Floor 1: Chapter Sixteen - Balance

The world stitched itself back together around me, air sharpening, ground settling under my boots with a whisper of tall grass and the crunch of leaves. The salty tang of the docks was gone, replaced by something richer, denser.

Forest.

The skeletal woods of the dead forest, but his part was more alive than usual, at least for how deep into the woods I suspected we were. The trees were thick and towering, their canopies lush and heavy, tangled with hanging moss. Vines draped between trunks like lazy serpents. The smell of wet earth and flowering things wrapped around me like a second skin.

Lawrence released my hand as soon as the spell finished, turning slightly, surveying the clearing with a mild glance of approval. Dawn followed like a shadow at his back.

I pulled my cloak tighter around me, not against the cold, it wasn’t cold here, but against the weight of the air, damp and pulsing like a held breath.

"Where are we?" I asked, careful to keep my voice level.

"A forest spot I know about," he said easily. "No one will bother us here."

I turned slowly, taking it all in. Tall grass and plant life brushing against my boots, the heavy hush of wind-stirred leaves, the rich scent of forest life I haven’t tasted so plainly since leaving Dent’s camp some time ago. At least there was one thing I recognized. The sounds of the river's torrent just over the hill meant I knew how to get back if I needed to. A small comfort despite the obvious.

I let a serial killer take me somewhere ‘no one would bother us.’ Great idea, Remy.

"Why here?" I asked.

"To answer your question," Lawrence said, his voice smooth as silk over something sharper. "For both of us."

"Both?" I echoed, brows furrowing.

"You want to know why you can see what others can’t," he said, beginning to walk deeper into the green. "And I want to know how much more you can do than see."

I hesitated, but of course I followed.

We wound deeper into the clearing, where moonlight slanted through the trees in pale, deliberate stripes, casting a muted glow over a dense bed of wildflowers. Tall-stemmed and riotous, their blooms seemed to pulse with color even in the thin light, brazen and shameless against the dark.

Lawrence came to a stop, turning to face me fully, his coat whispering around his legs with the motion. As he stilled, Dawn drifted past him, gracefully perching herself atop a low stone nearby. She crossed her legs with effortless elegance, her gaze settling on both of us, curious and unblinking.

"Tell me," Lawrence said, voice quiet but carrying. "What do you see?"

I lifted an eyebrow, adding a little bite to my tone. "Surely you didn’t drag me all the way out here just to stare at flowers."

His mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. "No. I did not."

Dawn remained still, studying me with the kind of calm that made my skin prickle.

“As you’ve no doubt realized,” Lawrence continued, his words smooth, practiced, “the aether is all around us, woven into the world itself. It shapes the air, the trees, even you and me. We are all nothing more than a temporary arrangement of aether and will. When that will falters… ” he lifted a hand in a lazy, open gesture, “we return to the most basic of forms. Something you witnessed the other night.”

"Alright," I said, folding my arms. "So what?"

"Mages," he continued, almost indulgently, "learn to impose their will onto the aether’s forms. Air sharpened into a blade. Water frozen into ice. Stone raised into walls. Simple tricks, parlor games."

He paused, the air thickening between us.

"But some elements resist," he said, voice softening, darkening. "The oldest, the truest aspects of our reality. Time. Space. Life. Death."

The last word hung in the clearing like smoke.

I shifted, heart picking up its steady pace. "The tether I saw," I said cautiously. "You said it was balance."

"Yes. Exactly.” He inclined his head, the movement precise, deliberate. “Allow me to demonstrate."

Without fanfare, without a word or incantation, Lawrence lifted his hand and spread his fingers toward the bed of flowers.

I watched as the color drained from them.

Slowly, vibrant greens turned to pale yellows, reds to brittle browns. The petals shriveled, the stems bowed under invisible weight, collapsing inward as if exhausted. The effect stretched outward in a calm wave till it settled in front of me. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t sudden. It was scarier than that. More. Inevitable.

I sucked in a breath. "You killed them."

Lawrence tilted his head, and for a moment, I thought he might laugh. “Death, like life, is simply a state of being.” Then he knelt, palm brushing the earth, and the moment his skin kissed the soil, the wilted plants stirred. Like ink bleeding backward, color flooded back into the petals. The stems lifted, slow but certain. The flowers bloomed anew, not as they were, but even more vibrant. Fresher. Stronger.

