He closed the door behind him and took a step.
Just one step towards her—and his body changed.
It always did. It...filled.
He didn’t know how else to describe it. Being near her made his skin feel too tight, his lungs fuller, his senses sharper. It was like being plugged into something electric, like being pumped with life after years of hollow silence. Around her, every part of him that had long gone numb would suddenly remember what it meant to feel.
Soulful.
It was the only word that came close. That was what it was. Around her, he felt soulful. He hadn’t even remembered what a heartbeat sounded like from the inside, not until he stood beside her. It echoed faintly now, a dull thud in his chest, as though some part of him was borrowing life. Borrowing her.
It was one of the reasons he’d moved in with her.
He needed to be near the only thing in this world that made him feel even remotely alive.
Standing at her bedside, he stared down at her sleeping face, and as always, he could tell she wasn’t at peace. Not just from the way her hand curled beneath her pillow—clutching the little knife she thoughtcould keep him at bay—but from the ache that simmered beneath the scar on his own chest.
He could feel that because they were tied. From the moment she was born, her soul had been wound into him.
The prophecy had awakened with her first breath. And he knew—Selvanyra had made it that way. She’d wanted him to know what it felt like to almost have a soul so he could crave more of it. To have it dangled before him. Close enough to feel it. Never close enough to own it.
And that was a bigger torture.
To be bound to the one person who made him whole while knowing their closeness would always tear her apart.
The pain she felt in her chest was a scar carried through reincarnation. An emotional magic fused into her soul at the moment she died. So every time he drew near, her soul would remember and try to keep them apart.
Just like the medallion.
But he knew the scar on her soul, the wound that burned when he was near—it soothed when they connected. He’d put it together when he rushed into her room and pulled her into his arms that her soul needed to soften towards him. When she’d relaxed into him, the pain had dulled and her soul had recognised him.
Which meant closeness was the key.
So yes.
If he had to get even more close to her in any way—he would.
Even if the path had to pass through pain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SANORA
Where the hell had Weeny Man disappeared to?
I exhaled slowly and knocked on his door again, this time with the kind of force that came from low, nagging frustration. “Weeny Man? Winifred? Weeny, it’s me. Sanora. Are you—ugh.”
I dropped my hand, stepped back, and stared hard at the door. Nothing.
I rolled my eyes and kicked the wood with the toe of my boot, more irritated than concerned now. I spun around, fists shoved into the pockets of my jacket. He wasn’t home. And judging from the dirty porch, he hadn’t been for a while. Definitely not in his bookshop either.
Where could he have gone?
People didn’t justleaveNimorran. Movement in and out of the city happened once a month, and the train didn’t leave until the end of this one. So unless he found a portal or grew wings, he was still here somewhere.
The last time we’d spoken, he’d looked...off and jumpy. Winifred was odd, yes, and always had an eye for the uncanny, but fear wasn’t something I associated with him. For someone who fed on scary myths and lore like candy, you’d think he was immune to fear.
I stepped towards the side path and walked down from his living quarters to the shop front, earth crunching under my boots.
