Right.
Because that’s happening.
To me.
Like in one of those crazy romance books I used to read in college—and let’s face it I wish I still had time to read them now.
With a man—a Demon Lord—I met, like, today.
I take another sip of fyrran and let my thoughts settle, one by one.
New Jersey. The quakes. The fissures. The way the earth steadied when Dagan took my hand.
Nightfall. That this realm is literally responsible for dreams across all worlds, and the SoulTakers want to unmake it.
The ore hidden beneath the crust of this world, running through it like magic-fueled veins. The healers. The way Dagan and his friends, brothers and their mates (Dagan already told me about them—other Jersey girls, apparently) stayed.
They chose to join this fight.
I take another sip, and my thoughts go back to him. To the Demon with the face and body of an angel.
To Dagan’s face when he said we fit, Oona.
Something inside me that’s been loose for a long time… clicks.
I set the cup down carefully.
“Brianne?” I say.
“Yes, Alina?”
* * *
“If… if I go through with this rite,” I ask, voice softer than I intend, “what does it mean? For your people. For him. For me.”
She considers me for a long beat.
“For my Lord,” she says finally, “it will mean strength. Aid. A partner bound to him in power and in life. For our people, it will mean hope. The land is changing. The cracks grow wider. He cannot hold them alone.”
Her gaze gentles.
“For you, Alina, well, that is for you to define. But know this. The bond is not a cage. It is a bridge. You will change him. He will change you. Neither will be what they were before—but if the zareth is true, you will both be more.”
I think of my apartment back home.
Quiet. Empty.
Plants on the windowsill. Half my stuff still in boxes because I moved from job to job so often it never felt worth fully unpacking.
I think of the nights lying awake listening to the distant hum of traffic and the closer hum of my own restless brain, trying to calculate how many retrofits might fail if the quakes got worse.
I think of standing at fault lines and wishing I could do more than write reports no one read.
I think of lonely nights where cold Chinese food in my fridge was my only sustenance and the TV a sad substitute for company.
Then I think of the way the earth went still when Dagan reached for me.
Of how his face softened when he said we fit.