Lawrence rose smoothly to his feet. "Nothing lives forever. Such is the balance," he said simply.

I only watched the flowers sway as if unaware of the miracle, or the violation, they’d just endured. My gaze shifted to him, then the flowers, then back, my heart a mess of wariness and fascination. "What does this have to do with me?”

“It’s rare,” Lawrence said, voice as smooth as riverstone. “To be able to feel the aether where it’s most stubborn, where it clings to life or slips into death. Rarer still to command it.”

I forced myself to breathe evenly. “And you think I can?”

“I know you can,” he murmured, stepping aside to reveal the bed of flowers. “All that remains is whether you will deny that part of yourself. Or embrace who you are. Who you are meant to be.”

The confidence in his tone tore through me in a strange way. If it were anyone other than him, I might not have believed it. Lawrence, who teleported us miles away in the blink of an eye. Who emanates a deadly aura even when saying the most pleasant of words.

I could hardly say anything, or move for that matter, but eventually I managed. “How?... Why?”

“Why is yet to be established.” He responded. “But how, is something I can show you, if you are willing.”

It took more than a second to contemplate. Even if it were possible, if somehow I had a gift or the potential. Is that something I should really be learning? Should anyone have that kind of power? I’ve only ever killed out of necessity. Not quite on purpose either. Defending myself, others, moments where holding back meant potentially dying myself. None of that really matters, though, there’s no way what he’s saying is true, and I knew better than to trust someone offering any kind of ‘power’ without asking what it might cost.

“What you’re saying is… Interesting, but all because I saw some dark string in the sky?” I almost chuckled. “Sorry, but you’ve made some kind of mistake.”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” He spoke softly but with that same otherworldly poise that was too perfect. “Better yet, let's find out together. If I’m wrong, I’ll carry you back wherever you want to go. No questions asked.”

Despite my better judgment, my curiosity piqued. “...Fine… What do I need to do?”

“Simple.” He approached, holding his palm out in a similar manner as before. “First, take my hand.”

The hesitation was apparent, but I conceded enough to hold his grasp in mine. “Very well. What now?”

“Close your eyes.” He said, and I did.

“Take a breath. Relax.” I began following along as he instructed, if not just to prove I was right.

My fingers curled around Lawrence’s hand, steady but wary. His skin was cool, not cold, not lifeless, but not warm either. Like a stone that had forgotten the sun.

“Now,” he said, his voice low, barely a ripple in the air, “listen.”

So I tried.

At first, there was only the usual: the soft churn of breath in my lungs, the distant rustle of leaves, the steady beat of my heart. Eshlyn had taught me to feel the aether current so it would always be there when I reached for it. And so I flipped the switch like she showed me. There was a feeling like a pressure just beyond thought, a river running under the surface of the world. I had pushed it lightly, shaped it with raw will when needed, but I had never felt it as clear as I did at this moment.

Lawrence’s fingers tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor me, and the world tilted.

I stopped pushing. I stopped reaching. Instead, I listened, the way a stone listens to the river that shapes it. This was different from what I had experienced before. More than a feeling. More than a current. It shaped itself into a picture of all things. Like a sixth sense as clear as sight.

A formless world given shape. And in it, I felt something else. Threads, delicate and humming, stretched through the world around me, not just in the air or the earth, but in the life of it. The flowers, the grass, the whispering trees. Each thread was a quiet note in a great, breathing chorus.

I could feel them: pulsing, stretching, knotting, and loosening. A tapestry woven so tightly it was impossible to tell where one life ended and another began. The aether wasn’t just around us. It was us.

“Good,” I heard Lawrence’s voice, though I hadn’t spoken. “Now, find the string that doesn’t hum.”

I didn’t know what he meant, not at first, but the longer I lingered, the more I noticed it. A faint discord in the weave. A silence. Not empty, but heavy. Waiting.

I reached for it, not with hands, not even with will, per say. Just with intent. Gently, I carved towards it like a blade's edge, and the world held its breath.

The thread resisted. Not like the aether I’d bent before, this was thicker, heavier, more rooted. It didn’t want to move. It wanted to stay, or more precisely, it wanted to be, a refusal etched into the nature of every living thing. An opposing silence to every note.

I hesitated. A deep, bone-level instinct told me not to touch it, that once I did, there’d be no taking it back. That the knowledge was dangerous enough. But I was there now. Close enough to feel the raw ache of it and something else stirred under the fear: not desire, not even curiosity. Recognition. Like it knew me.

This was not aether-control in the way I understood it. It was like... a gate. A line drawn in the fabric of the world that most would never see, much less cross.

And Lawrence wanted me to do exactly that.

My breath snagged. My heartbeat thudded, not fast, but hard, like each beat was a drum strike echoing down into the roots of the world.

Intent, I reminded myself. Not force. Not violence. I shaped the thought, crude and clumsy compared to what Lawrence must have intended, and pressed it against the silent thread.

Submit.

The thread quivered, and I felt it, like a held note finally resonating under a musician’s touch. Not broken. Not pulled apart. Simply…responding. And in that response, my connection deepened.

All around me, the tapestry shivered. The flowers at my feet stirred, though there was no wind. The air itself tightened, thinning, sharpening, as if the moment between inhaling and exhaling had stretched impossibly wide.

A sudden weight settled in my chest, not heavy like fear or grief, but like standing at the edge of something vast, something patient and ancient, waiting for me to make the next move.

Lawrence’s voice drifted through the haze. “You feel it now.”

I swallowed, but didn’t open my eyes. The thought of breaking the connection felt wrong, like peeling back the skin on a living thing.

“I feel…” I hesitated. “Everything.”

A breath of silence. Then, quietly, “Good. Now… ”

He didn’t need to finish. I knew.

I had willed it to submit, and it would. I could sever that string, feel it unravel, and watch what was tethered to it fall. Perhaps I could also stitch it tighter, weave it stronger. While I hovered there, between choices, the weight of it pressed into me from all sides.

It spoke almost plainly. Don’t. No one should see this. No one should have this power. Leave this alone. But something in me didn’t want to listen. It was right there. Simple. Easy.

So I took a slow breath. Intent. Not force. Give, not take. I shaped the thought carefully, gingerly carving it into the weave.

Grow.

And it did. The string responded, but not how I expected. It tugged back. Not resisting. Drinking.

A slow, invisible thread unfurled from deep inside me, a pull, soft at first, then sharper. My skin prickled; my heartbeat stumbled. It wasn’t just growing, it was reaching for life… and I had offered it.

I tried to ease it back, but the pull sharpened, teeth sinking deeper. The edges of my thoughts grew thin, bleached like fabric left too long in the sun.

Panic flared within me like a burning flame, and with a lurch, I tore the flowers thin string in two. Severed whatever small life-force it had. The snap was clean, almost soundless, but it left me staggering inside my own skin, the aether recoiling like a cut nerve.

Gasping, I opened my eyes, completely letting go of Lawrence's hand and fumbling for breath.

The clearing swam back into focus, bright, too bright. The world felt heavier, the colors radiated at the edges. And at my feet, where the flower had stood, there was only a withered stalk. The petals had crumbled in on themselves, browned and brittle like paper.

I stared at it, bending over to catch any relief the position might bring.

Lawrence only watched me.“You tried to give,” he said in quiet annoyance. “To a plant.”

My voice came hollow and thin. “I didn’t mean to.”

The power hadn’t demanded cruelty. It hadn’t demanded anything. It had simply been there, waiting for me to decide. And I had.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

It took a while for my breathing to slow, but the new color, the sharpness in my vision, that part never faded.

And so I stared at the bed of flowers.
The one I killed. Wilted. Drained.
Dead.

There was no question in my mind. However strange it was, I had my answer, and that was enough. What he said may be possible, sure, but I wouldn’t be the one to wield it. Not like this.

So I stepped back.
“I’d never wish death on anyone.” My voice was quiet but steady. Certain.
I breathed in. “Not even the flowers.”

Lawrence tilted his head, that same serene, patient tilt.
“And yet death comes, whether we wish it or not. Today. Tomorrow. Always.”

My response came quickly. “Not at my whim. Never at my command.”
I thought of Xolob. All the times I thought Val might not make it. Eshlyn dropping to her knees at the bottom of those stairs. Dent slumped over his hammock, rotting from within.
“Always before I wanted it to, and never because it was right.”

Lawrence’s smile didn’t falter. Didn’t flicker. He studied me, patient as a blade resting on a whetstone. Then, with maddening calm, “And when it comes again, because it will, what will you do then?”

He stepped lightly around the edge of the clearing, never rushing, never pressing, just speaking as if he were outlining a truth as old as the tower itself. “Death isn’t pretty, Remy. But if you could put a leash on it, why let it go?”

