His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He’s given me this choice freely; he won’t try to influence it now.
“I thought about my parents.” I stop a few feet from his table. “About how they never really saw me. About how I spent my whole life waiting for someone to notice I existed, and how you noticed—you noticed before anyone else, before I was even old enough to understand what loneliness felt like.”
“Hannah—”
“I thought about how that should make it worse.” My voice cracks. “You saw a lonely child and you used that loneliness against her. You watched me ache for attention and you made sure no one else would give it to me. That’s monstrous, Karax. That’s unforgivable.”
He flinches, but doesn’t look away. “I know.”
“But I also thought about how it felt when you finally gave me what I’d been waiting for.” I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “How it felt to be seen. To be held.To have someone strong enough to carry me for once, instead of the other way around. And I thought… I thought about whether that feeling was real, or whether you manufactured it too.”
“I didn’t—” He stops. Swallows. “I manufactured the circumstances. I didn’t manufacture what I feel.”
“I know.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the crystal. It pulses in my palm, warm with the magic that could set me free. “I can feel it through the bond. Whatever this is between us—it’s not just conditioning. It’s not just biology. There’s something real underneath all the lies.”
“Is that enough?”
The question hangs between us.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for what you did. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is love or just… the beginning of something that might become love if I let it.”
I set the crystal on the table between us.
“But I know I don’t want to use this.”
He stops breathing. I feel it through the bond—his heart stuttering, his lungs freezing, his whole being suspended in disbelief.
“You took my choice away for sixteen years,” I continue. “You engineered my circumstances, manipulated my isolation, manufactured my need. Everything that led me to your arena was designed to make sure I had no other options.”
“I know—”
“But you forgot something.” I step closer, close enough to touch. “You made me strong. You made me a survivor. Youmade me someone who could face an undefeated champion and draw his blood.” I tilt my head back, meeting his eyes. “And that woman—the one you spent sixteen years creating—she’s choosing to stay. Not because she has to. Because she wants to see what this feeling becomes.”
“Even knowing what I am?”
“You’re a monster.” I don’t flinch from the word. “You’re also the only person who ever saw me. Both things are true. I’m choosing to hold them both.”
He reaches out, his massive hand hovering near my face like he’s afraid to touch me. “I don’t deserve this.”
“No.You don’t.” I close the distance, pressing my cheek into his palm. His skin is warm, rough, trembling. “But I’m not doing this because you deserve it. I’m doing it because I want to. Because somewhere underneath all the rage and betrayal, there’s something growing. Something that might be love.”
“Might be?”
“I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like.” I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his palm. “My parents didn’t teach me. The village didn’t teach me. Everything I know about love I learned from stolen books and desperate dreams.” I look up at him. “But I think this might be the beginning of it. And I want to find out.”
He pulls me into his arms—carefully, reverently, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter or disappear. He lifts me off my feet, pulling me against his chest, and I feel his heart pounding against my cheek. Feel the bond between us singing with relief and something that might finally be hope.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life earning this,” he murmurs against my hair. “Every day. Every moment. I’ll spend centuries proving I’m worthy of what you’re giving me.”
“I don’t forgive you,” I say against his chest. “I may never forgive you. What you did is unforgivable.”
“I know.”
“But I’m choosing you anyway.” I pull back enough to look at his face—ancient, bronze, streaked with tears he’s not bothering to hide. “I’m choosing to build something real with you, even though it started with lies. I’m choosing to see where this goes.”
“Even if it’s dark?”
“Everything about us is dark.” I smile, and it feels strange on my face—fragile, uncertain, but real. “Maybe that’s okay. Maybe love doesn’t have to be clean and bright. Maybe it can grow in shadows too.”
