If I stop, Lucian will die.
I don’t know how I know that—I just do. And so I don’t stop.
The stairwell smells of dust and cold stone. My palms scrape the railing, gritty with neglect. Sweat dampens my skin beneath my clothes and my muscles burn, but I welcome the pain—it reminds me I’m alive. That I’m still moving. That I haven’t failed him yet.
And then at last—at last—the stairs end.
I stagger onto the top landing, my vision swimming, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free of my ribs. Before me stands the entrance to the penthouse suite.
Lucian’s domain.
I push my way inside and find the same dusty neglect I’ve found everywhere else in the Spires.
The hallway beyond is long and silent—its once-luxurious carpets dulled with age and dust. The walls, once glowing faintly with torch-light and magic, are dark now. Empty…hollow. Like the rest of the Spires.
“Lucian?” I call, my voice breaking as it echoes down the corridor.
But I get no answer.
I move faster, peering into rooms as I pass. I see an abandoned sitting room, the chairs overturned and the fireplace cold…an office with papers scattered like dead leaves across the floor. Everywhere I look, I see signs of desertion and neglect. Everything looks left behind, as if the world inside the Crimson Spires simply… stopped.
My chest tightens with fear—where is he?
“Lucian!” I call again, louder this time, fear clawing up my throat.
Still nothing.
But then, at the very end of the hall, I finally see it—his bedroom.
The door stands slightly ajar but no light comes from within—it’s dark in there. My heart stutters in my chest as I hurry to push it open.
Inside I see the familiar gothic architecture—the high ceiling and plush carpets now coated in dust. The room is dim, the crimson floor-to-ceiling curtains drawn tight. The air smells faintly metallic, like old blood and dying magic. The massive bed dominates the space—and there, upon it, lies Lucian.
He looks pale…too pale.
His skin has lost its warmth, its color, and his dark hair spills across the pillow like ink against white linen. His chest rises and falls so slowly I almost miss it.
“Oh God,” I whisper, my legs nearly giving out beneath me.
I rush to his side and sink onto the bed, my hands trembling as I stroke his hair back from his face.
“Lucian,” I sob softly. “Lucian, please?—”
His lashes flutter and his eyes open just a fraction.
“You…found me.”
His deep voice is so hoarse I can barely hear him.
“I’m here for you! I love you!” I whisper, tears pouring down my cheeks.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I press my wrist to his lips.
“Bite me! You need blood.”
His mouth parts weakly. He tries—but he’s too far gone, too drained. His fangs barely graze my skin.
“No—no, don’t you dare give up now,” I say fiercely.