I pressed my lips together, heart hammering against my ribs. There was no answer I could give.

“Death will come regardless of your wishes,” he continued, voice dropping to a hush. “The balance will be kept, with or without you. You can close your eyes and let it happen… or you can wield it. Carefully. Wisely. Mercifully.”

His voice was low, calming even, but it was all too much. The words rang in my ears. Compounded by the fact that I knew he was right in some way, but I could hardly trust him. What was he even saying? Wield death? Give life at my whim?

I couldn’t concentrate with him spouting his nonsense.

“Gods, do you ever shut up!”
The words were out before I could stop them, harsh and cracking.
My hands were already on my daggers, pulling them free. Instinct, pure and simple, straight into a defensive stance, Val had hammered into me.

The short space between us held heavy, electric silence.

I breathed once, twice.
And then, slowly, deliberately, slid the blades back into their sheaths.
“Just… give me a second to think,” I muttered, already moving, slow enough not to seem like I was fleeing, fast enough to get away. I needed air. Distance.

Lawrence said nothing as I turned.
Neither did Dawn.

I crossed the clearing, pushing past the flowers without looking at them, until I found the riverbank. The current moved sluggishly here, heavy and dark under the wash of moonlight. I sank down to the grass, elbows on my knees, fingers knotting together tightly.

Behind me, I could still feel them, Lawrence, calm as ever. Dawn, silent and sharp. Watching. But here, at least, I could think clearly.

I sat there for a while, breathing slow, steady, fists locked tight. The river pulled at the rocky shore, sluggish and low, whispering under the moonlight.
Calm down, Remy. Breathe. Think this through.

Lawrence was powerful, dangerously so. A man capable of killing a room full of fighters with barely a whisper. And me? What was I? Sneaky. Lucky, most days.
But what if I could be more? Is that wrong?

I learned to swing a sword. To glide through water. Summon invisible hands.
But this was different.
This was... truly wielding death, decay.
I didn’t want that. Gods, I didn’t want that responsibility.
But that wasn’t all he showed me.

He gave life back.
Healed the flowers.
It’s not just death. It’s also life. It’s balanced.

My breath caught. Thoughts racing, before finally.

If I’d had power like Lawrence, maybe Xolob would still be alive.
Maybe Val wouldn’t have gotten hurt.
Maybe we would have all left that tomb together, as one.
Maybe I could’ve saved Dent before it ever got that bad.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for the Guild or the Watch to catch up to me.

My stomach twisted, but my fists unclenched.

So why did it still feel wrong?

My eyes drifted closed as I took another breath. Felt the current of the river. Listened to it. Let it clear my mind. I knew I had to get back soon but I let myself enjoy the moment. The cool air. The smells of the forest trees. All somehow sharper now.

I didn’t hear him approach, but I didn’t have to. In one way or another, I felt it. Like a presence that couldn’t be ignored.

Lawrence sat down a few feet away, careful, deliberate, giving me space like he knew better than to crowd me.
For a long minute, he didn’t say anything at all.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, stripped of that sharp edge he wore like armor.
“I’m sorry,” he said, almost too quiet for the river to carry. “I pushed you too hard.”

I didn’t look at him, but I heard the weight behind it, not polished, not practiced. A tone I hadn’t heard from him before.

“Remy, the truth is...” He continued, voice steady. “I’m afraid.”

The words caught me off guard. Enough for me to turn toward him. “Afraid?” I asked sharply. “Of what?”

His blood-red eyes met mine. “I’m afraid you have extraordinary potential. And without the right guidance, it will consume you, and everyone around you.”

I stared at him for a long beat. Studying. Then I decided to ask the real questions. “You killed those people in that alleyway?”

He paused, eyes lingering. “Yes.”

“Easily?” I added.

“Of course.”

A pause lingered, silent but heavy.

“You're a danger to me and my friends?” I looked him dead in his eyes.

“I have no care for your friends, and no reason to hurt you.”

My gaze remained sharp. Assessing. “Would you… If it suited you?”

He hesitated again. Waiting a moment before finally answering. “I do what I must. Always.”

The honesty softened something in me, even if the answer was unsettling. “So what is it then? You want to train me so I don’t go off the rails?”

“You are quite perceptive, aren't you.” Not a question.

Another moment passed. “And if I tell you to kick rocks?”

