Page 20

DEREK

S omething’s wrong.

More wrong than before.

The tear doesn’t just pulse this time—it shudders , convulses like it’s breathing and choking at the same time. The air around it goes thick, syrupy. Each breath feels like pulling steam into my lungs.

I smell sulfur.

Feel static raising goosebumps across my arms.

The grove tilts. Shadows stretch in unnatural directions. Even the trees seem to recoil, their leaves hissing in a language only the veil understands.

Hazel is still beside me, chest heaving, wand clenched in her hand like she’s trying to will the magic back into it. But I know the truth.

It’s not there yet.

She doesn’t say it, but I see it in the tightness of her mouth, the wild flicker in her eyes.

She’s still empty.

And the tear knows.

It lunges.

A ripple of energy bursts from its jagged edge like a spear—pure void magic, fast, lethal, and aimed right at her.

“HAZEL—!”

She turns just in time to see it.

Too late to move.

So I move for her.

I throw myself into the blast path, body twisting mid-air.

It hits me center-mass.

And everything goes white.

I don’t feel the pain right away. Just heat. Pressure.

And then it hits—like a thousand volts of lightning erupting beneath my skin. I’m not thrown. I’m launched , flung backward like a ragdoll, smashing through the underbrush, hitting the ground hard enough to crack bone.

The impact rattles through me.

Dirt in my mouth. Metal in my lungs. Darkness at the edge of my vision.

Something’s broken. Several somethings, probably.

And then I hear her.

Hazel.

Her boots thudding across the forest floor. Her voice—shaky, loud, barely holding it together.

“DEREK!”

I try to respond.

I get a grunt.

She drops to her knees beside me. Hands on my face, cold and frantic. Her fingers tremble as they slide under my jaw, checking for a pulse.

Like I’d leave her now.

“You absolute—stupid—nightmare man—” she’s rambling, words crashing into each other. “What the hell were you thinking?! You don’t just throw yourself into death magic like it’s some kind of romantic gesture!”

I blink up at her. “Wasn’t… romantic.”

“Shut up. Don’t speak. Save your strength—oh gods, there’s blood ?—”

I cough. “Hazel?—”

She leans in closer. Her hair falls around us like a curtain, tangling in my coat. Her eyes are wet.

Not glitter. Not performance.

Raw.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispers.

“You didn’t.”

A long pause.

And then her forehead presses to mine, her breath shaky against my cheek.

“You idiot,” she says. “You unbearable, impossible idiot.”

I would smile.

If it didn’t feel like my ribs were on fire.

But then there’s a noise.

A new noise.

The tear roars.

Not just a pulse. Not just a scream.

A detonation.

The veil convulses—massive, violent. Energy slams outward in a circular wave, flattening trees and snapping branches like twigs. The earth bucks beneath us.

The void isn’t just lashing out anymore.

It’s fighting back.

I feel the pull. That sickening tug like gravity reversing.

And Hazel stands.

Hands curling into fists.

Her wand rises.

Her eyes blaze.

And I know, before the magic returns to her, she’s already made the decision.

This ends now.

She steps forward into the storm.

Hair whipping around her like a banner. Her voice lifts—strong, bright, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

“YOU DON’T GET TO TAKE ANYTHING ELSE FROM ME!”

The tear crackles.

She lifts her wand, glowing now, humming with energy I can feel from where I’m lying. Like a tether pulled taut between her and the ley lines themselves.

She starts casting—not soft, not controlled.

Feral.

Like fire meeting storm.

Runes fly from her mouth in a language older than camp, older than this forest, older than me. Sigils burst from her wand in gold and blue and violet.

The veil shrieks.

She doesn’t flinch.

She steps closer.

A surge of energy rushes forward from the tear—but she absorbs it, magic crackling through her like lightning caught in human form.

Her spell reaches its peak—a crescendo of power—and she slams it forward.

The ground splits.

The air tears.

And the rift screams .

One final cry.

Suddenly, it collapses.

The energy implodes on itself with a low, deafening boom , then vanishes like breath pulled from lungs.

Silence.

Real, total silence.

Hazel drops to her knees, wand falling from her hand, chest heaving like she just held the sky open with her bare hands.

I try to move.

Pain streaks through me like fireworks.

She turns, crawls to me.

Her hands are on my face again.

“Don’t you dare die.”

“I’m not dying,” I rasp.

“Good,” she whispers. “Because you still owe me, like, seven apologies, a real date, and probably your soul.”

I reach for her hand.

Grip it tight.

I don’t regret the pain.

I regret not telling her sooner.

Everything hurts.

My body feels like broken glass—scattered and sharp and burning.

I’m drifting, heavy-limbed and too light at the same time, like I’ve been untethered. Like gravity forgot me.

Her voice.

Faint at first. Muffled.

Then louder. Fiercer.

“Don’t you dare , Derek Virel.”

Hazel.

She’s dragging me—arms under my shoulders, boots crunching through leaves, breath ragged and furious and panicked. Every word from her mouth is laced with a kind of desperation I’ve never heard before. Not even in battle. Not even in death.

“You absolute dumbass,” she growls. “You don’t get to die dramatically in the woods like some angsty martyr.”

I want to answer.

I try.

What comes out is a groan.

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.

“Shut up,” she snaps, voice breaking. “You lost too much blood to be sarcastic right now.”

I feel the ley lines shift around us. We’re close. The Grove.

Good.

It hums beneath my back like I’m sinking into the pulse of the earth.

Her grip tightens. She’s trembling. Her magic is all over me now—messy, hot, alive. She presses her hands to my chest and I can feel her pulse under her palms.

“Derek,” she whispers.

My name.

Again.

And again.

Not like a cry.

Like a spell.

Each syllable holds me in place. Keeps me from slipping.

The stars flicker above us. The trees blur. I’m half-gone already. But her voice keeps dragging me back.

Back to her.

I blink up at her face, hazy in the light of the Grove. She’s sweat-soaked, tear-streaked, furious and beautiful and mine.

She saved me.

No, I saved her.

And I’d do it again.

I find enough breath to whisper it.

“I’d do it again.”

She freezes.

Her hand stills on my chest.

Our eyes lock.

She doesn’t say anything.

But she doesn’t have to.

I’ve made my choice.

And even if it kills me, I’ll never regret it.