Page 77

EVE

The book in my lap was ruined. Pages swollen from the damp, edges curling in protest. Ink had bled in streaks, rendering whole passages unreadable.

It was fitting.

I traced a finger over the warped paper, not really seeing it. My mind floated—spiraling and still all at once, like I was watching myself from a distance.

Orion had tried. His usual teasing arsenal had no effect tonight. I couldn’t tell you what he said—only that when the silence grew too heavy, he sighed, tucked the blanket around me, and left.

Xander had taken his place. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions—thank God. He just sat next to me on the deck chair, close enough that I could feel him. I didn’t know how long he stayed.

At some point, Ragnar appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by warm light. He stared at me for a moment, tension in his shoulders like he wanted to say something. Then he muttered under his breath and vanished back inside.

I should’ve laughed. A few hours ago, I would have. Instead, I sat still, staring at the trees as night swallowed everything.

Then came the last person on earth I wanted to see.

His boots made no sound on the porch, but his presence was weighted. He didn’t speak. Didn’t approach. Just stood at the top of the stairs, staring out at the world like I wasn’t there.

Atlas didn’t fill the silence—he weaponized it. Purposeful. Calculated.

Like he was waiting for me to break.

I clenched my jaw, nails digging into the ruined book. The air felt colder with him here.

But still, I stayed quiet. He’d dropped enough bombs on my life, and I didn’t want to invite any more. He came and sat beside me, sighing heavily.

“What did you see when you died?”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected.

Atlas looked at me, his features were unreadable beneath the porch light, but his eyes were locked onto mine like he already knew the answer.

“You had an out-of-body experience,” he said. “Where did you go?”

He wasn’t guessing.

He knew.

And then it clicked.

Columba. Orion had told me she was his sister. She’d been the Phoenix before me. If I’d crossed into some strange in-between… maybe she had too.

I took a slow breath, grounding myself in the warped book beneath my hands.

“I saw my body,” I said quietly. “Then… it was like I got pulled from the room.”

The memory surfaced. The endless mist. The weightlessness. That tug—deep and ancient—pulling me somewhere I didn’t understand.

I hadn’t let myself think about it. But now, with Atlas watching me like a hawk, I realized just how done I was with all the secrecy.

“I don’t know, Atlas. You seem to have all the answers. Why don’t you tell me?”

He inhaled slowly, and the tension in his posture melted.

I didn’t trust it.

“When Columba first crossed the Divide,” he said, voice quiet, “she told me it was the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen. But it got easier. Every time. Each crossing… she came back more settled.”

Questions swirled in my mind, but only one made it out.

“But… Orion told me that Phoenixes didn’t regenerate. Was that a lie, too?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I didn’t want to lash out at Atlas. He wasn’t to blame, but it was so easy to direct my confusion and frustration onto him.

“No one knew,” he admitted. “It was a secret. One even we didn’t know about until the first time she died.”

I tried to picture it—Atlas watching his sister die… only for her to come back.

“How many times?”

His jaw twitched. He didn’t look at me.

“Over a dozen,” he said, mouth twitching like he was hiding a smile. “Probably more. She loved her secrets.”

My mouth hung open. I forced it shut.

“Phoenix magic is not like the other elements. It’s not a naturally occurring magic, but something… Other. We learned more about it as Columba grew older, as her magic developed. It comes from the Divide itself. Every Phoenix needs to die to access the Divide and its magic.”

“That sounds barbaric,” I cringed. “Wait—does this mean I’ll have to keep dying?”

Atlas shook his head. “No. After that, the power remains with them—it doesn’t require repeating.”

I swallowed hard.

“How do you know she’s dead then?” My voice was quiet. Too hopeful. “If she came back that many times, couldn’t she still be out there?”

Atlas shook his head. Firm. Final.

“She would’ve used the last of her magic to seal the portals after us.

The magic is not meant to be used in that capacity.

It’s supposed to be the bridge between worlds, not its downfall.

But it was the only way to stop Pathos from following—and to protect Earth.

She would’ve burned herself out to make sure you lived. ”

The words fell, like stone in water.

Columba’s final act.

A choice. A sacrifice.

I had never met her, but suddenly I felt the severity of her loss—and what she’d given up for us all.

I no longer felt numb. Just small.

“I’m not telling you this so you bear the weight of her decisions,” he said, seeing through every crack in my features. “They’re mine to carry alone. But you need to know what your magic is. And what comes next.”

My chest tightened.

“What comes next?”

He looked at me. Measured.

“Now that you’ve touched the Divide, the magic you carry should be fully awake. It’s just a matter of training.”

“Training?” I echoed, rising unsteadily as he stood. The blanket slipped from my lap, the night air biting at my skin.

“I’ll teach you how to handle the fire,” he said. “Then, we’ll test it on smaller portals. Try to re-establish contact with Titan—”

“Hang on—” I cut in, waving my hands. “You want me to open a portal? Are you insane?”

“Eve—“

“No! I thought Titan was crawling with daema. We can’t just open the door for them!”

“We won’t open anything until it’s safe,” he said, holding my gaze. “Only when we’re ready to cross over.”

Wait—he was talking about leaving Earth… leaving my home, leaving my family behind. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was going to lead me straight into a war zone that I was not equipped to fight in.

“This is too much,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.

“This was always the plan,” he said. “We’re going home. Our people need us.”

“They’re your people, not mine!” The words snapped out before I could stop them. “Earth is my home—even if I didn’t choose this. I can’t just leave.”

“Listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me !” I jabbed a finger into his chest. He didn’t flinch—but something crackled behind his eyes.

“I’ve done everything you people have asked of me!

I’ve watched my life fall apart—I’ve been hunted, lied to, torn open—and now you want me to leave the only thing I’ve ever known? Fuck that.”

“It is what we’re supposed to do,” he said, as if there was no other alternative.

I didn’t care.

Not this time.

“Like hell we are!” I shouted.

“We leave in two weeks.” Atlas was already standing, already walking away.

I wanted to scream after him. To tell him he was delusional, arrogant, and completely out of his mind.

The cabin door closed behind him like a slammed verdict.

I stared at the door, the sound still ringing in my ears.

Two weeks.

He thought I’d follow. That I’d fall in line. That I’d slip into the shape he’d already carved for me.

I wanted to tear that idea apart. To shove it back in his face and tell him he didn’t get to decide who I was.

But beneath the fury, there was something colder. A stillness that had nothing to do with the night air. The kind that creeps in when you know—really know—that nothing is ever going to be the same again.

I’d fought so hard to keep my life, to hold onto something normal. But normal was already gone.

The truth had been creeping in for days, through every lie, every memory that didn’t add up. I just hadn’t let myself say it out loud.

This life wasn’t mine. It never had been. It had only ever existed on borrowed time.

My throat tightened. I didn’t want to feel this—helpless, this lack of control, this hollow ache of losing something that was never mine to begin with. The pressure built behind my ribs, sharp and rising, twisting tighter until I thought it might tear through me.

I picked up the ruined book and hurled it into the trees, the sound of it tearing through branches the only thing louder than the chaos inside me.

Let fate chase someone else.