“Then good luck to you. After, of course, you fulfill your end of the bargain and tell me what I want to know about my lost friend.”

“Xolob?” My pulse spiked.

“Yes.”

I swallowed, but stayed silent. Contemplating.

A soft moment went by before he peered at a nearby flower, sprouting along the bank. Then, without flourish, without spellcraft, he plucked a single stem. Held it between his fingers, studying it like it might answer some unspoken question.

He didn’t look at me, just shifted his hand slightly.
The flower’s stem bent, its petals folding inward, life draining from it in a single breath.

And then, a subtle twist of his wrist, the aether rushed back in.
The stem straightened. The petals unfurled. Whole. Vibrant.

He rolled the flower lightly between his fingers, studying it for a moment more before rising to his feet. I stiffened instinctively, but he didn’t move with any urgency, any threat. Just slow, deliberate grace.

Lawrence stepped closer, and with a careful motion, he tucked the flower behind my ear, sliding my hair to follow it. Not forced. Slow enough that I could have stopped him, even though I didn’t. I let the flower’s soft petals brush my skin, cool from his hand.

“It’s only a tool,” he said, voice barely above the whisper of the river.
“What you do with it... That’s what matters.”

When he pulled away, his hand hovered for a breath too long, as if sealing the weight of the moment in the air between us.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. It would be so easy to mistake this for kindness. So easy to forget the power tucked under his skin, and what it would make of me, if I let it.

A breath left me, sure as the river's current. “I have conditions.”

His posture steadied. “Enlighten me.”

“You don’t fuck with my friends.” My jaw clenched. “Don’t even go near them.”

“Easy enough.” He responded swiftly. “I already told you I couldn’t care less about them.”

“You don’t just teach me how to destroy.” I continued, steady. “I want to know how to reverse it. To heal. To Mend.”

A smile creased his lips. “I would have it no other way.”

“Last one.” I looked up at him.

“Yes?” He stared back.

“You take me home now.”

---

                                                                                 ...

 

The world blurred and righted itself in a single, quiet beat. Before I knew it, we were standing on the steps of a fancy inn. The inn housing Eshlyn’s glamorous suite, where I was staying, and everyone else, for the time being.

I blinked quickly as the night air pressed close around us. It was almost as if I could still taste the scent of river mist and floral patterns, but they were gone. Replaced with the familiar polished-stone, posh perfume, and irritating door-lackeys.

Lawrence turned slightly toward me, the movement casual, as if we hadn’t just crossed miles of forest and city in a single breath. “This is the correct location, is it not?”

I squinted at it all, recognizing everything I hated about the place. “Well, yes… but I’m not sure I like that you know that.”

Lawrence didn’t smile. Didn’t need to. But Dawn interrupted, tilting her head towards me in a short bow, “Moonflower.”

So I reciprocated the gesture. Not fully understanding, but it seemed like a goodbye. “Moonflower… to you, too.”

“Good night,” Lawrence said calmly. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

Very comforting.

I only nodded at him before stepping towards the entrance, putting a few feet between us, but the unease stayed tight in my chest. Before I could say anything else, footsteps echoed down the street.

Detective Finch.

He approached with the slow, deliberate gait of someone trying to look casual, and failing. His sharp eyes flicked between us, lingering on Lawrence longer than was probably wise. I was about to turn on my heels and make a run for it when he spoke, but not to me.

“I trust,” Finch said, addressing Lawrence and Dawn, “you won’t be staying long.”

“Just dropping off a friend,” Lawrence answered, smooth as a blade sliding into its sheath.

“A friend?” Finch repeated, skeptical.

“Yes,” Lawrence said. “One that I trust you will not be bothering.”

The detective’s jaw tightened, a tiny shift, almost invisible. But it was there. “You know…”

Then Dawn cut in, stepping between them with a poise that wasn’t overtly hostile, but felt like it could slice bone.
“Wolfsbane,” she said, and I almost laughed, but her tone was blooming sharp and poisonous.

Finch’s spine went rigid.

“Relax,” he said, voice clipped but now too careful. “I have no issue as long as you’re not sticking around longer than necessary.”

Lawrence inclined his head a fraction, not a bow, not respect. Just... acknowledgment. “Enjoy your evening, Detective.”

Finch stood there a breath longer, then gave a stiff nod and retreated, his boots scuffing against the wet stone.

