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“And how exactly do you propose I do that? Go ask Serrik? Ask the fucking Web? I don’t know how to talk to it! The last time, I had to shove a piece of mirror in a wall, and I don’t really have access to that anymore, do I?” Weren’t these idiots paying attention?

“Ava, dear.” It was Abigail’s turn. “You are the Web. Whether or not you choose to accept it, whether or not you choose to listen to it, is up to you.”

Once more, her choice.

Her choice to listen.

It was terrifying, that…ending of self. Letting go. Even if she knew she might come out the other side of it—and the keyword there was might —with some part of her sentience intact. With some part of Ava Cole still driving the bus.

“And what, if at the end of all this, I choose to side with him? I choose to murder you and all your people?” Ava was fighting back tears. “What then?”

“Then…I look forward to the day we stand across from each other on the field of battle, Weaver.” Valroy’s smile wasn’t vicious, mocking, or insincere.

It was actually, almost friendly. “You and I could be great foes. However, if I might, there is value in known quantities. You know precisely what you get with me. I have withheld only from you that which I must. I wonder if the same can be said of him?”

Abigail stepped forward. “What my husband means, is that you deserve the full truth before you commit to any path. Valroy has not willfully misled you. If Serrik will not do the same, perhaps that tells you something important.”

Ava nodded slowly. Yeah. She needed to have it out with Serrik. “I have a lot I need to cover with him. Before I…face the proverbial music.” She couldn’t go on like this. It was stalling for time. And it was driving her insane.

“Be wary. He will grow desperate, especially if he believes he's losing his control over you to Valroy.” Abigail frowned. “He will spin new lies, tell you whatever you wish to hear if it means it will appease you.”

“I’m not a toy being fought over on a playground,” Ava snapped.

“No,” Abigail agreed. “You're a weapon being fought over on a battlefield. Which is far more dangerous.”

Valroy rose from his throne, his wings flexing behind him. “I have heard that you have not seen his true self, Ava Cole. Why not?”

“It seems disrespectful to ask.” She shrugged. “If he’s ashamed of it, I don’t want to pick at an old wound.”

“Ask him why he keeps it hidden from you. Ask him why he hides the truth from you. Ask him why he will not lay it all out at your feet,” Valroy said simply.

“Then you may make your decision based on truth, not manipulation. Based on facts , not wishful thinking. For no gaudy trinkets he gives you—half-real stories—can change what is real and what remains a dream.”

The Queen walked up to her slowly, before she gently took Ava's hands in hers, her touch warm and strangely comforting. “No one can make this choice for you, Ava. But you deserve to make it with your eyes open.”

Ava frowned. “And if I don't like what I learn?”

Valroy laughed, the sound echoing off the obsidian walls. “Then perhaps you will choose to have your mind subsumed after all. ”

Ava's blood ran cold.

Before she could respond, Valroy waved dismissively. “Go. Rest. Consider what we've discussed. And when next you dream…” His glowing eyes flickered to the bracelet on her wrist. “Enjoy your confrontation with my dear older brother, will you?”

As Lysander escorted her back to her chambers in silence, Ava's mind raced. Valroy's words echoed in her head, mingling with the Morrigan's cryptic messages.

What would she ask Serrik? And more importantly—would she believe his answers?

“What can I do to ease your troubles?” Lysander frowned as they walked amongst the moonlit trees. “Is there anything at all?”

“No clue. Any way to tell me what’s really going on?” She chuckled, a bit sarcastically.

“A difficult calculation in the Moonlit Court,” Lysander admitted. “If it helps, I've found that sometimes the truth isn't about what people say, but what they do.”

Ava glanced at him. “Meaning?”

“Meaning actions reveal intentions more clearly than words. Watch what people do, not what they claim.”

It was surprisingly sound advice from the flirtatious fae. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When they reached her door, Lysander lingered. “Would you like company tonight? No ulterior motives,” he added quickly at her raised eyebrow. “Just…you seem like you could use a friend.”

The offer was tempting. She'd never felt more alone, more lost. But she had a feeling tonight was going to involve a rough argument with Serrik. Possibly followed by the end of it all.

“Thanks, but I need to be alone tonight,” she said. “I’ve got some decisions to make.”

Lysander nodded, understanding in his amber eyes.

“Should you change your mind, I'm just down the hall.” He hesitated, then added, “Be careful with him, Ava. Whatever he may have been once, centuries of isolation have not improved his temperament or his trustworthiness. However you may feel about him…remember his motivations. And remember he will stop at nothing to get them. You have known him only weeks. What he desires, he has desired for centuries.”

With that parting warning, he left her at her door.

Inside her room, Ava found Bitty curled up in a tiny ball on the edge of the bed, fast asleep. The sight of the small fae brought a smile to her lips. At least there was one being in this mess whose motivations seemed straightforward.

She changed into the nightclothes that had been laid out for her, her fingers lingering on the bracelet Serrik had given her. It gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the windows, the emeralds catching the light like tiny stars.

Control. That's what it represented. The power to decide when and how Serrik entered her dreams. The power to face him on her terms.

As she slipped beneath the covers, careful not to disturb Bitty, Ava stared up at the ceiling of woven branches. Somewhere beyond those branches, beyond the moonlit sky, lay answers. Truths she needed to face, no matter how painful.

She held onto Book, clutching it to her chest. She didn’t usually bring it into the dreamworld with her. But tonight, she knew she’d need it.

Tonight, she would seek out Serrik not as a victim or a pawn, but as an equal demanding answers. She would press him for the truth about what he really was—about what she was becoming.

And based on his answers, she would decide her next move.

Sleep began to claim her. For one of the few times since this nightmare began, she would enter the dream realm by her choice, not his.

Sleep came swiftly, and with it, the familiar sensation of standing on the threshold of Serrik's domain. But this time, instead of waiting for him to pull her in, Ava pushed the door open herself.

It was time for truth.

Whether she liked it or not.

Whether he liked it or not.