“Wait.” Something occurs to me as we start to move apart. “Why didn’t you travel back and stop Oliver from telling me about Miles? Wouldn’t it have been easier for you if I didn’t find out?”
“I didn’t stop him because now, I know.” His thumb traces my cheekbone with that same deliberate care—the kind that makes me feel like I’m the most precious thing to him in the world. “You heard one of the worst things about me, and you still...”
“I still love you.” The words come easier this time. “Still choose you.”
Something flickers in his eyes—hope, maybe. Or relief. Like he’s been holding his breath for years and can finally exhale.
“We should go.” He steps back, already shifting into planning mode. “Down the mountain, through the tunnels, and back to the party. And moving forward, we’ll continue to adapt. Train. Survive. Protect each other, no matter what.”
His hand finds mine, squeezing it like he never wants to let go.
“Ready?” he asks, and I hear the double meaning in the question.
Ready to lie. Ready to pretend we didn’t kill two people we knew and burn their bodies on a mountaintop.
“No.” I inhale slowly, tasting rain, ash, and the metallic tang of burnt electricity. “But let’s do it anyway.”
JADE
The momentwe enter the tunnels, Logan’s giving me instructions in that clipped, efficient way of his.
“I’ll go in first and handle the immediate questions,” he summarizes what he said when we’re almost there. “You follow in ten minutes. If anyone asks?—”
“I stepped out for air and got disoriented in the storm,” I repeat his earlier words. “I know.”
“What you did tonight….” He pauses at the door that leads back into the ballroom, and for just a moment, I see a flash of the man who confessed his darkest secrets to me on the Crown. “Channeling that lightning and standing by me after learning the truth about what I did…”
“Is exactly what you would have done for me.” I hold his gaze, leaving no room for doubt.
He nods once, understanding. “Ten minutes,” he says again. “Not nine, not eleven. Ten.”
“I can count, Logan.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. Then he presses his sigil hand to the door and disappears into the shimmering archway, like he was never there at all.
I start counting. Each second drags, giving me too much time to think about Oliver’s eyes going blank, about Evie’s upcoming grief, and about the lies I’ll have to tell for the rest of my life. By the time I hit three hundred, my hands are shaking so badly I have to press them against the cold stone wall. At four hundred, I’m fighting not to throw up. At five hundred, I’m practicing my confused face in case anyone’s watching when I emerge.
When I finally step through the shimmering door, the first thing I notice is the quiet. The music’s stopped. There’s no laughter, and no chatter. Just a low rumble of worried voices punctuated by the occasional sob.
Each step I take out of the alcove toward the balcony is heavy, like there are weights strapped onto my ankles, and when I reach the rail, I gasp at the scene before me. Because the space looks like a hurricane hit. Water pools on the floor where rain made it through windows. Decorations hang in sodden ruins. Students huddle in groups, their costumes drenched and clinging.
But it’s the center of the room that makes my blood run cold. Because the unity flame—that massive, eternal fire that’s supposed to burn forever—is out. Not just dimmed, but out. Dead.
The other fires flicker weakly, like they’re mourning their fallen center.
Somehow, I swallow down my fear and force myself to walk normally down the stairs, each step feeling like a year. My dress is a muddied mess, although the excuse Logan crafted for me will explain that. I used the rainwater to wash the blood from my hands, and it was easy to find the heels I kicked off in the tunnels.
But how will everyone miss the lightning in my veins and the death clinging to my skin?
“Oh my gods, Jade!” Evie appears at my elbow, grabbing my arm. Her fingers dig in hard enough to hurt, but I welcome thepain. It’s real. It’s grounding. “Where have you been? Are you okay? When that storm hit?—”
“I’m fine.” The lie comes automatically. “I stepped out for some air and got turned around when the storm started.”
She studies me carefully, and I see the exact moment a different type of fear enters her eyes.
“You weren’t with Oliver?” she asks.
I force my face to stay neutral, and my voice to stay steady. “No. He’s probably with his friends.” The lie tastes like betrayal, and I look around, desperate to change the subject. “What the hell happened here?”