I watched him go, my stomach knotting tighter.
Then Lawrence turned back to me, blood-red eyes steady. Unbothered.

“Wolfsbane, huh?” I muttered under my breath, eyes still lingering on the detective’s retreating back. “Guess that's reassuring.”

Dawn turned to me, expression unreadable but… warmer, maybe. Or as close to warmth as I’d ever seen from her. She reached into the folds of her sleeve and plucked something I hadn’t noticed, a small blossom, delicate and pale, the edges tinged blue like starlight on snow.

She held it out between two fingers.
“Forget-me-not,” she said, her voice lilting, almost tender.

I stared at it for a second, surprised, then carefully took the flower from her hand. “Thank you,” I said softly. “I don’t think I could forget any of this if I tried.”

She didn’t reply, but gave a small bow, a motion somewhere between formality and fondness, then stepped back into Lawrence’s shadow, vanishing into his presence like a ghost into fog.

“Sleep well,” Lawrence said before turning away, more a suggestion than a farewell.

I turned without answering and headed up the stairs, tucking the tiny flower into my satchel like something fragile and full of meaning I didn’t yet understand.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

The door gave a soft snick behind me, quieter than a heartbeat. No creak, no echo. The suite was dim, cast in warm gold shadows from the remaining glowlights left on. That same expensive stillness blanketed everything, velvet drapes unmoved, polished wood floors gleaming, the rich scent of rose oil clinging to the air like memory.

I crept across the front room.

Val was curled in the wing-backed chair by the window, chin tucked into a pillow. Dent was on the divan, arm over his face, boots still on. A mug, long gone cold, rested on the side table beside him, steamless and forgotten.

I moved past them like a shadow toward my room, but the door was open. A single candle flickered inside, casting shadows onto the walls. And there, sitting at the edge of my bed like she'd been carved from moonstone, was Eshlyn.

Her hands were folded in her lap. A nightgown strewn over her. The silk lay in perfect curves, but didn’t make her look any less dangerous.

I closed the door behind me, inching towards her in silent waves until she finally looked up at me. Neither of us said anything for a long breath as I unbuckled the last clunky pieces of my armor, one strap at a time, placing them beside my pack.

“You snuck out,” she said quietly. Her voice was too calm. Not laced with anger, just quiet devastation donned in fabric.

“I needed some air… ” I started.

“Don’t lie!” She snapped, eyes meeting mine. “Not to me.”

That's when I saw it. Her expression was lit dimly by the candlelight. Not furious. Not even disappointed. Just wrecked. Puffy and streaked with tears.

I swallowed, pulse skipping. The way she looked broke something in me.

“Eshlyn.” I kneeled down, fingers curled at my sides. “I wasn’t in danger.”

“Weren’t you!?” she asked, less soft now. “Because you vanished! Your aether signature cut out like a light being doused. I tracked you halfway across the city until it just… ” She stopped to compose herself. Smoothed her hands over her thighs, then wiped a tear that fell to her cheek.

“Until it just stopped,” she said more quietly.

I shifted my weight, shame crawling hot beneath my skin. “I didn’t mean for you to.”

“Worry?” she asked. “That’s what people do, Remy. When they care. When they trust someone.”

That one sank like a stone in my gut.

She stood slowly, the candlelight catching the edge of her cheekbone like the flash of steel. “I told them you’d gone for a walk. That you needed time. Dent believed me, I think… Val didn’t ask, like he knew not to.”

There was nothing I could say.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like? You didn’t just walk outside, you disappeared! I didn’t know if you were dead in some gutter, or taken by him to god knows where… And I just had to sit here. Pretend like I wasn’t coming apart.”

I knew no answer would be good enough.

My jaw clenched. I knew it was stupid. “I just... I needed answers, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to hurt me, so...”

“Pretty sure?!” She cut in, her eyes like blades. “And what did he have that was so worth it to you?”

The words came dry in my throat. “I wanted to find out why I could see that thing the other night.”

Her expression didn’t change. But her voice softened. “And did you?”

I nodded once. “Yes.”

Another silence stretched between us. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if he had?”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She shook her head slowly. “Thought so.”

She crossed the room in two steps and paused right in front of me. “Next time,” she said, voice low but steady, “if you’re going to vanish, at least have the decency to tell me why. If you can't manage that… then don’t come back at all.”

The words hit me hard. Maybe harder than they should have. But I knew they came out of fear, fear dressed up as cold fury.

