Then there was Rafe, hawk-eyed and reckless, always the first to leap from the cliff or charge into a skirmish with his grin sharp as lightning. He was fire where I was stone, and sometimes I envied how light sat so easily on his shoulders. And Malek, quiet, methodical, the one who carried maps in his head and strategy in his blood, the man who reminded us all that survival was not luck but design.
I remember nights around the fire, our laughter rising above the crackle, mugs of bitter drink in our hands, the world feeling almost safe because we had each other. Those were the good times, the rare moments where even I believed I belonged.
And then I ruined it. One night of rage, one village burned, one truth I couldn’t cage. I see their faces when I close my eyes—not just my comrades but the innocents who paid for my lack of control. That is why I left. That is why exile was not punishment but necessity.
I realize I’ve been standing still too long because Angie’s hand finds my arm, warm and sure. “You’re remembering them,” she says softly, not as a question but as if she feels the pull of ghosts around me.
“They were my family,” I admit, the words thick. “Better than I deserved. And I abandoned them when they might have needed me most. If Roman is moving now, if the Pact is stirring, I can’t stay hidden. Not anymore.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Then we find them. We face whatever comes. Together.”
Her certainty cracks something in me. I turn back to her, searching her face for fear, for doubt, for even the smallest tremor of hesitation, but it isn’t there. Only fire. Only truth.
“Angie,” I growl, not to frighten her but because my voice can’t hold the weight without breaking. “If you walk this path, there will be no safety, no guarantees, no turning back. Roman will never stop, and the Pact is not the warm circle you think it is. It’s broken. Warped. I can’t promise you peace.”
She steps closer until her chest brushes mine, her hand sliding up to rest over my heart. “I don’t want peace. I want real. And I want you. Beast, man, shadow, all of it. That’s my choice.”
For a moment I can’t breathe, because the me that has always waited for betrayal can’t reconcile with the truth shining fromher eyes. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t retreat. She doesn’t even blink.
Slowly, I lift my hand to her jaw, my thumb brushing the soft line of her cheek. “You don’t know what you’ve tied yourself to.”
She smiles faintly, and it’s brighter than the fire. “I know exactly what I’ve tied myself to. And I’m not letting go.”
The bear inside me quiets, not subdued by force but soothed by her presence, as if it finally understands that strength doesn’t mean solitude. For the first time in years, I believe I might be more than the sum of my scars.
I lower my forehead to hers, letting the silence speak where words can’t. Outside, the wind howls, carrying the scent of coming war, but in here, for this breath, I let myself feel the weight of her choice and the dangerous hope it awakens in me.
“I will not let Roman touch you,” I whisper, the vow rough and absolute.
Her fingers curl against my chest. “Then stop trying to send me away, Cassian. Because I’m already home.”
The fire crackles, the storm rages, and I know the exile is broken. The road ahead is dark, but I will not walk it alone.
26
ANGIE
Cassian has fallen into one of his silences again, the kind that weighs thicker than the storm outside, the kind that makes the air between us hum with unspoken things. He sits near the hearth, shoulders bent forward, his broad hands braced on his knees as though bracing himself against a tide I cannot see. The firelight paints his scars in sharp relief, those pale ridges across his knuckles and forearms catching the glow, reminding me that every mark tells a story he doesn’t share easily.
I should leave him to it. That’s what he thinks, anyway, that his shadows are his alone to bear. But shadows stretch, they spill onto everyone near, and I refuse to sit quietly while his darkness eats him alive.
My gaze strays to the drawer across the room, the one I know holds the Seal. I’ve seen him take it out twice now, both times as if it might bite, both times his expression so torn I ached just watching. He shoved it away like it burned, like the very sight of it demanded too much. I can feel its weight even with it hidden, like a pulse under the floorboards, like a secret heartbeat out of rhythm with the rest of the world.
I move quietly, the floor creaking in a way that makes Cassian glance up. His eyes catch mine, sharp and unreadable, and I smile as if I’m only fetching water from the counter. He studies me a long beat, then looks back to the fire, lost again in whatever war he’s waging behind his stoic mask.
When I’m certain he isn’t watching, I crouch by the drawer. My fingers hesitate on the wood, because I know this is breaking a rule he has not spoken but lives by. Still, curiosity is a fire I have never been able to tame, and something about that Seal calls to me, a whisper I can’t ignore. I slide the drawer open, just enough to see the glint of faint light.
It isn’t metal, though it shines as if hammered from starlight. The crimson glow within it shifts, slow and alive, like an ember that refuses to die. My hand trembles as I reach for it, the air growing colder the closer I get, until my breath fogs in the room though the fire still burns bright.
When my fingertips brush its surface, the world drops away.
I don’t see the cabin. I don’t see Cassian. I don’t even see myself. I’m standing in a field I don’t recognize, snow churned red with blood, the sky thick with smoke that burns my lungs. Shapes move in the haze, some human, some far larger, claws flashing, teeth tearing, the sound of rage shaking the ground itself. Wolves snarl and bears roar, hawks scream as their wings slash through air thick with arrows. Men with rifles fire blindly, their panic as sharp as their bullets, and still the tide of beasts doesn’t stop.
The Seal burns in my palm, the glow flaring until I can see the outline of a figure in the smoke. Roman, his face cold, his eyes lit with triumph as he watches the chaos unfold like a man admiring his own masterpiece. His voice slithers through the din, though his lips don’t move.
This is the world he belongs to. And you chose him. You chose war.
I gasp and stumble back, my hand wrenching away from the Seal as if it really did burn me. The drawer bangs shut under the force of my retreat. I’m clutching my chest, my lungs refusing to fill, the room spinning until I hear my name.
