But Thera's words echo in my head.Stop being a coward and go get her back.
So I do.
The bond shifts the moment I step outside, a thin thread of sensation that's been muted for days flaring in my chest. It's not the warm pull I remember from before—this feels desperate, fraying at the edges like a rope about to snap. But it's there. A beacon in the darkness that's consumed my life since she walked away.
North. The bond tugs me north, through the winding streets of New Solas where the winter air bites at my exposed skin. I should be warm—my natural fire should keep the cold at bay—but my magic is barely a flicker now. Just enough to keep me upright, to follow the thread that connects me to her.
Everything but that bond has been burned away.
Each step sends waves of nausea through my system. The world tilts and sways like I'm walking on the deck of a ship in rough seas. More than once I have to stop, bracing myself against a wall while I wait for my vision to clear. People give me a wide berth, sensing the predator in me even when I'm half-dead on my feet.
But I keep walking. Keep following that faint pull that grows stronger with every block. Not strong enough to ease the crushing weight in my chest, but enough to tell me I'm heading in the right direction.
The residential district stretches before me, a maze of narrow streets and crowded buildings where humans live stacked on top of each other like books on a shelf. It's nothing like my sprawling house with its careful gardens and spacious rooms. Nothing like the luxury Irida has always known.
The thought of my daughter sends a fresh spike of pain through my chest. She asked for Heidi again this morning, her small face crumpling when I had to tell her I didn't know when she'd be back. If she'd be back.
She loves Irida.The memory of Heidi braiding my daughter's hair, of the way her entire expression would soften whenever Irida climbed into her lap, keeps me moving when my legs want to give out. Whatever else might be complicated between us, that was real. The affection in her eyes when she looked at my little flame wasn't an act.
And if she loves Irida, if there's even a chance she might feel something for me beyond magical compulsion...
Then I have to try. Have to fight for this thing between us before it kills us both.
The bond grows stronger as I turn down a side street lined with weathered brick buildings. Three stories tall, narrow windows, laundry hanging from lines stretched between thestructures. The kind of place where people go to disappear, to fade into anonymity.
Perfect for someone who's spent her life hiding.
My heart hammers against my ribs as the pull intensifies. Close. So fucking close I can almost taste her on the air. The nausea recedes slightly, just enough for me to take a full breath for the first time in days. My magic stirs, a weak flicker of warmth that spreads through my chest.
There. Third building from the corner, second floor. The bond points like a compass needle, unwavering in its certainty. She's there. Behind those grimy windows, in whatever small space she calls home.
The front door is unlocked—security isn't much of a priority in this part of the city. I climb the narrow stairs on unsteady legs, each step an effort that leaves me breathing hard. The hallway smells like cooking oil and unwashed bodies, nothing like the clean lavender scent that fills my house.
Apartment 2C. The number is painted on the door in faded black letters, some of the paint chipped away. I can feel her behind it, the bond singing with proximity. So close I could reach through the thin wood and touch her if the world worked differently.
I knock. Three sharp raps that echo down the empty hallway.
Nothing.
"Heidi." My voice comes out rough, raw from days of barely speaking. "I know you're in there."
Still nothing. No sound of movement, no sharp retort telling me to go away. Just silence that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I knock harder, the sound reverberating off the walls. "Heidi, open the door."
The silence stretches, heavy and wrong. She should be yelling at me by now. Should be telling me exactly where I can shove mydemands and my arrogance. The fact that she's not responding sends ice through my veins.
Something's wrong.
I try the handle—locked, of course. But the door is old, the wood warped with age and moisture. It takes exactly one hard shove of my shoulder to snap the lock and send the door crashing open.
The apartment is tiny. One room serving as kitchen, living space, and bedroom all at once. A narrow window lets in weak afternoon light that illuminates bare walls and mismatched furniture that looks like it's been salvaged from the streets.
But I barely notice any of that because Heidi is there, curled on her side on a narrow bed pushed against the far wall.
And she looks like death.
Her skin has gone beyond pale to something approaching gray, stretched too tight over the sharp angles of her face. Her dark hair is tangled and dull, spread across a pillow that might have been white once upon a time. She's changed into something soft and warm—a simple tunic and pants that now hang loose on her frame.
