Page 45

XANDER

The sun was rising. I could see it creeping across the floor, soft and golden like it had earned the right to start over.

It hadn’t. Not yet.

Eve still needed time. Time to rest, time to process everything that had happened to her.

My magic poured through me in endless waves—the only thing keeping us both from burning alive, but she needed this reprieve.

We all did. Last night had taken everything out of us.

Between the diner being attacked and Eve’s nightmare throwing fuel on a steadily burning blaze, none of us knew what to do next.

So I continued to hold her, even as the day rose around me. Even though I didn’t feel like I had the right to.

The door eased open, careful, hesitant. Orion stepped inside, his face streaked with ash and something heavier—guilt.

“How is she?” His voice rasped quietly, careful not to disturb her.

“The same. Sleeping.”

We stared at each other, the silence thickening before he looked at Eve. We weren’t brothers in this room. Not anymore. We were gravity wells, orbiting the same star.

I could see the guilt that was eating him alive. In fact, I barely recognized the carefree man who was standing in front of me. He looked like he wanted to go to her, but he held himself back. As if he didn’t deserve to.

Orion nodded once, backing toward the door.

“You’ll shout if anything changes?”

His eyes lingered on her, conflicted. Then he slipped out, closing the door softly.

I exhaled heavily and shifted the girl closer to me in the hopes it might help her trembling.

My body screamed for rest, but I’d stopped listening to that voice hours ago.

She’d screamed and the whole world caught fire.

I couldn’t risk that happening again. She was barely holding on as it was, and I had no idea what I could do to help her.

The thought left an ache in my chest. I’d been too busy trying to figure her out to notice the signs—and she’d almost cooked us in our sleep.

I hadn’t slept since—not with Eve pressed against my chest, her magic still flickering beneath her skin. One wrong move, one lapse of my control, and the room could ignite all over again. My magic held hers at bay, a delicate barrier, cold and unyielding.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t the flames I feared most—it was what lay behind them.

I’d been lying to myself for weeks, trying to deny what was right in front of me. Her magic wasn’t just familiar—it was identical. But admitting she was the Phoenix meant facing the reality of what we’d have to do. I wasn’t sure I could survive another Columba.

Columba’s death had cracked us, splintered our group beyond repair.

Atlas became cold and detached, as if blaming me silently with every glance.

He’d promised answers, guidance—anything.

Instead, he’d vanished, leaving us drowning in grief and unanswered questions.

Ragnar still hadn’t recovered. He’d burned for her—fiercely, like it was inevitable. Her death had broken him entirely.

And now Orion was walking that same thin line.

Columba’s magic had consumed her in sealing the Divide permanently, knowingly sacrificing herself for our future. It had been my call, but it was her life that was forfeit.

“I trust you, Xander,” she’d told me. “You know this is the right thing to do.”

She put her faith in me—called it trust, called it certainty. And I turned that into a death sentence.

I failed her.

Ragnar didn’t know, but I knew Atlas had never forgiven me for it. Could I live with myself if Eve became another casualty of my decisions? Could I allow this magic to consume her if it meant going home? Even if it meant her death?

I traced her sleeping features, cataloging every detail with a precision I reserved for scientific observations. Yet this wasn’t science—it was weakness.

Her face had relaxed, but I still saw the little scrunch of her nose from earlier, the tiny crease that appeared whenever she held something back—some devastating truth hidden behind a joke or a quick deflection.

It should’ve annoyed me, her reluctance to be blunt. Instead, it charmed me. It made me want to unravel her layers slowly, carefully.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. I wasn’t just studying her—I was learning her. And gods, it terrified me.

Azremond had been clear—Corvus was earth side, a storm looming closer every day. Pathos waited beyond the Divide, another monster I’d failed to destroy, another problem I’d failed to solve. The world was tightening around us, nowhere left to hide.

Columba’s words echoed again, persistent, relentless.

“You always know what to do, Xander.”

But I didn’t. Not now. Not when Eve’s life hung balanced against the fate of two worlds. Serenia had seen it clearly, demanded truths from me that I wasn’t ready to voice. I’d never wanted this responsibility, never asked to lead.

How many more lives would break beneath my decisions before I admitted the truth? That I was terrified I’d always get it wrong.

Emotion clouded judgment. Attachment weakened resolve. Logic said I should distance myself, bury whatever this was before it compromised everything.

But my arms tightened around her. Just this once, I let myself pretend. Let myself feel the comfort her presence brought and soothe her in return.

Even knowing it was dangerous.

Even knowing she deserved better.

I’d seen the consequences of my choices. Everything I touched ended up broken. I wouldn’t let Eve become another casualty—not even if that meant losing her completely.

Still, I held her, breathing her in, committing the feel of her to memory. Because when morning truly came, I knew I’d never get another chance.