“I’m terrified,” I whisper. “Magnus, I’ve seen you die. Multiple times. Different scenarios but the same ending—you, protecting me, paying the price for my weakness.”
“That’s not weakness. That’s what mates do.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.
“Even if it kills you?”
“Even then.” His breath is warm against my lips. “But we just proved the visions can be changed. I should have died from those wounds. The toxin should have converted me into one of the Broken. But you refused to accept that future, and you saved me.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the intensity there steals my breath.
“Stop trying to protect me from my own choices,” he says firmly. “Stop shouldering this burden alone. Trust me to stand beside you, not behind you.”
I want to argue, but the words won’t come. Because he’s right—and trying to keep distance between us hasn’t prevented danger, kept him safe, or done anything except make us both miserable.
“I don’t know how to stop being afraid,” I admit.
“Then be afraid with me, not away from me.” His voice drops to something rough and intimate. “Let me carry some of that weight. Let me be what I am to you.”
“And what are you to me?”
“Your mate.” He says it with such absolute certainty that I feel it resonate in my bones. “Whether we’ve completed the formal bonds or not, whether my clan has witnessed it or not—you’re mine, Lyra Starling. And I’m yours. That’s not going to change.”
Something inside me cracks, then breaks, then reforms into something new. The careful walls I’ve built around my heart, the distance I’ve tried to maintain, the fear that’s drivenevery decision—it all crumbles in the face of his unwavering conviction.
“Yours,” I whisper, testing the word. It feels right. Terrifying, but right.
His smile transforms his face, making him look younger, less burdened. “Say it again.”
“Yours.” Stronger this time, more certain. “I’m yours, Magnus Ironwood. Even though it terrifies me. Even though I’ve seen terrible futures. Even though your clan probably has standards I can’t meet.”
“My clan will accept you because you’re mine.” He kisses my forehead gently. “And because when we return, you’ll have saved their tracker and helped rescue kidnapped traders. You’ll be a hero, not a liability.”
The kiss is chaste but it sends heat through my entire body. I find myself leaning into him, wanting more, wanting to know what his lips feel like against mine properly, not just pressed to my forehead.
But he pulls back, expression reluctant but determined. “We should focus on the mission. Get you more recovered. Deal with what’s waiting below.”
I nod, though part of me wants to protest, wants to demand he finish what that almost-kiss promised. But he’s right. We’re in the middle of a nightmare facility, surrounded by horrors, with prisoners depending on us.
“Help me up,” I say, extending my hand.
He rises fluidly, pulling me to my feet with easy strength. I’m steadier than I expected, the exhaustion from the healing already fading. My reserves replenish quickly—always have—but I can feel the echo of what I gave, the depth I had to reach to save him.
Worth it, my heart whispers. He’s worth everything.
“The Broken we fought,” I say, shifting into professional mode even as my hand remains in his. “Did you notice anything about them?”
“Besides the obvious horror?” Magnus’s expression hardens. “They were coordinated. Not intelligent exactly, but working together in ways that suggested either training or some kind of hive connection.”
“I think they were all from the same batch of experiments.” I pull out the data drive from my pack, the files I downloaded still safe. “Crane’s records mentioned cohorts—groups transformed together, held in adjacent cells. The shared trauma might create crude pack bonds, even through the madness.”
“Which means there are more. Whole groups of them.”
I nod grimly. “The files mentioned twenty-seven active subjects. We’ve encountered four—Jace and the three here. That leaves twenty-three still imprisoned below.”
“Twenty-three victims we need to rescue.” Magnus checks his ice magic, testing his reserves. “And one monster to stop.”
I examine the door we barricaded ourselves behind. My precognitive sense prickles, showing me flashes—corridors, choices, branching paths. None show immediate danger, which either means we have time or my visions are being selective about what they reveal.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” I say, turning back to Magnus. “About my gift. About what I’ve been seeing.”
