Page 48

The healers worked fast.

He couldn't stop staring at her forearms—the precise slices that ran straight through their inked matemark.

His own still burned bright, though the ink had started to run.

He held his hand tight on his wrist as if to stop the precious dye from escaping.

Hers... had faded. Not gone. But dim. As if slowly erasing him from her soul.

When they finally stabilized her, she was moved to a quiet room.

He stayed.

Slept on the floor beside her, never once leaving.

The moment she stirred, Hagan was at her side.

He nearly knocked over the stool as he scrambled to kneel beside the low bed, his breath catching, heart pounding like a war drum in his ears.

His face was unshaven, eyes red-rimmed and hollow. He hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, hadn't even washed in days. His clothes were wrinkled, his skin smudged with dirt and dried blood, and the sharp scent of desperation clung to him like a second skin.

And yet—

When she inhaled, a slow, shallow breath—her nose twitched faintly.

He still smelled like the woods.

Like pine needles crushed underfoot. Like earth after rain. Like the places she used to run when the world felt too loud. Of everything she loved .

And for a flickering second, her muscles loosened.

Her silver eyes fluttered open, glazed with confusion at first.

The ceiling.

The beams.

The soft weight of the blanket over her chest.

Then her gaze found his.

Recognition bloomed—sudden and warm.

She smiled.

Just a small thing, tired and instinctive, curling at the edges of her lips like dawn breaking across a stormy sky.

But it vanished almost as quickly.

The memory rushed in.

Lia. The blood. The bond. The lies .

The smile collapsed, folding in on itself like a dying star.

What replaced it was not anger.

Just nothing.

She didn't pull away when he tentatively touched his finger to hers.

Her lips parted, voice a raspy whisper.

"Water."

Hagan jolted to his feet like she'd shouted.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing the glass the healer had left on the side table. His hands trembled as he returned, crouching beside her.

"Here," he murmured, gently tilting the glass toward her mouth.

She let him for a moment—lips brushing the rim, swallowing slowly, eyes half-closed.

Then, with a quiet inhale, she lifted her hand.

"I can take it," she said, barely audible .

He hesitated.

Then surrendered the glass.

Her fingers didn't brush his. She made sure of it. Took it from the bottom, careful and deliberate, her touch avoiding his as if he might burn her.

And he felt it—like a physical ache. That careful distance. That instinctive withdrawal.

She finished the water and set the glass on the bed table with a soft clink.

Their eyes met again. Placid grey to cloudy blue rimmed with red.

Time stretched like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Hagan swallowed hard. "Seren... I didn't mean—what happened with Lia—when she touched me, it was like a fog. Everything she said seemed right. And she looked—like something out of a dream. I don't know why—"

"Stop." Her voice was quiet but sharp. "I don't want to know how you feel about Lia. Can you at least do this much for me? Do I need to hear this? "

He fell silent.

She turned her face to the window.

"The ritual worked. The Moon goddess, I have seen her," she said. "I asked her to sever the bond."

He froze.

"No. Seren, that's not what I want. I—"

"Let me finish."

She didn't look at him. She stared at the wall, voice steady, as if there was nothing left in her.

"She told me you could keep your strength and speed. That you didn't need me for that. She has allowed the bond to unravel into a single thread. Once one of us...one of us consummates with another —either of us— the prophecy dies."

She finally looked at him.

"You can be with Lia. Your pain will stop. The bond is muted from my end. I won’t feel it happen."

"No," he whispered, horror spreading through him. "No, that's not what I want. "

"I've given you freedom," Seren said softly as if he hadn't spoken. "To be with the one you really love."

She paused. Her voice barely a breath.

"And now... you must let me find my own way."

She turned from him.

"What more do you want from me?"

Something inside Hagan snapped.

"Everything!" he choked, voice cracking. "I want everything I threw away—I want you!"

He reached for her—grabbing her hand, her wrist, desperate to make her see before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Seren—please, please just—listen."

She tried to pull away, but he clung to her, his hold getting tighter, as if letting go would kill him .

"I was wrong," he gasped. "I know I was wrong. I spat on everything I was given—on the gifts, on you. And you—you were a gift I never deserved. You were everything. And I—I was too blind to see it."

His grip loosened as her resistance grew firmer, but he kept talking, breathless and unfiltered.

"I should've listened. To my instincts. To you. I should've kept Lia at arm's length the second I saw the way even a mention of her name made you withdraw. I knew it. I knew it was wrong, and I still let it happen."

Her breathing stayed steady. Still turned away.

He pressed a hand to his chest, his voice breaking open.

"But I told myself I could handle it. That I could still be her friend and have you. That I was strong enough, smart enough, in control enough to walk that line."

He looked at her then—truly looked, tears in his eyes.

"But I wasn't. It was my ego, Seren. My pride. I didn't want to admit I was wrong until it was too late."

"I swear—I would never let it happen again. I wouldn't look at her. I wouldn't let anyone come between us again. Just... tell me what to do. I'll do it. Please."

Still, she didn't move .

When she finally turned her face to look at him, it was with an expression he had never seen on her face. Disgust. Like she was looking at a particularly loathsome specimen.

When she finally spoke, her voice was ice over fire.

"This is the difference between us, Hagan."

Her face was still and heartbreakingly calm.

"If you had felt even a fraction of what I feel for you... you would've known that the way you treated me these last few months—the absence, the silence, the smell of her on you—it could only ever lead here."

She paused.

"My mind is made up. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

The silence stretched—quiet and final.

"Leave me alone."

The healers came, gently asking him to leave.

And this time, Hagan did .

Because she meant it.

Walked out, feeling hollow.

That night, he returned.

He begged her to listen.

"I'll keep you here if I have to," he said, his voice tinged in desperation. "I won't let you go until we talk calmly."

Seren said nothing.

She lay with her back to him, facing the wall.

And he stood there, staring at the girl he loved and finally understood.

He had loved her for a long time.

Far longer than he'd ever admitted to himself. Long before the bond was sealed, long before the first kiss, even before he saw her as anything more than duty.

He just hadn't allowed himself to admit it.

Or maybe... he hadn't wanted to know .

Because knowing meant responsibility. Surrender. Vulnerability.

And now...

Now she was already gone from him.

Not in body—but in every other way that mattered. Pulling away until only a single shining thread connected them.

And Hagan could do nothing but watch her turn away from him.

And this time, he feared she wouldn't turn back.