She moved past me, brushing my shoulder as she did, but I caught her wrist a step from the door.
“Eshlyn, please…” Tears welled up before I could stop them. “Please let me explain.”

“No, Remy. I can't.” Her voice cracked. “If you're going to lie to me like that, then I just can’t.”

I stepped forward and pulled her into me before she could finish, arms wrapping around her like words weren’t enough, like I could hold her together, or maybe just keep myself from falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her hair. “I should never have lied to you.”

For a second, she resisted, her body tense, caught between instinct and hurt. But then she gave in. Slowly, but all at once. Her arms circled my waist, face pressing into my shoulder. “Remy, I was worried sick.”

“I know.” I held her close. “I hurt you, and I’m so sorry for that.”

And we just stood there.
Holding.
Breathing.

Her head nuzzled, wiping her tears on my shoulder. “Gods, Remy, don’t do that to me.”

“I’m sorry, Eshlyn. I really am.” I breathed again.

“Remy…” Her voice cracking like dry parcilin “Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again.”

I held her like I’d never let go. “I won't. I promise I won't.”

We stood like that, the weight of everything still between us, but lighter now, like maybe we could carry it together. And when she finally pulled back, just enough to look at me, I saw it in her eyes.

That she hadn’t forgiven me.
Not fully. I thought maybe she never would.
But I meant what I said, and for the first time in a while, I only felt joy when looking into her eyes.

“Eshlyn,” I cupped her chin. Lingering a moment to admire the specs of light in them.

Her gaze lingered till her forehead met mine. And finally, she leaned into a kiss that I didn’t stop. One that I accepted wholeheartedly. I kissed her back, deepening it slowly, tasting everything I’d kept buried for too long. Her lips warm. Comforting. Then I felt her hands trailing up my spine.

My heart jumped in the shadow of her grace and the press of her fingertips against the frigid air. Soft. Careful. My skin hummed at every touch. Longed for it in every place she wasn’t. I caught her thighs, lifting her gently as her legs wrapped around me.

Then walked us steadily over to the bed, plopping her down onto her back with a yelp that sent me soaring.

I smiled as her lips found me from below, arms cradling my neck, pulling me in again and again. “Eshlyn,” I called, sliding down to whisper into her ear. “Stay?” I asked in a breath, kissing the edge of her jaw, her throat, the hollow above her collarbone.

She arched into my caress.

“Stay with me tonight?” I asked again, sinking lower.

She was already working at the buckles on my remaining armor, fingers trembling softly, when her voice rang in my ear.

“Always”

---

                                                                                 ...

 

The morning light crept in slow, curling around the velvet drapes and spilling across the bed in soft, muted warmth. It touched everything gently, the curve of the high-backed chair, the glint of Eshlyn’s jeweled hairpin on the dresser, the faint impression of clothes discarded across the floor.

The world was still too sharp.

Colors too saturated. Shadows deeper. Every detail around me unnaturally crisp, like I could hear the pulse of life in low hums, see the energy curled beneath every surface. Whatever that interaction with Lawrence was, whatever it woke in me, it hadn’t gone back to sleep.

And then there was Eshlyn.

She lay on her side beside me, bare skin wrapped in the soft press of linen and morning light. One hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting between us, fingers curled loosely into the sheets. Her hair spilled across the pillow in a violet fan, haloed by white. The curve of her body, half hidden by the blanket, rose and fell in time with her breath.

I didn’t move. Just… watched her. Let the quiet of the room settle around us. Let the strange peace in my chest linger just a little longer.

Gods, I’m so lucky.

Her lashes fluttered.

I couldn’t help but smile as she blinked once, twice, and then her eyes found mine. Still sleep-fogged, but vivid. So green it almost hurt to look at now that the room was bright.

She smiled. A small, private smile that sent a butterfly through my gut.

I leaned into it slightly, taking her hand in mine before lacing our fingers and whispering a simple, “Hi.”

She shifted closer until her skin pressed warm against me, the sheets slipping slightly with the motion. “Hey.”

Her forehead bumped mine as I pressed in to give her a soft peck on the lips. “Morning.”

She stared for a long moment, then kissed me fully. A gentle, lingering thing that felt more like a promise than anything else. My hand found the back of her neck to keep her close as she eventually leaned over me, hair cradling my face in a curtain of purple.

