Malachi’s jaw tightens, his gaze never straying from the fire as it casts uneven light across the stone, illuminating the edges of his grief with raw honesty.
“The world has never been kind to witches, Lailah,” he says, voice low and steady, though there’s something frayed beneath it that even time hasn’t managed to mend. “Especially to those who refuse to break.”
I stare into the flames, but I do not see them. I see pieces of myselfscattered through years I cannot get back, fragments of a girl who once believed she would live a quiet life. I had imagined a future that might burn out gently, one shaped by fleeting things—touch,love, time. I used to believe I would live a mortal life, brief and ordinary, free from eternity. But witches are not granted such mercy. We do not live forever, but we outlive those we love. We outlast the warmth. We carry the ghosts. Weendure.
I hesitate, my pulse hammering, knowing the next question will taste like poison on my tongue. But I have to ask.
"And Casper?" The words feel foreign in my mouth."Did he love her, too?"
Malachi’s gaze diverts, a flicker of something I can’t read passing through his eyes.
"Not in the same way," he says, his voice low, steady—too steady, like he’s trying to ease the dread he knows is already stirring inside me. The words should be enough. But they aren’t. Because all I can see now is Casper with her.
Did he touch her the way he touches me? Did he watch her in quiet moments, did his voice soften when he said her name? Did she haunt him the way he haunts me?
The thought burns through me.
"But he cared for her?" I whisper, barely able to force the words out.
Malachi exhales, tilting his head slightly, watching me too closely, like he can see every unspoken thought forming in my mind.
"Casper doesn't care easily,"he murmurs, and the weight of those words settles deep into my bones.
I clench my fists, hating how the jealousy coils tight around my throat, hating that even the possibility—just the idea of her lingering somewhere in his past—feels like a blade pressed to my skin. And worse than anything, I hate the voice in my head whispering that I have no right to feel this way. That I have no claim to him.
But gods help me, I want to.
I try to push down the possessive feeling that threatens to overtake me—this bitter taste of jealousy, as though the knowledge ofCasper’s past somehow belongs to me. But I can’t deny the pulse of emotion that stirs within me.He was in love before.
“How long have you known Casper?” I ask, trying to divert my thoughts, though I know the answer will probably lead to more questions.
Malachi’s jaw tightens at the question, his silence making it clear he’s not eager to discuss it. But after a long pause, he answers.
“I’ve known him for nearly two hundred years.”
My eyes widen slightly.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Three hundred and forty-eight,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it’s nothing remarkable.
I can’t help it—a soft giggle escapes me, followed by a snort that makes Malachi raise an eyebrow at me. He watches me, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to laugh at your age,” I say quickly, a blush creeping up my neck as he takes my gloves away from my face. “It’s just... no one’s ever been honest with me about their age before,” I admit, my smile widening. “It’s refreshing.”
Malachi’s smile deepens, and we sit in the comfortable silence of the crackling fire. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a sense of ease—a friendship forming in the stillness.
Maybe there’s more to life than isolation. More than guarding my heart so fiercely that I forget I was never meant to be alone.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m not.
33
LAILAH
Asoft hand grazes my cheek, the roughness of callused fingertips contrasting with the warmth of the touch. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the lingering darkness. The sky is black as ink. Bright blue eyes pierce through the shadows, locking with mine. Malachi’s familiar half-smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his calm demeanor unchanging.
I blink a few times, disoriented, trying to piece together where I am and why I feel so heavy. Malachi takes a step back, giving me space to sit up, keeping a steady, watchful eye.
