My hand stretches toward the chest, and I hold my breath, wanting it to remain locked forever. Wanting it to respond to my touch. My fingers graze the antique bronze, and—
The lock pops open.
Just like that, the lockopens, and so does the chest.
And I know instantly what it means. How it condemns me.
Reincarnation.
Vila.
The dance of life and death.
But I don’t fucking care. Even if I am a… agoddess, what has divinity done for me? What does itmatter? My life has been nothing but agony. Every fucking breath, every fucking day. All because ofhim—because of Mortem.
Silence descends behind me. Not even Mortem speaks. Perhaps he expects the heavens to open up in celebration. Perhaps I’m meant to receive centuries of memories, of purpose and meaning, but—I am still just Zephyra.
I am still just a woman standing in a blood-drenched room, slick with death.
“Good girl,” Mortem murmurs at last. “Bring it here.”
I stare down at the open chest.
“Kill him,” Arion pleads.“Use the heart, and murder him.”
On dove-white velvet rests the still-beating black organ of a god.
I kneel to pick it up, holding it in my hand, and it contracts between my fingers. Sticky. Warm.Fragile.I could do it—crush it, just like Arion wants. I could end Mortem’s reign of terror before it begins. It would be the just thing to do. Therightthing to do.
Save the world.
As if outside my body, I clutch the heart tighter now. I begin to squeeze on impulse, and vicious satisfaction cuts through me at the sound of Mortem choking, cursing.Dying.Slowly, I turn to watch him, relishing the way his knees crumple. The way he claws at his throat, his eyes widening in true fear. Just as mine did every single day for a decade.
My satisfaction is short-lived, however, when Eos collapses too,mimicking his movements as if also suffocating. She shrieks in pain. She starts to cry.
So does everyone else. They all fall now, like dominos, choking and writhing on the floor. Vesper. Amaya. Gavriall.Arion.
Instantly, my grip on his heart releases, and my satisfaction twists into sickening regret. Of course Mortem has tethered their lives to his. Of course he wouldn’t make this easy—and yet, somehow, he has.
“That’s it, Vila,” the sorcerer purrs. “Place it in my chest. Between my ribs. Put my heart back where it belongs.”
Save yourself.
Save your friends.
Though it seems as if I have multiple options, multiple pathways I could run down, I don’t. There is only one option here.
There is only one way to fix all this.
Rising to my feet, I take small, tentative steps toward Mortem. Each feels wrong. Each slices through my composure until I’m trembling all over. He grins now, brushing pink hair from my face with gentle reverence—false reverence—as I begin to lift his heart to his ribs. “You care too much, Vila. You have always cared too much.”
I force myself to lift my chin again, glaring at him. “Yeah, well, you’re a jackass.”
And without another word, I shove the organ straight through his tunic, through his flesh and ribs, to the empty cavity inside his chest.
It happens quickly after that.
A sharp inhale, and Mortem becomes whole once more.
