining them along the window ledge like she’s done this before. Probably has.

The loft doesn’t feel like a home anymore. It feels like a war bunker.

And I’m the weapon everyone’s trying to figure out how to use.

I curl up on the far end of the couch, knees pulled to my chest, hair still damp, hands shaking like I’m trying to hold lightning and failing.

Dante kneels in front of me, voice low. “Talk to me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Start with what you feel. ”

My laugh is bitter. “Like something cracked inside me, and if I take too deep a breath, I’ll burn the whole world down.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just cups the side of my face, thumb brushing under my eye. “Then we’ll figure out how to put it back together.”

His touch calms the worst of the shaking. But it doesn’t douse the fire.

Nothing can.

Later, after I’ve changed and Mara’s made something warm enough to drink, the rebels gather in the loft’s center—quiet, serious, and watching me.

I don’t like it.

“Okay,” I say, standing. “Spit it out. You didn’t come through hellfire with me to sit and stare.”

It’s the older rebel—Rhiem—who finally speaks. His voice is scratchy, like his throat’s half-sand.

“You’re not just dark fae.”

I cross my arms. “Yeah, I figured that out when Seraphiel stopped treating me like prey and started treating me like prophecy all those years ago.”

Mara steps in. “He calls you little star for a reason.”

“Cute nickname,” I mutter, but my stomach twists.

“You’re part celestial,” she says, firm. “Your mother wasn’t full-blooded fae. She was a starborn—an echo of the first light. A thread of the original balance before the Veil ever existed.”

I blink. “That’s not real.”

“It is ,” Rhiem says. “You’re living proof.”

The shadows around me thrum, restless. “Why didn’t Thorne tell me this?”

Mara and Rhiem exchange a glance.

“He knew,” she says. “He’s always known. That’s why he’s kept you hidden. Why he trained you to suppress everything.”

“That bastard, ” I whisper, heart pounding.

“He was trying to protect you,” she says. “And the rest of the world. Because what you carry, Liora… it’s not just dangerous.”

“It’s world-ending,” Rhiem finishes.

I sit back down hard, chest tight. “He said Seraphiel needed me. That our union would unmake the Veil.”

Mara nods slowly. “Because it would. The union would amplify the celestial inside you—and the shadow that fuels him. You’re opposites. But together? You’re a door that can’t be closed. You do have the power to destroy him, but you’ve been trained to suppress it for your own safety because it could be your undoing as well. But when joined with darkness, with Seraphiel… it is world-ending and unstoppable.”

“And that’s why he let us go,” I breathe, realization crashing over me. “Because he wants me to come into it. To let the magic wake up. To love.”

My voice cracks on the word.

Love.

Because that’s what it always circles back to.

Me and Dante.

And the way this thing inside me—this power—keeps responding to him. His touch. His voice. His love.

“I’m the trigger,” I say, voice hollow. “If I feel too much… if I lose control…”

“You could break the realms,” Mara says softly. “Or remake them. We don’t know.”

“So, why would you all choose to follow him?” Dante asks as I try to process all of this.

The fallen celestial decides to speak up. “Because, the promises he made, how he sold it. We were nothing but after he took over, we would all be something. Matter and have a place. It was alluring, and he’s terrifying. To have someone so powerful even pretend to believe that you could rise up, well, it seemed profitable.”

“That’s why he didn’t kill Dante right away, why he pushed me instead of just doing it. He wanted to see what it would unlock inside of me to protect him.”

Dante’s suddenly beside me, grounding me with his presence, his warmth.

“You’re not a weapon,” he says. “You’re not a prophecy.”

I look up, wild-eyed. “You don’t know what I am. Hell, I don’t even know what I am.”

“I don’t have to,” he says. “Because I trust who you choose to be.”

Gods help me.

I believe him.

But I don’t know if that will be enough.

Not this time.