“Every time I go over what’s been happening, it always comes back to us. Whenever we’re together—onthe island, in the kitchen, in the Tower—the machines wake up. It’s not death they react to. It’s us.”
He gives me a slow, crooked smile. “So, what you’re saying is…we were always meant to be together.”
I roll my eyes. “That is not what I’m saying.”
“But you’re not denying it.”
I scowl at him, but energy is building behind my thoughts, too strong to stop now. “The Lovers card. It symbolizes love, obviously, but it’s more than that.”
“It’s about union. Balance. Two halves making a whole. Trust and devotion. And the reverse meaning is the opposite: detachment, disconnection, general misalignment of values.” Alderic’s lips twitch. “That’ll teach Kane to say I never listen.”
I blink. “Who’s Kane?”
He waves it off. “No one important.”
He pauses, brow furrowing, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something brighter, more urgent. “It’s choice,” he says, the word clicking into place like a key into a lock. “That’s what the card is really about. Choosing.”
“Yes.” My heart pounds. “The Tower doesn’t need sacrifice—it needs an offering. A union born not out of duty or control but out of love. A connection so deep not even different worlds can keep it apart.”
His mouth curves in that familiar, delicious grin. “It always comes back to us being fated.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m sayingthe Towerthinks we are.”
He chuckles, and I’m already flying through a hundred playfully smug responses to whatever cheeky, flirtatious quip he’s going to say next when his smilefalters and laughter fades. He shifts, the easy confidence bleeding out of him. His shoulders drop slightly, arms loosening at his sides like he’s letting go of something he usually holds close.
He steps forward, just one slow step. Close enough that I see the tension at the corners of his mouth, the flicker of hesitation behind his eyes.
“Gemma,” he says softly, and the sound of my name on his tongue makes my chest ache. “Do you love me?”
The question isn’t flirtation. It’s not leverage. It’s not a line. It’s real. He’s vulnerable in a way I don’t know what to do with, raw and terrifyingly sincere.
“I—” My voice snags. I force a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
His expression flickers. Not hurt. Not quite. But something close.
“How I feel isn’t the point. Not really,” I add quickly, trying to fill the silence. “The point is that the Tower thinks we feel that way. That we’ve chosen each other. That we’re deeply connected.”
His eyes search mine. “But are we?”
My throat tightens. I hate this. I hate how it doesn’t feel like a trap. How there’s no angle to play, no leverage to gain. Just a man offering something real, asking for nothing in return.
With Alder, everything was an exchange. Affection for admiration. Love for security. My devotion in exchange for his attention. I always knew exactly what I was supposed to give to get what I thought I needed.
But Alderic doesn’t want anything from me. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
I smile, tight, controlled. “We need the Tower tobelieve it. That’s all that matters.”
His gaze lingers on me, long and knowing, and I hate that he doesn’t push. That he just nods like he gets it. And it’s terrifying that he might actually understand.
“And what if we succeed? If it works?” His voice drops, rough around the edges as his fingers find mine. “What happens then?”
My chest tightens. “I go home.”
The words fall like stones, solid, immovable. But they’re not the whole truth. Even as I say them, something inside me buckles. Not at the thought of returning to my world, but at the thought of doing so without him.
This was always supposed to be about survival. About getting back to my life, my world, my rules. I didn’t plan for Alderic. I didn’t plan for the way he touches me like I matter or listens like my thoughts are sacred. I didn’t plan for the warmth in his laugh or the way he watches me like I’m his favorite ending to the story he never saw coming.
And maybe I don’t know what that means yet—maybe I’m too scared to admit it out loud—but I know one thing with aching clarity:
