The thing that used to be Finn collapses.
It doesn’t die—not completely. The fire burns away its limbs, its torso, but the face remains. That horrible, preserved face, staring up at Aviora with something that might be hatred or might be relief.
“You still choose yourself,” it whispers. “You’ll choose yourself against everyone. That’s what you are.”
“No.” She stands over the remains, the pole still blazing in her hands. “That was who I had to be.” She glances at me. Just for a moment. But long enough. “I’m choosing who I want to become.”
The light fades from the thing’s eyes. The face goes slack. And then there’s just ash and saltwater spreading across the flagstones.
Silence. The other dead have retreated or been killed.
The guards stare. Even Thorne looks shaken, and I’ve never seen her upset.
Aviora drops the pole. Her hands are shaking—from exertion or emotion, I can’t tell. She turns away from the remains, her face pale, her composure cracking at the edges.
I’m beside her before I realize I’ve moved. My arms close around her, pulling her against my chest, and she doesn’t resist. Doesn’t pull away. Just stands there, trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps that might be sobs.
“He was right.” Her voice is muffled against my armor. “I left him. I swam for the surface and I left him.”
“You survived.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?” She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are red, her face streaked with tears and blood. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years. Survival means leaving people behind. Choosing yourself.”
“And now?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drifts past me, to the shattered windows, to the storm raging outside, to the cursed water rising through Dreadhaven’s foundations.
“Now, I’m tired of running.” Her hands find mine. Grip hard. “Now, I want to fight for something instead of just against it. Even if that gets me killed.”
“It might.”
“I know.” Her chin lifts. “But at least I won’t die running. At least I won’t leave anyone behind.”
I want to promise her she won’t die. Want to tell her I’ll protect her, keep her safe, make sure we both walk out of this. But promises are lies in a siege, and she deserves better than lies.
So I kiss her instead.
Not frantic this time. Not born of fear or adrenaline. This is slower. Deeper. I taste salt on her lips, feel the tremor in her body as she presses close. Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me down, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappears.
We break apart. Her forehead rests against mine.
“The underwater passages,” she whispers. “You said you could find them.”
“I said maybe.”
“Then let’s make maybe into definitely.” She steps back, her composure settling back into place. The survivor returning, but different now. Harder. More certain. “Get the coins from the vault. Gather whoever’s willing to dive. And let’s go end this.”
I look at her—this woman who washed up on my shore carrying curses and guilt and more courage than anyone I’ve met in years. Who faced down the ghost of her dead lover and didn’t break. Who kissed me like I was worth saving.
“Thorne,” I say without looking away from Aviora. “The vault. Bring everything.”
“Captain—”
“We’re going into the water. We’re going to find the hoard. And we’re going to destroy Oreth before this night is over.” I finally turn to face my guards. “Anyone who wants to stay behind, stay. This is volunteer only.”
No one stays behind.
I don’t know why that surprises me. These are people who’ve fought the drowned for years. People who know exactly what we’re facing, exactly how bad the odds are. But they’re moving anyway—gathering weapons, preparing for a dive that might kill them all.
