“Show-off,” Aspen mutters, but he’s smiling.
“Says the man with the magical ice powers,” I shoot back.
Torric shakes his head. “At this point, I’m not even surprised anymore.”
“We should move,” Kieran says, though his eyes linger on Enif with something like wonder. “The longer we delay—”
“Wait.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
Everyone turns to look at me. I scan the group again, that nagging wrongness finally crystallizing into something I can name.
“Where’s Finn?”
Chapter 36
Finn
Finn
The silence in this corridor is different.
Not the comfortable kind that settles between jokes, or the expectant pause before I say something brilliant and slightly inappropriate. This is the hollow kind. The kind that echoes back everything you don’t want to hear.
I’m perched on a stone ledge that overlooks the sanctuary’s eastern wall, legs dangling like I’m twelve years old again, hiding from responsibilities that feel too big for my hands. The departure preparations buzz in the distance—voices calling, leather creaking, hooves striking stone. All the sounds of people who belong somewhere, doing something that matters.
I should be down there.
I’m not.
Because about an hour ago, I felt Kaia and Aspen’s bond lock into place like the final tumbler in a lock I’ll never have the key to. And now? Now the phantom taste of her is gone from my mouth, the echo of shared pleasure has faded from my skin, and all that’s left is the cold understanding that I just experienced the most intimate moment of someone else’s life.
Someone who isn’t me.
Someone who chose someone else.
“Should’ve brought popcorn to the soul-bond climax,” I mutter to the empty air, but the joke falls flat even to my own ears. Nothing’s funny when you’re the punchline.
My chaos magic sparks restlessly around my fingers, little bursts of color that die as quickly as they form. Even my power seems confused about what to do with all this…feeling. This stupid, messy, inconvenient ache that won’t go away no matter how many times I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
It does matter. That’s the problem.
The bond is still there, humming in my chest like a wire that’s been pulled taut but not snapped. I can feel the others, Kaia’s contentment, Aspen’s quiet satisfaction, even the distant pulse of Kieran’s ancient magic. We’re all connected, all part of this grand mystical design.
So why do I feel so alone?
Footsteps echo down the corridor, measured and familiar. I don’t turn around. Don’t need to. There’s only one person who moves through shadows like he owns them, who finds hiding spots like he invented them.
“Did you draw the short straw,” I ask without looking back, “or just get bored of brooding in doorways?”
Malrik doesn’t answer immediately. Just stands there, close enough that I can feel his presence like a question mark against my back. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than usual.
“You weren’t at the courtyard.”
I shrug, still staring out at the darkening sky. “Didn’t want to spoil the magical sendoff. Nothing ruins group photos like the guy who’s having an existential crisis.”
Silence. The kind that suggests he’s not buying my bullshit.
“Besides,” I continue, forcing levity into my voice, “someone had to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart while you’re all off playing hero. I’m really more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy anyway.”