A smile creased her lips when we parted, then a slight chuckle before she finally whispered, “Good morning.”

I drank in her features, cradling her chin as long as she’d let me. “Gods, you're beautiful.” My voice came out hoarse from sleep.

She only brushed her hand down my hair in response, smiling all the while. Like I hadn’t betrayed her trust just yesterday.

We didn’t say much more. Just lay there in the hush, breathing together. The air was cool, but the space between us was warm, wrapped in something quiet and real.

Eventually, I shifted to sit up, careful not to jostle the sheets too much as I reached for the nightgown on the floor nearby.

Eshlyn let out a sleepy groan, catching my wrist with waking fingers. “Don’t go running off.”

I leaned back down and brushed her temple with my lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And this time, I meant it.

---

                                                                                 ...

 

The warmth of the room followed me into the suite’s front chamber, still swaddled in early morning hush. Golden light spilled through the pristine drapes like slow-falling starlight.

I padded quietly across the polished wood floors, still barefoot, still wrapped in the faint rose-and-lavender scent of Eshlyn’s perfume. One of her nightgowns hung loosely from my frame, too soft, too fine, and definitely not mine. The hem skimmed just above my knees. The sleeves kept sliding off my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized I’d grabbed hers instead of my own until I reached the kitchen, but I didn’t care. I actually kind of liked it.

Moving felt easy this morning, so I started working on coffee. The real kind, the kind Eshlyn liked, sharp and bitter and rich as sin. It was my first time making it, but my hands knew what to do. Grind. Heat. Pour. It felt good. Enough for me to wonder why I’d never done this before today.

The kettle hissed to life sending a pleasant aroma curling through the air. That’s when I heard the floor creak behind me.

I turned to find Val standing just past the threshold to the living room, arms crossed over his chest, his messy hair stuck in ten different directions. He didn’t speak. Just watched me, eyes cool, unreadable, but burning with something under the surface.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn’t even realize he was moving until he reached me, stepping forward and sweeping me into a sudden, crushing hug.

My breath hitched as he pulled me close, nearly lifting me off the ground. He held me so tight, I forgot what I was doing, forgot where I was. Like his arms could erase every bad thing that might’ve happened.

“Val…” I whispered into his chest, my voice muffled by the firm press of him.

Still, he said nothing. Just stood there, holding me like I was something he wasn’t sure he’d get back. Seconds passed. I don’t know how many. Enough for me to sink into it. Enough for me to feel how much he’d worried without him ever having to say it.

“Val?” I tried again, quieter this time.

Still, he didn’t speak. Just tightened his grip, like that was answer enough. Then, after a long moment, soft, barely audible. “You're okay?”

I nodded, swallowing thickly. “I’m okay.”

Another beat. I felt his breath slow. “Good,” he said quietly. Then he pulled back, hands on my shoulders, gaze scanning my face like he needed to see for himself. I met his eyes, let him look.

“You’re not going to say anything else?” I asked, already missing the warmth he’d left behind.

He let out a long breath, mouth curving just a little. Almost a smile. “You already know.”

He was right. I understood everything he was holding back.

I only nodded, happy he wasn’t making me explain more. “I know.” I let my hands slide up his chest, curling them around his neck to pull him into a final embrace.

Val’s arms were still around me when the lazy rhythm of footsteps echoed behind us. “That's it, I’m joining in.”

I twisted halfway and there he was, Dent, barefoot and bedheaded, wearing one of those wrinkled tunics he never bothered to button properly. My mouth opened to protest, but he was already crossing the room. In three long strides, he wrapped both arms around me and Val at once, smashing us into a tangle of limbs and warmth.

Val grunted when Dent nearly lifted us both off the ground. “Ease up, you brutish idiot.”

Dent just snorted. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was interrupting something intimate.” But his grip never faltered, solid and warm, like he was trying to hug away everything unsaid.

I laughed, buried somewhere between both of them. “You’re crushing me.”

“And you’re wearing Eshlyn’s nightgown,” Dent said, voice smug and amused right against my ear.

I went still. “Am not.”

Val leaned back just enough to raise a brow.

Dent grinned wide. “You absolutely are. It’s practically swallowing you whole.”

My face flushed instantly. “Oh my gods, please shut up.”

He hugged me tighter. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I would have missed this.”

And just like that, it didn’t matter that no one said the words I know what you did. It was all there, wrapped in warmth and mischief.