“You’ll be okay.” He pulls me against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other still holding me up. “Just breathe.”
So, I do. I breathe in his scent—cedar and smoke and something uniquely him that makes me feel safer than I have in weeks. I let myself shake against him, let him hold me while I remember how to exist without fire eating my soul.
His heartbeat is rapid against my ear, and I realize he’s not as calm as he’s pretending to be.
“How did you do it?” I ask him. “When you went through this?”
His hand stills in my hair. “I almost didn’t make it through.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with unspoken history. I pull back enough to look at him, and what I see in his eyes makes my chest tight. Pain. Regret. And something else—something that looks almost like wonder as he stares down at me.
Gratitude for him hits me harder than a truck. “I only made it through because I had you.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You’ll always have me,” he promises as the torchlight makes shadows dance across his face, and I’m suddenly very aware that we’re still pressed together, his hands in my hair, his skin warm against mine.
“Now I guess it’s time to spirit travel to the Underworld,” I force myself to say, because if he keeps looking at me like I’m precious and worth protecting, I might do something stupid like kiss him again.
“After what I just watched,” he says steadily, “you can do anything.”
The certainty in his voice makes me believe him.
“All right then.” I square my shoulders, trying to look braver than I feel. “Let’s go meet death.”
“Jade...” He catches my hand before I can move toward the last bowl, and the conflict on his face is so raw it takes my breath away. “I’ll be here with your body the entire time. No matter how long it takes. I won’t leave you. I swear it.”
The promise settles something in my chest. Because if I’m going to let my soul descend to the Underworld, there’s only onething I know for sure—I wholeheartedly trust Logan to protect what’s left behind.
JADE
The fourth bowlsits innocently on the altar, simple and black, full of water that looks like it could be from any mountain spring.
But something about it makes my chest tight, like invisible hands are already trying to drag me under. It’s so deceptive I almost laugh. Because after blood, memory, and soul fire, they give me... water?
“What’s the catch?” I ask, because there’s always a catch. “This one can’t just be ‘drink the nice water and have a pleasant time.’”
“Here are your instructions.” Logan’s voice is tighter now, more controlled, as he picks up a small scroll beside the bowl and reads: “Find the Hecate Rose. Three blooms on one stem—white for the maiden, red for the mother, and black for the crone. Take only the red bloom. The moment you grasp it, you’ll return, and your journey will be complete.”
“That’s it?” I study his face, noting how carefully he’s holding himself, like he might shatter if he moves too quickly. “Find a flower?”
“In the Underworld.” He sets the scroll down, his gaze locked on mine. “Where nothing is as it seems, and everything wants to keep you there.”
Every bone in my body turns to ice as the reality hits. I’m about to drink death water. Voluntarily. Because apparently, I trust this boy with the haunted eyes more than I trust my own instincts screaming at me to run.
“No pressure then.” I eye the innocent-looking water, my heart pounding harder. “Any tips for not dying in the land of the dead?”
“Firstly, since this is spirit travel, you’ll return to your body alive if you die in the Underworld,” he explains. “But this is your only chance to pass the trial. If you fail, the passages will be closed to you forever.”
Then, his eyes go distant and unfocused. Like he’s not even seeing me at all.
“Listen carefully.” His hands find my shoulders, and his grip is just shy of desperate. “When you arrive, you’ll be in a gray wasteland. Voices will call from it. They’ll sound familiar—people you know, people you trust. Don’t listen. Don’t look. Just move toward the river ahead.”
The specificity makes my skin prickle. “How do you know that?”
He doesn’t answer. He just continues with that thousand-yard stare that tells me he’s not really here with me anymore.
“A boat will come.” His voice has gone mechanical, like he’s reciting something memorized through repetition. “The ferryman will want payment. You’ll have something, although you won’t know what it is until you’re there. Give it freely. Don’t hesitate.”
“Logan—”
