Floor 2: Chapter Four

TW: Descriptive suicidal idiology. Suicidal ideations. Self-harm. Please take care of yourself and be safe.

The garden behind the manor was a magnificent maze of floral arrangements and hedges tall enough that I couldn’t see over them. Well-maintained benches were placed along the edges, as if we were in a city park somewhere. Every section was predicated with rose canopies.

Nyla pranced around hunting for any insect or rodent the servants hadn’t already exterminated, but I couldn’t spot any. Something about the false sky made me think she wouldn’t either.

"So what’s the plan then?" I asked, letting him guide me through the maze, my hand resting on his arm simply because he offered it. He always did, like he held some archaic sense of propriety that I didn’t feel like fighting him on. "Massacre more flowers, or is there a pond you want to splash around in?"

Lawrence's mouth curved into that infuriating half-smile. “There is a natural spring out past the garden.”

There’s nothing natural about this place. I shook my head in disbelief and laced my voice with some fake pomp. “Shall we fetch our bathing clothes, or have the servants already anticipated our desires for splashing?”

His lips curved into a smirk, "I so adore the enthusiasm, but no.” Then returned to a flat expression. “I’m afraid we must begin with something far less appealing.”

“And what’s that?” I bumped him lightly with my shoulder.

"A conversation, Remy." He gestured, pulling me gently through a canope that led to a large fountain and what must have been the centerpiece of the garden. "I need to know what I'm working with before we move onto more entertaining segments."

The center section was beautiful. Ornate benches lined the hedges that formed a square around the circular fountain. I took in the view for a moment before calling out as if invisible ears were listening. “Put the clothes away!” I waved my hand in pompous motion. “There will be no splashing, only boring shit we’ve already done.”

That pulled a real chuckle out of him. "Well..." He slowed his walk and turned to face me in a motion so fluid I nearly bumped into him. "If you're not enjoying our spirited dialogue..." His gaze traced my curves in a way that felt far too contemptuous for polite company. "Perhaps there is something else I could tempt you with."

He was close enough that I could smell whatever cologne he wore, something dark and expensive. Close enough to see the exact shade of red in his eyes, deeper than wine, brighter than blood. My pulse spiked as the air shifted.

Gods yes.

The thought hit before I could stop it, my body tilting toward him with dreadful slowness, pulled by what could only be stupidity. His gaze dropped to my mouth, just for a second, calculated and testing, before meeting my eyes again with that knowing look that said he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Don't.

But my heart was already racing, remembering the intoxicating precision of his touch. Heat flushed my cheeks at how easily it unraveled me before.

Why not?

The question whispered through my mind like a temptation I was rapidly losing the ability to resist. Maybe it wouldn't mean anything. It hadn't the first time… Or maybe it did.

The thought pulled me back to my senses. Barely, but enough.

"Hell no." I placed a reluctant hand on his chest and stepped back, breaking whatever spell had me biting my lip and wanting to punch something just to distract myself. "What do you want to know?"

Lawrence continued with that knowing smile, letting the moment pass with infuriating ease. Like he hadn't just proven I was one decent tug away from making spectacularly bad decisions.

"Now then." He resumed our stroll, as I let my hand rest back on his arm, pretending nothing had happened. "First, I find your upbringing more than peculiar. So tell me, what do you know of your birth parents?"

“Uhh.” My hand slipped away immediately. "How is that relevant?"

"It could explain a great deal." He tilted his head, expression shifting to something more analytical. "Do you know if they were magically inclined?"

I shook my head and moved to sit on a nearby garden bench, suddenly tired of walking. "I have no idea. The closest I ever got to finding out was when I got arrested. The Watch ran blood tests on me, tried to find a relative to hand me off to, but it didn't come back with anything."

His brow furrowed. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing." I stared at the perfectly trimmed hedges, remembering the white-walled office where they'd delivered the news. "I've seen the file. It's not that I don't use my family name. I don't have one."

"Hmm." The sound was contemplative. I could practically hear his mind working through the implications. "Very well. Let's move on." He sat down beside me, close enough that I could feel the flush working its way back in. "We both know you're an absolute menace to flora, but have you noticed any other particular affinities?"

"Affinities?” I had no idea what that meant. “You mean like the four pillars?"

"No, those are restrictions." He laced his fingers together, settling into what I was beginning to recognize as his teaching posture. "But most mages have an affinity toward one element or type of aether-control. Usually associated with bloodlines or deeper persona."

I blinked. "You're kidding? Only one element?" I shrugged, thinking of Eshlyn surrounded by lightning, ice, barriers, and everything else. "I've seen Eshlyn use… Basically, all of them."

"Yes, exactly." His tone warmed slightly, like I'd said something particularly astute. "Not to say the other elements are unreachable, but they simply require more focus to manifest. For most, the difference is significant enough for them to anchor themselves into one, and they would consider someone like Eshlyn to be a prodigy."

I leaned back against the bench, genuinely surprised. "Eshlyn's a prodigy?"

He shrugged with one elegant shoulder. "Subjectively speaking, yes, she is."

Then what the hell am I?

The thought rattled around my skull uncomfortably. Eshlyn was better than me, of course. A proper mage, and a good one. I could never do what she does, but it’s not like I couldn’t sense her jealousy at times or the way she looked at me, like I’m a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

"Fine, but I don't have any affinities." I shook my head, trying to dismiss the weight of that question. "I'm hardly even a mage. I just… Do things. Tricks, I guess."

