Marco glances between me and the door. “Go take a break. We’ll watch him. Later, you can take over and we’ll get some sleep in Robin’s bed.”
He’ll stay with me tonight, in that awful cell. My heart swells. Yet the mention of sleep, of tomorrow, sends panic shooting through me. It’s all coming so fast.
Evander nods. “I’ll just be a short while,” he says, then slips out of the room.
I study my friend again. “At least Cas won’t have to watch me die tomorrow.”
Marco says nothing. His jaw works like he’s chewing glass.
I keep my eyes on Cas’s face, gazing at the curve of his nose, the way his curls stick to his damp forehead. “If he lives, will you tell him something?”
“Tell him what?”
“Tell him I said I’m haunting him as a ghost until he makes it out of here.” My voice cracks. “And tell him—tell him what we did. Tell him asmuch as you can. I don’t want him thinking I gave up, or that I didn’t fight for what mattered. Try and explain… try and explain what you meant to me. What we meant to each other.”
Marco’s hand lands on my shoulder, heavy and warm. “I don’t know if I can do this—”
“You can.” The words are firm, all the fight I have left in me.
His eyes dull, and his head dips. “Of course I’ll talk to him.”
The next few hours blur together in a haze of whispered prayers to gods I don’t believe in. Cas’s breathing stays ragged. His fever holds. No sign of breaking.
When Evander returns, he finds us slumped in chairs on either side of the table. He looks between Marco and me, and something passes across his features—an intense sadness.
“Go get some sleep, you two,” he says quietly. “I hear it’s a big day tomorrow.”
I squeeze Cas’s hand one more time. I don’t say goodbye to Evander on the way out, even though it could well be the last time I’ll see him.
I’m glad I’m granting myself the small mercy of not saying goodbyes. To Evander. To Cas, who might not even wake again. The words would stick in my throat anyway, meaningless sounds that change nothing.
Marco and I walk through the corridors in silence, our footsteps echoing off stone walls. When we reach my cell, the door thankfully stands unlocked. The cell feels smaller than usual with both of us inside. Marco looks around at the cramped space, the single bunk bed that barely fits one person, let alone two. I’d imagined our last night in his big bed at the villa, tangled in silk sheets, but actually, this is better. No space between us. No room for doubt or distance.
We both collapse onto the tiny bottom bunk without discussion. The mattress sags under our combined weight, and Marco’s arms come around me from behind, pulling me tight against his chest. His breath warms the back of my neck as he strokes my hair, long, slow movements that make my eyes flutter closed despite everything.
Our breathing syncs, rising and falling together. I try to absorb it all—the weight of his arm across my ribs, the way his fingers catch on the tangles in my hair, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my spine. Every sensation feels heightened, precious.
I keep expecting him to say something. Some final declaration or promise or apology. But really, what else is there to say at this point? He’s already said it all, in the way he holds me, in the choice he’s making tomorrow, in the fact that he’s here instead of in his villa.
Eventually, the stroking becomes softer, slower, until it stops completely. His breathing deepens, evens out. Marco has managed to fall asleep, and I’m grateful. Tomorrow will be hard enough without him lying awake all night thinking about it.
But sleep won’t come for me. My mind churns, restless and sharp.
I think about Esme’s reaction tomorrow, when Marco walks through the door, drops to his knees, and tells her the bad news. That moment saying goodbye to her earlier at the villa was the most painful thing. It took everything in me to act natural, to laugh and ruffle her hair like always. But there was no point in making her suffer through the night. Like I am right now.
Out of the pair of us, Marco’s job tomorrow will be harder. I’m not sure how I would possibly have been able to kill him. The thought of driving the Deathball into him, of watching the light fade from his eyes…
Fuck,I need to sleep. But my brain won’t shut off. This is stupid. I don’t want to be tired tomorrow. I want to have ten more minutes with him when he wakes up. Ten more minutes of him stroking my hair, of Marco whispering in our mother tongue in my ear, of pretending this isn’t ending.
The frustration builds until I can’t stand it anymore. Maybe a hot shower will reset something, wash away the restless energy buzzing under my skin. Then I can jump back in bed and hopefully sleep will finally come.
I slip carefully out of Marco’s arms, trying not to wake him. He murmurs something in his sleep and reaches for where I was, but doesn’t wake.
The corridor feels colder than usual as I pad barefoot toward the showers. It’s quiet. Too quiet. My neck prickles. A sound behind me? I stop. Turn around. Nothing. Just my nerves. I keep walking.
The shower room swallows me whole. No lights—just the corridor’s pale glow dying a few feet past the doorway. I take one step toward where the lamp should be—
Hands lock around me from behind. My face meets tile. The impact cracks through my skull, instant and complete. No time to brace. No time to think.
