Page 131 of The Vespertine Treaty

He looked at me. And for the first time, he spoke.

"The Thresholds will fall," he said.

His voice was a stranger's voice. Hollow. Dead.

Before I could process the horror of it, he raised his hand. Viscous shadows erupted from the ground, wrapping around my ankles, my wrists, my waist. I screamed as they lifted me, dragging me back toward the house, away from him.

"No! Cain! NO!"

He didn't watch me go. He turned back to his horse, mounting it in one fluid, lethal motion, and rode toward the looming tower that housed the Alistair Threshold.

I was thrown back into our private suite, the shadows depositing me roughly onto the rug. The door slammed shut, the sound of the lock engaging like a thunderstorm. The windows sealed with black magic.

"Cain!" I screamed, hammering my fists against the door. "Listen to me! You’re not the poison! We’re the cure!"

Silence answered me.

“Poppy!” I thought, frantically reaching for the bond. “Poppy, find him! Bite him! Do something!”

Silence.

A sudden, paralysing horror seized me. I could no longer hear Poppy. I could no longer feel the comforting hum of her familiar’s core.

He had severed the bond.

"No," I whispered, sliding down the door. "He cut me off. He cut us all off."

But I couldn't stop. I had the letter. I had the truth. And I was not going to let us die for a lie.

I scanned the room. The door was sealed. The windows were reinforced. But there was a vent—a small, ornate grate near the ceiling used for airflow in the summer.

I dragged a heavy armchair under it. I climbed up, my fingers tearing at the metal filigree. It was bolted shut.

I didn't care. I channeled every ounce of Life Magic I had left. I poured it into my fingers, heating the metal until it warped and groaned.

With a scream of effort, I ripped the grate from the wall.

I scrambled through the vent, the narrow stone tunnel scratching my skin raw, the dust choking me. I emerged, panting, onto the cold marble of the main corridor.

I ran.

I couldn’t remember which direction the Alistair Threshold was, only that I needed to find the source of his power before it was too late. I followed the cold. I followed the feeling of the world ending.

I found the chamber. It was vast, dominated by the gothic archway of the Threshold. Cain stood in the centre, his back to me, his arms raised. The air was a tangible, raw scream of Death Magic, ready to shatter that veil-looking membrane.

He was entirely consumed by the power, his profile broken, his control frayed by the sheer magnitude of the task.

“Cain!” I shrieked, running across the massive chamber.

He turned, slowly, his now obsidian eyes black with the consuming agony of the world. He was lost inside the power, his face contorted in pain and the chilling conviction of his actions.

I reached him. I brought my hands up to his face, my palms flat against his cold, hard cheeks, channelling the raw, powerful heat of my Life-Wielder core directly into his pain-eaten consciousness.

"I'm here, Cain. This isn't freedom. This is a graveyard. You cannot unmake reality just because you are terrified I might get hurt by it. That isn't mercy, it's annihilation! If you love me, don't try to save me. Ruin me with life, but do not leave us in the nothingness!”

He closed his eyes, his immense power seizing, momentarily stalled by the counter-force of my Empathy. He was completely vulnerable.

I surged upward, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissed him with a desperate, fierce, life-affirming violence. I poured every ounce of my conviction, my remaining strength, and my horrifying, dark love into the act, trying to reach the broken boy and smother the monster with compassion.