Page 130 of The Vespertine Treaty

"He came out here before dawn," Friedrik whispered. "He wasn't speaking sense. He kept repeating it. Over and over."

"Repeating what?"

"The Thresholds are falling," Friedrik said.

Cold dread washed over me, instantly extinguishing the warmth of the morning.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I demanded, my voice shrill. "If he was acting like this, why didn't you or Silas come get me?"

Friedrik wrung his massive stone hands. "Because we didn't know it was real this time, Ophelia! He has been acting strange ever since he brought you back from Malathor's. Silas caught him sleepwalking three nights ago, standing in the middle of the courtyard, muttering about how the world was too loud for you."

"Sleepwalking?" I breathed.

"He hasn't been sleeping at all," Friedrik confessed, his yellow eyes filled with guilt. "He wanders the halls. He stands outside your door, listening. We thought... we just thought the rescue broke something in him. We thought he was just being protective. Overwhelmed by having you back. He always broods, Ophelia. We didn't realise the Void was actually taking over until this morning."

"What happened this morning?"

"He put the armour on," Friedrik whispered, pointing a trembling claw toward the southern edge of the gardens, toward the old stables. "He didn't look like Cain anymore."

I didn't wait. I ran.

I sprinted through the dead grass, my bare feet slipping in my slippers, the oversized robe billowing behind me. Poppy raced alongside me, a streak of gold panic.

I burst into the lower clearing.

There, standing beneath the twisted branches of a dead oak, was a horse. His massive black war-steed, its coat like oil, its eyes burning with magic. It pawed the ground, snorting smoke.

And beside it stood Cain.

I stopped dead, my breath catching in my throat.

He wasn't wearing his robes. He wasn't wearing the clothes I had torn off him last night.

He was decked in full armour. The Knight Death armour. Obsidian plates etched with markings that seemed to writhe and bleed. His helm was in his hand, the massive sword strapped to his back.

He looked like a fallen god of war. He looked like the end of the world. He did not look like mine anymore.

"Cain!" I shouted, rushing forward.

He turned slowly.

The scream died in my throat.

His face was a mask of marble. But his eyes... oh gods, his eyes.

They were empty. The storm was gone. The male who had whispered against my skin, who had marked me and claimed me and loved me only hours ago, was gone. There was only the Void.

He looked at me, and there was no recognition. No warmth. Nothing.

"Cain," I whispered, stepping closer, my hand reaching out, trembling. "It's me. I'm here. It's Ophelia."

I tried to touch his arm, to find the male beneath the armour.

He recoiled.

He stepped back as if my touch were filth, his lip curling in a sneer that wasn't even angry—it was indifferent.

"Cain, please," I choked out, tears blurring my vision. "Don't do this. Look at me! I found it! I found your mother’s letter! You’re wrong! You’re not the end!"