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“You need to understand.” Lucas says it like he’s seen this happen before and hated the ending. “If he survives this, he won’t be able to pull himself back.”

He doesn’t soften. Doesn’t rush.

“That’s not how it works.”

A beat—heavy with lived knowledge.

“If you follow him in, you’re agreeing to be the one who drags him out.” Lucas looks toward the house, and whatever humor he had left is gone. “So be ready to survive the darkest parts of him. Because this time, he won’t survive them alone.”

I turn slowly meeting his eyes and hold them there. No flinch. No armor. Just a long, unblinking look that dares him to say it again.

“I believe I already have.”

Lucas doesn’t blink. Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give me the mercy of agreement.

“No,” he says. “You survived his grief.”

The words settle heavy, deliberate, like a hand pressing down between my shoulders.

Then, quieter—almost kind.

“You haven’t paid the cost of being chosen yet.”

Something cold slips into place behind my eyes—recognition without relief. My jaw locks. Heat flashes behind my eyes, sharp and immediate. I don’t turn to face him. I don’t give the warning space to breathe.

“The only cost being paid,” I say, voice flat, “is to the assholes who took my sister.”

The words land solid. Final.

Still, my hand tightens at my side, tendons screaming as my fingers curl into a fist—because some truths don’t need permission to follow you. They just wait.

And I can already feel it pacing behind me.

“I’m telling you we leave now, Malek.”

The word now scrapes out of me sharp enough to draw blood. The kitchen hums with the low sound of the fridge and the distant creak of the house settling, like it knows something ugly is about to happen and is bracing for it. Every sound feels too loud for a world that’s about to move.

Malek leans against the counter, ankles crossed, like time isn’t hemorrhaging. His hair is still damp from the shower, water darkening the collar of his shirt, that black streak hanging into his eyes like a fault line the world never bothered to smooth out. Lucas is gone. Shadow almost went with him, and I don’t have enough mercy left in me to forgive the betrayal yet.

“Selah—”

“She’s all I have.” The words tear out of me before I can sand them down. There’s no dignity left in the sound—just truth and teeth.

He stills. “I know. Panic is what he’s waiting on. We move cold.”

“What if it was Carter?”

His whole body deflates and he looks at his feet.

“Don’t look away. Answer me.” I don’t soften it. I want the wound open.

“I’d burn everything to the ground to get him out of there.”

“So we agree then!”

“Cass gets out,” he says. “The rest is judgment.”

He reaches for me then—slow, deliberate—fingers catching the hem of my shirt and tugging me closer like it’s already decided. Like my body is something he can anchor himself to.