But when I look down, my hands are still shaking. Stomach rolling.
God,what just happened?
Rowan—
My legs give out before the thought even finishes, and I drop backward on to the bed. My right hand hits the mattress to catch myself—pain tears through the arm, biting straight to the bone. It knocks a wince out of me before I can stop it. I pull the arm in close, jaw clenched, breathing through the throb. It hurts—but not enough to drown out the real pain.
He’s gone. Rowan's gone. I didn’t get to him in time. Lucien killed him.
The tears follow without permission, spilling fast and heavy, cutting tracks down my cheeks as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, like I can force the image out—the way his body fell, the sound Ezzy made, the blood?—
My chest heaves, but the air doesn’t come right. It’s too thick, so I just curl sideways, fists clutched to my chest, pulling the blanket up like it can shield me from the memory. Something thuds to the floor beside the bed as I shift. I blink, vision blurred and look down. A book. One of Rowan’s from the library.
Pain radiates across my ribs and shoulder as I lean over and pick it up—thin spine, cracked leather. He must’ve dropped it off this morning. Before we left.Before he died.
The anger hits fast, like a strike to the chest, blinding and sudden.
My fingers curl around it too hard. I don’t even think, I just throw it. A sharp crack as it hits the wall and drops. I want to leave it there, let it rot—but two envelopes slide free from between the pages and land on the floor.
For a second, I don't move, just stare at them,but then I notice Rowan’s handwriting. One envelope for Ezzy. One for me.
My breath catches as I sit up, rubbing my eyes to make sure I’m seeing things right. Then, slowly and stiff, I cross the room to pick up mine.
My vision blurs as I sit back down on the edge of the bed, the envelope cradled in shaking hands. For a second, I think I might throw up. I haven’t even read it yet, and still it feels too heavy. But I don’t. I swallow hard.Then, open it.
Lyra,
I once asked you, that, if the time came, to choose Ezzy over me, and if you’re reading this, it means you did. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.
When I first met you—when I took your hand in the courtyard almost ten months ago—I saw two possible futures.
One where I lived—and you died.
And one where you lived—but I died.
For a second, I thought about killing you on the spot, I mean, you were an Outerlander. A stranger. And I didn’t want to die, not yet.
But then I looked deeper, and that’s not all I saw.
The path where I lived... it was soaked in pain. Not just mine. Ezzy’s. Finn’s. Everyone’s.
The path where you survived was unclear, blurred, flickering. But through it… I saw something else. Not just grief.But peace. Hope. Possibility.
I chose to believe that was real.
I know you’ll blame yourself. You’ll think there was something you could’ve done to stop it. To save me. But I’ve known for a long time now, Lyra.
It was always going to end this way.
I chose my path. I knew I would die the moment I let your hand go—and I accepted that.
But listen to me now, for whatever it’s worth.
I lived. I laughed. I loved.
And I don’t regret any of it.
So don’t waste your tears on me. Get answers. Fight back. Ezzy needs you. You’re all she has now.
