“No.” The voice isn’t hers; it’s what’s left. “I’m property,” she says. “Sold. Price already set.”
“Fuck that, you’re not,” I say, hands up, stepping closer.
“Stay back!” Her voice cracks. Her hand edges behind, flirting with gravity.
My heart seizes. I freeze, not daring to blink.
She turns.
God.
She looks already gone, tear-cut cheeks, trembling mouth, red, emptied eyes.
“I’m done playing,” she chokes. “They’ll kill me anyway after the heir. It’s planned.”
“Aoife, plea?—”
“NO!” The wind eats it, but it hits like a shot.
“I can’t have the man I want,” she says, voice in shards. “Loving you will start a war. So why stay?”
“You don’t get to jump,” I say, louder, shaking. “Not on their terms or yours. I’ll carry you through hell if I have to. Just…stay.”
She stares. A ruined smile ghosts her mouth, as she shakes her head. Her foot slips, and she drops.
No thought.
No feeling.
I sprint and dive.
Wind screams.
I catch her wrist a heartbeat before it’s gone.
Her weight yanks my shoulder loose, but I don’t let go. Knees smash rock. One hand claws the cliff, the other vises her wrist.
Muscles burn. Stone bites. Soul splits.
“Look at me, Aoife!”
Her eyes slam into mine.
Terror.
Sorrow.
Defeat.
Makeup washed, mouth shaking, eyes full of hollow rage and shattered hope, like someone who’d welcome the fall.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
“You jump, I fall. You hear me?” I grind out, fingers burning. “We end together or we don’t end.”
Her eyes widen. A breath catches. She reaches back and clamps my wrist.
