Page 217 of The Devil May Care

“So why not go back to where you were happy?”

I freeze. There it is. The trick.

“I wasn’t,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. She lifts her brows. “I wasn’t happy back home.” I draw in a sharp breath. “I was numb. I went through the motions. Got up. Fed my cat. Worked. Slept. Cried in the shower. Smiled when people asked. I wasn’t living. I was surviving.”

The flame in the room pulses gently—like it hears me. Like it remembers.

“And here?” I lift my chin. “Here, I’ve been happy. Not always. Maybe not even most of the time. But I’ve been. In the barracks. Laughing with Sarai. Sparring with Elira. Arguing with Varo.” I smile. “Even bleeding with Caziel. I felt it all.”

She looks puzzled.

“You’ve found joy,”she says slowly,“in Hell.”

“Not Hell, Crimson.” I shake my head. “It’s messy. Loud. Unforgiving. But there’s life here. And I’m not ready to walk away from it.”

She tilts her head.“This isn’t your fight.”

“Isn’t it?” I whisper. “The flame marked me. I didn’t ask it to—but it chose me all the same. And every time I’ve tried to walk away, it has dragged me back. Maybe I’m not Daemari, maybe i’m not from Infernalis or Crimson or this world, but I’m here and I’m succeeding. And I’m going to see this through.”

The silence stretches—then folds in on itself like a bowstring relaxing.

“Why?”she presses again, softer now.“Even if you win… they may end you.”

I think of Caziel’s hands on mine. Of Varo’s quiet respect. Of Sarai braiding my hair so tight it made me feel unbreakable.

“Then they do,” I say simply. “But at least I’ll have finished something. At least I’ll have chosen. And maybe that matters more than surviving. I’ve lived here. Maybe that’s the whole point.”

She watches me like I’m something strange. Something rare.

“You would choose more trials? More suffering? And why?”

“Because I’m not done yet.” I press my palm to the flame-marked pendant. “Because I’m not alone anymore.”

She studies me a long moment—then stands.

“Then may your joy be armor. May your fire be truth. And may the final gate open only when you are ready.”

She bows. The flame surges—not to burn, but to bless. The portal disappears. The room fades. The arch looms. The trial ends.

And I’m still standing.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

KAY

The red haze clears as I step through the archway—and for a breath, I forget how to stand. The arena comes rushing back all at once. Sound. Heat. The scent of stone, scorched and ancient. My boots land on cracked crimson earth, and I brace myself for noise, for judgment, for anything. But the amphitheater is quiet. Not silent—just holding its breath. Then I hear him.

“Kay.”

Caziel’s voice cuts through the space like a spark catching dry tinder. My head jerks toward the sound just as he breaks from the sidelines, armor half-buckled, hair slightly undone like he didn’t stop to fix it before running to me. He’s running. Not striding. Not composed. He reaches me and stops just short of crashing into my chest, hands lifting like he’s not sure where to touch first—shoulders, arms, face.

“You were gone too long,” he says, voice rough. “I couldn’t feel—”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure that’s true. The words come out on instinct.

He cups my face then, callused thumbs brushing just beneath my eyes, searching. I can’t breathe under the weight of that look, like he’s counting every moment I was missing in the lines of my skin.

“I thought you were gone,” he murmurs.