Malik’s voice cut through the stillness. “Are you ready?”
Roman and I nodded and positioned our daggers as instructed.
Malik inhaled deeply, then began reciting the sacred scripture.
The very air in the room shifted.
The walls seemed to expand, stretching into something infinite beyond time.
And then?—
Malik carefully tipped the vial, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the blades.
The world around us shattered.
A vision surged through me like a bolt of lightning?—
A cottage appeared before my eyes, nestled in the English countryside, the air thick with the scent of earth and blooming wildflowers.
I let out a soft gasp, my breath hitching.
A woman stood in the garden, toiling among the plants.
She looked exactly like me, except her hair was raven black, cascading down her back in thick waves.
Three children scampered around her, chasing butterflies in the golden afternoon light.
She looked… happy.
I smiled despite myself, mesmerized by the scene.
The woman, Isabelle, rose to her feet, stretching her back as galloping hooves thundered in the distance.
She turned just as two figures crested the hill on horseback.
Armand and Malik.
They raced side by side, each urging their horses faster.
“I win!” Armand shouted, a triumphant grin splitting his face.
“You did not!” Malik shot back, his voice full of mock outrage. “It was a tie.”
The memory was alive, pulsing through me, making my heart pound like a drum.
Malik and Armand leaped from their horses, shoving one another in playful competition, their laughter ringing through the air.
Armand turned toward Isabelle, his face lighting up with unrestrained love.
He looked just like Roman—the same piercing eyes, strong jaw, and undeniable presence.
With a boyish grin, he strode toward Isabelle and pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly.
She melted into him, her laughter swallowed by his lips.
I felt it—the connection between them, just as fierce, just as consuming as the love Roman and I shared now.
But then, my gaze focused on Malik.
