Icame back to myself slowly, not just from the darkness of recent memories but from a tight, breathless, awareness of my own body. Every nerve lit up, humming as if I had never truly escaped what Riley had done to me. The heat still echoed beneath my skin where pain had been burned into my memory, then eased… soothed… rewritten by something divine.
The familiar scent of the Asclepius clung to me, warm and medicinal and unmistakably Atlas. The memory of his hands on my skin was one that sank deeper than into the physical wounds he had once healed in this very room.
My flesh knitting together left a crawling tightness behind as proof that time was already working against us. Because Atlas hadn’t been there to save me this time. No. That had been Aster and Bronte. Meaning Atlas was out there now, furious and intent on his misplaced revenge against his brother.
The thought landed heavy and cold in my chest, as if the lies wrapped around him weren’t already layered enough. Corruption had learned how to wear truth like a mask and would guide his rage toward the wrong target…the wrong brother.
I could feel the clock ticking even as I lay there breathing, knowing that waking was not safety…
It was a countdown.
The silence was worse than the fight. Worse than the hell I had just been through with Riley, though I could still feel thewound in the middle of my back. The one he had branded into me with a fucking blowtorch!
But the pain wasn’t sharp anymore, just a constant, gnawing reminder that I had survived something no one should ever have to. Something that would probably haunt me for the rest of my life… even after I’d had time to process it all. And who knew when that would be, because there was so much more that had to come first.
I forced my eyes open and swept the room, recognizing it instantly. The last time I had been in this space felt like a lifetime ago. A different life entirely, in fact. One where the General played center stage to the biggest conflict in my mind.
But that image of the General, who I had once believed had been pulling all the strings, now meant so much more to me. He wasn’t just a King who ruled his lands or a warrior who commanded armies. A respected fighter who led his men into battle, emanating authority every time he entered a room.
No, to me, he was just…Atlas.
The man I had fallen in love with.
I couldn’t help but flinch as I looked around the room where he had made me return to the memories of when the Rift had first opened. The use of the sphere had brought me back to where this post-apocalyptic nightmare had all begun. I called it a shitshow, yet in some perverse, twisted way, I now found myself grateful for it. Grateful for the people who had become my lifeline through the chaos. Grateful for Tiffany, for Aster, and for Bronte. And despite all the pain and hurt he had caused, I was, of course, still grateful for Riley. Because I knew something had happened to him. That something had gotten hold of him and changed him.
But above all, I was grateful for the love that had grown between Atlas and me. A love that almost defined all the odds.
As if it was…
Fated.
If only it hadn’t cost so many lives to get here.
As for those I was grateful for, Bronte leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed. Tiffany sat to my right, shoulders hunched, a shell of her former self, and, for once, she wasn’t picture perfect. Her hair was slightly knotted, her lipstick faded, and her eyeliner smudged. But of course, she was still just as beautiful.
As for my uncle Rick, he was sitting beside Aster. His gaze was distant and no doubt lost somewhere between the news of my kidnapping and the horror of what had been done to me. All of which must have been revealed to him after I had lost consciousness shortly after I had been saved. Which made me internally panic as I quickly questioned how much time had passed since the attack. How much time had been wasted while they all waited for me to wake and join the fight once more? A fight that would have devastating consequences for both our worlds should I not stop it in time.
Aster was sitting opposite me with his thick arms crossed over his enormous chest. I had never seen him so serious. Though the bright pink T-shirt he was wearing brought that seriousness down just a touch, as it was far too tight for his muscular form. The words ‘Do I Look Cute in This?’ were stretched across his broad chest, and I had a funny feeling he may have accidentally wandered into the women’s section of whatever store he had looted it from.
Anyone who hadn’t seen the fight between Riley and Aster would never have guessed that only hours earlier, Aster had nearly been torn in two by claws that had formed from darkness. The blood he had shed now stained the basement floor we had left behind, seeping into stone that already absorbed too many dark memories.
Speaking of dark memories, I forcefully buried my own before my eyes opened wide enough to alert the others that I was now awake. The shift in the room was subtle at first. The kind that happens before sound catches up, bodies tensing, breath changing, and then suddenly Uncle Rick was there. His determined steps crossed the room the second he realized my eyes were open, reaching me just as I tried to push myself upright. A sharp tug tore through my back that dragged a gasp from my chest, pain flaring hot and deep enough to make my vision blur.
It was the kind of pain that carried weight, reminding me that it would have been so much worse had my friends not found me and come to my rescue.
My discomfort didn’t go by unnoticed because my uncle was right there, trying to steady me as he helped me up carefully. He eased me into a sitting position before pulling me gently into his arms, holding me as if he had already mourned me once. His voice cracked as he said my name so quietly that it was as if he were afraid I might disappear if he spoke too loudly.
“Alex.”
“I’m… okay,”I forced myself to say, my voice slightly broken and rough around the frayed edges. No doubt from all the screaming I had let loose during my suffering.
Despite how I sounded, relief moved through the room in a collective whisper of breath released. The way that Tiffany’s hand rose to her mouth and the way that Bronte’s eyes closed briefly as if in thanks to one of the many gods and goddesses she worshipped. It all told a story of how close I must have come to dying, and at the hands of someone who had once been my best friend.
It was almost too much to bear. The mental and emotional pain was far deeper than the physical pain he had put me through.
It was the type that lashed at the soul, leaving eternal scars that would never heal. I finally pulled back enough to look at everyone properly. The first thing I asked felt like the only thing that mattered at this point.
“How long?”
