“And that’s when I heard her whisper something under her breath.”
I shift slightly, tilting my head against his chest.
“What did she say?”
A pause—long enough that I can feel him dragging the memory up from wherever it’s buried.
“She said, ‘It’s already begun.’”
The words send a shiver through me. Down my spine. Into my chest. Settling like ice freezing.
He exhales again, the sound sharp, brittle.
“At first, I thought she was talking about the war,” he says, voice quieter now, distant. “About what Kastiel’s death wouldmean—for our forces, for the southern borders.”
A breath. A heartbeat.
“But now I know.”
I close my eyes, bracing. Needing to hear it, even though the truth is already a blade in my chest.
“She wasn’t talking about the war.”
Another long pause.
“She was talking about the curse.”
My fingers curl against his chest. I hold him tighter, my breath shallow.
Thane’s voice fractures, another crack in all his careful control.
“I should have seen it then,” he murmurs. “The way she stopped sleeping. The way she would stare into the fire for hours. The way she spoke softly to herself when she thought no one was listening.”
A breath shudders through him.
“The way the shadows started moving around her . . . even when she wasn’t calling them.”
I go still. Because now I understand.
“She knew,” he whispers. “She knew it was coming for her.”
And he knows it’s coming for him too. The fear laces through the bond, raw and sharp.
“She lasted a year,” Thane says, voice almost gone. “A year before it took her mind. Before she jumped off the tower.”
My chest aches. I move closer. Press my palm to his chest. Feel his heart pounding beneath my fingers—and hold it there, steadying him, steadying me.
“And now you think it’s coming for you,” I whisper.
His breath stutters against me. He doesn’t answer—he doesn’t have to because we both already know.
“Thane.”
My voice is steady—but beneath it, there’s fire. A promiseburning in every word.
“You are not your mother.”
He is silent. Tense. Still.
