It came and went. Like the flicker of a flame within a storm, it was gone.
The King finally moved his hands, not to help her up or attack, but to grasp her chin roughly, lifting her face to inspect her like she was a wounded animal. His eyes danced with cold delight as she gasped in pain. “You are nothing.”
The words struck her deeply, as if heard by every voice at once who had told her that. But she couldn’t afford to break now. She had already been broken and remade a thousand times over—this was just one more fight.
“I know,” she rasped. “That’s what makes my ending you so pathetic.”
The rage on his face grew, but she needed him angry. She needed him distracted enough, because she knew exactly wherethat spark went, knew exactly where the wind carried it when Max teleported the few feet it would take him.
The crack of the king’s neck echoed throughout the room, ending in a silence that seemed to stretch on forever. The weight of the moment pressed down on them, as if time itself had stopped. Sin’s ears rang, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the lifeless form before her. The shock of it all left her momentarily frozen, her mind struggling to comprehend that it was finally over.
The moment his body hit the ground, so did Sin. The pain barely registered as she crawled towards Max, her heart pounding with a mix of disbelief and desperate hope.
She reached out, her fingers trembling as they found him.
Max, alive.
She could feel the warmth of him, the steady thrum of life. The tears came then, unbidden, as they both collapsed into each other’s arms, the bond between them humming with a renewed energy. The world around them seemed to blur, and for that brief moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, alive and together.
His hands shook as they wrapped around her, and she could feel every ounce of his fear, his love, his desperation for her. And she let herself crumble into it, surrendering to the fragile hope they shared.
Max’s silent voice was barely a whisper, rough and broken, even in her mind.I thought I’d lost you.
Sin shook her head, her forehead resting against his.
Not yet. Not ever.
Oliver
Oliver slumped in the cell, his gaze fixed on the stone floor beneath him. A gnawing emptiness, a hollow ache that seemed to swallow everything else consumed him. The pain, the guilt—it was all so distant, as if it belonged to someone else. More than anything, he wanted it to end.
He wanted the emptiness to swallow him whole, to let him finally drift away from this nightmare.
He wanted to die.
He could smell the infected gashes across his skin, oozing with a sickly mix of blood. He could feel the dried blood crusting on his split lip, but he couldn’t summon the energy to care.
The emptiness had numbed everything. It all felt so far away—the pain, the hunger—none of it seemed to matter anymore. His wrists burned where the chains had torn into his flesh, but even that felt like a distant sign of a life that might as well have belonged to someone else.
He heard the clang of the cell door opening, but he barely lifted his head. There was a figure—familiar, but it took him a moment to register who it was. Gideon. His brother. The sight made something flicker within him, a small twitch in his fingers against the chains. He wanted to care, wanted to fight, but his body refused to obey, as if it had already accepted the end.
“Why are you in here?” Gideon’s voice broke through the haze, and Oliver blinked, slowly raising his head.
Before he could answer, Gideon was already moving toward him, determination etched across his battered and bloodied face. Oliver watched, detached, as Gideon gritted his teeth and grabbed at the chains binding his wrists. The rusted metal ground together, screeching loudly enough to make Oliver wince, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.
Gideon’s hands throbbed as the jagged edges bit into his palms, drawing blood, each movement sending sharp pain up his arms. Oliver could see it—the way his brother’s hands trembled, the way his muscles strained, but still, Gideon didn’t stop.
The chains snapped with a sharp crack, the vibration of the release making Oliver flinch. Gideon staggered, clearly in agony, and Oliver felt a pang of guilt twist in his gut.
“Why are you doing this?”
Gideon wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him upright. The sudden movement jarred Oliver’s entire body, sending fresh waves of pain radiating from every bruise, every cut. He tried to help, tried to push himself to his feet, but his legs felt like lead, unresponsive and weak. He could feel Gideon’s weight against him, the way his brother struggled to keep them both upright.
“We have to move,” Gideon muttered, his voice low and strained. Oliver nodded, though it felt hollow. Move where? To what end? “Now we’re even.”
Oliver forced a laugh, the sound coming out more like a rasping cough. “If we’re keeping count, I likely owe you a thousand… but I doubt I’ll get the chance to pay it back,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words felt empty, but it was all he could offer.
Gideon nodded, his throat visibly tightening, but he kept his expression firm. “We can worry about evening it out later,” he said, his voice almost convincing. Almost.
