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Behind him, Jelethia’s lips move, her hands fluttering like loose fabric in the wind.

But Netharu’el doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

He watches me like he has all the time in the world.

I stand still, holding his gaze defiant and steady. I tilt my head, and he leans in. The furrow between his brows deepens, and his stare intensifies as if he’s trying to erase me with sheer focus. As if he thinks he can command me to move without a word. Not a chance.

Jelethia wraps her arms around his shoulders. I blink, my stomach knotting tight. And just like that, the connection shatters.

Netharu’el turns to face her, his stance shifting, assured, towering over her. He shrugs off her hands and walks farther into the room. She follows. She catches his hand, pressing herself closer.

Will you just stop, Jelethia?

You won’t rest until you’ve dragged him into bed, will you?

One night already…

A cold hand clamps around my throat, squeezing tight.

Maybe they have already…

Then let him go. Let her have him.

If he cares, he won’t do anything anyway.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The bird’s heart pounds too fast, a frantic rhythm against mine. I force them open again. Jelethia’s hands glide down Netharu’el’s back.

For all of Saxx’s burning fires, Jelethia!

Again, Netharu’el pulls away, his posture rigid, his movements dismissive. But Jelethia is persistent, shadowing his steps.

This isn’t working.

I lift off, wings beating steady, keeping control as I move. I stay low, skimming close to the ground for safety. Circling the corner of the hut, I head straight for the door.

“Pje bes,” I command. Only a rasping caw escapes my beak, but it’s enough.

The lock clicks, releasing. The short phrase floods my body with darkness, lingering for several sparks.

It crashes over me so intensely that I’m forced to the ground, my strength drained.

Eístla’s body is fragile, never meant to wield Arzakean.

Don’t kill this body, too, Iszaelda.

When the weight eases, I push forward. “Ew leje.”

The door groans, shifting open just enough to spill a sliver of light into the night. This time, I don’t wait. I dive through, carrying the remnants of the demon’s words inside me. There’s no time to shake them off. No time to recover. I hope I’ll survive. I have to.

Jelethia has already begun undressing, stripped down to nothing but her undershorts, casting glances over her shoulder, desperate for his attention.

Netharu’el doesn’t even look at her. He stands at the window, eyes locked outside.

As if still searching for the bush troupial that had been there moments ago.

I dart inside, wings beating wildly. Flapping, flapping, flapping before I launch myself at Jelethia. I snatch her hair, yanking hard enough to rip a scream from her throat.

My claws catch on her necklace, tangling in the threads, feathers and talons everywhere.

“Neth! Neth!” Jelethia cries out.

Netharu’el spins around, shock flashing in his eyes.

“An jed ih mo, lemes!”

The words barely register. I don’t have time to process or understand them because a weakness suddenly floods me.

He catches me mid-air, hands swift and sure, expertly untangling me from Jelethia’s necklace.

She gasps, stumbling back onto the bed and collapsing onto the mattress.

Her chest heaves, rising and falling frantically, each breath loud, ragged, and sharp in my ears.

Netharu’el climbs the wooden ladder, carrying me with him.

Everything blurs into a haze of cliff gray, sunlit grass, and deep, papaya-orange. My wings hang limp, and my beak gapes open; I can’t close it. My head swims, a deep pulse pounding behind my eyes.

What have I done?

My mind screams to flee, to break away. But I can’t abandon Eístla.

Not when I put her in this mess. Not when I can still feel her life tethered to mine. But I don’t want to die either. Once was enough.

“What are you doing with that thing?” Jelethia’s voice rises from below. “You’d better check it doesn’t have rabies or something!”

“Go to bed,” Netharu’el replies. “I’ll handle this.”

“But, Neth, shouldn’t you?—”

“Jelethia. Go to bed.”

She huffs but doesn’t argue further.

Netharu’el takes me into the bathroom and shuts the door.

He sets me down in the cold, empty basin. His face flickers in and out of focus. Four eyes… or five? He leans in, so close his presence fills my vision. I can’t smell him. But I hear his heartbeat, steady and deep, a rhythm that’s both grounding and unnerving.

What is he going to do?

“I know what you are, my dear.” His fingers glide along my wings. And then he plucks a feather.

I jerk. Ouch! What in Saxx?

“Coming here was far from wise,” he continues. “You’re going to regret it.”

It’s time to go. Forgive me, Eístla. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to go through this again.

I relax, willing myself to return.

Come on. Come on.

Nothing.

Come on!

I’m stuck. My mind and Eístla’s are tangled together, fused too tightly. But I haven’t been here long, so this shouldn’t be possible.

Something is terribly wrong.

I thrash, wings twitching, my body jerking side to side. I must break free. I must get out. I must get away! But the air won’t reach me.

My beak hangs open, gasping, lungs clawing for breath. Each inhale is too fast and too shallow, crashing into the next before I can pull in enough air. My chest tightens. My throat burns. My stomach twists into a hollow knot.

Netharu’el leans closer, his breath skimming over me. “You’re not going anywhere,” he hisses. “You’re stuck.”

How do you know what I am?

“What are you doing here?” he presses. “Who sent you?”

I stare at him, trying to lock onto his real eyes. But I can’t tell which ones are real and which are illusions. Everything blurs, hazy, shifting, dreamlike.

“Tell me who you are. Tell me why you’re here.” He plucks another feather. Then another. It’s painful. Like the kiss of a blade, tracing skin, pressing in just deep enough to hurt.

I retreat, withdrawing into myself and letting Eístla take over.

And she loses control. Flailing. Thrashing. Screeching.

A sound so raw, so guttural, it shreds the air. Her beak gapes, her cries stretching long and broken as if she’s being torn apart.

I retreat further, making myself small, curling deep inside her.

Trying to block it out. Trying to sever the pain. Trying to return to my body.

But I can’t.

I’m trapped. Caught. Waiting to die.

Again.