But the fault line is quiet. The tremors are gone. My heartbeat syncs with some deeper pulse I can’t name.
The darkness rushes up to meet me, soft and enveloping.
I pass out with the feel of his arms around me, the scent of rain and stone in my lungs, and one last ridiculous thought.
Of all the ways I thought my night could go—being claimed by a Demon Lord with wings?
Yeah, that was definitely not on the list.
Chapter 2
Dagan
New Jersey to Nightfall
The earth goes quiet when she looks at me.
That is how I know.
For months, the Rooted Marches have been shuddering along threads that do not belong to Nightfall alone.
The SoulTakers tunnel, Idris meddles, and the fractures bleed into other worlds.
My wards showed me where the worst of it surfaced.
Right here—in this ugly swath of cut earth and metal skeletons, Earth’s people call a construction site.
I have been tracing leaks from Nightfall for weeks. Watching the way the seams tremble. Listening to the way the rock complains.
Every time, the pattern is the same—until tonight.
Tonight, when she stepped onto the site? The fault line listened.
The tremors stilled.
My power reached out.
And something answered.
When her gaze met mine—brown eyes sharp, wary, stubborn—the zareth flickered inside my chest.
A spark along old scars.
A recognition older than this world.
Viyella.
I knew before she spoke. Before she argued with me about safety codes and OSHA and whether or not people—or Demon Lords—could just wander onto job sites.
Alina Fawcett.
From the first breath, she stands as if she belongs on unstable ground.
Feet braced. Shoulders squared. Voice steady even when she thinks I am delusional.
I tell her the truth anyway.
““They are not merely nightmares,” I explain. “They are bleed-through. Your soul reaching for mine across realms. Nightfall calls to you. You answer. You are already half-stepping between worlds. I am here to bring you the rest of the way.”