"Tricks?" One eyebrow arched.

"C'mon." I sat up straighter, gesturing vaguely. "Stop pretending you don't know what I can do."

"I know of your potential, Remy." He chuckled, low and warm. "I'm informed, not a stalker."

I clicked my tongue, not entirely convinced. "Mhmm. Fine. Tricks like aether-hands. Muffled steps. Boosted senses, stuff like that. I've gotten better. Or at least I was getting better." The admission tasted bitter on my tongue. "I learned to jump."

"Jump?" His head tilted.

“You know.” I shrugged, trying for casual and probably missing. "Like… Teleport."

"Spatial distortion,” He clarified, “...is quite a step up from the other tricks you described." He studied me with renewed interest, the kind that made me feel both uneasy and strangely admired. "How did you come to figure that one out?"

"I didn't.” I clarified immediately. “I just..." My gaze trailed away, remembering the panic and desperation. "Pulled aether until it hurt and then needed to not be where I was standing."

"When you say 'pulled aether,' you mean to say you channeled?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess." I talked with my hands, trying to explain something I didn't fully understand myself. "So now I channel and try to go somewhere, but the first time it just kind of happened."

Lawrence went very still. "Make sure I understand this correctly. You've been channeling without first pushing your intent into the weave?"

"Yeah,” I said, getting weirded out by the clarification. “...I mean, I don't always use it right away. I just keep it until I need it, or something happens."

"That's..." He looked genuinely mortified, which was a strangely satisfying expression to see on him. "Show me."

"Okay, but you're freaking me out a bit," I smirked and started to pull aether, feeling it gather beneath my skin like static electricity.

"Not here." He cut in, motioning with his chin toward the manor's flat roof, resting between the spires. "Up there."

"The roof?"

"Yes." He stood and held out his hand, expression unreadable. "Take us there, will you?"

I paused, staring at his extended hand, "Yeah, sure, whatever." Then took it, and before I could think better of it, before I could question the impulse or talk myself out of it, I laced my fingers through his.

His grip tightened in gentle acknowledgment. Something that released a very reluctant butterfly into my gut.

…

We landed on solid stone, still holding hands.

A training platform stretched out before us, a massive expanse of flat rooftop ringed by castle spires that looked like they'd been carved from obsidian. The view stretched the entire estate and beyond. High enough to make out what was past the carefully manicured treeline. High enough to realize that the forest dropped out into… Nothing. Just void. Empty space that pressed in like darkness against glass.

I let go of Lawrence's hand and took a few steps toward the edge, catching a glimpse of Nyla still prowling the gardens before shifting my gaze to study the emptiness beyond. "What is this place anyway?" I turned back to face him, gesturing at the false sky pressing down above us. "There's no sun, no weather. Like... what floor are we even on?"

"No floor." Lawrence's expression shifted to something almost playful. "My home lies loosely connected but adjacent to the tower. A spatial distortion in its own right." He executed a dramatic bow, one hand flourishing. "If you like, you may consider me to be my very own floor guardian."

“Gods.” I blinked, realizing I was about to inflate his ego more than I wanted to. "That's... fucking crazy."

He chuckled, straightening. "I'm glad you think so. It keeps us safe, is all. A place without worry."

"You need all of this to be safe?" I questioned, gesturing at the impossible architecture, the void beyond, the entire pocket dimension he'd apparently carved out of reality. "If this is what you're capable of, I can't think of a single person who could harm you."

"Well." His jaw tightened, something solemn passing across his features as his eyes fell to the floor. "I can."

The words landed with unexpected weight. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Anyway.” He cleared his throat and gestured toward the center of the platform. "You’re channelling."

I didn't want to press him on whatever that admission meant, so I just nodded. "Sure."

"Not too much," he cut in, an edge of genuine concern in his voice.

"Relax." I scoffed, though it came out more like a nervous laugh. Then pulled aether the way I always did, raw and undirected, letting it gather like static until the pressure built and turned to pinpricks against my skin. “That enough?”

Lawrence studied me with some kind of clinical interest. "It hurts, does it not?"

“Well...” I started. "...Right now not so much, but it's aether-strain, so of course it does… or… will."

"Not quite." He said, tone very matter-of-fact. "Aether-strain is fueling a spell with your life force when you've requested too much from the weave. Without direction, there is not yet a spell to fuel. Perhaps a nuance, but I assure you, it is not the same."

I blinked at him, "Then what is it? I mean, isn't this how everyone... casts?"

He chuckled at that, an actual snicker of disbelief. "No, it most certainly is not…” He paused. “…But consider me intrigued." Then backed up a few steps as a fortress of translucent barriers materialized between us, layer after layer of shimmering aether that caught the false light and refracted it into rainbow edges. "Go ahead, Remy." He gestured encouragingly. "Pull more… As much as you can stomach."

"Uh-huh." I eyed the barriers, then him. "And what are those for?"

"In case you explode, of course." His tone was infuriatingly casual as he brushed nonexistent dust off his shoulder. "I'd hate to dirty the attire that was so thoughtfully anticipated by my gracious servants."

"Very reassuring." I shot him a look, but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. "Is this how all your lessons are going to be? You not really knowing what the hell is happening?"

He grinned. Actually grinned. Wide and fanged. "I'm sure you will cease to be interesting soon enough. Perhaps in a few moments." He gestured again. "Now, if you will."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath, knowing this was about to hurt.

“Fine.” I pulled until it burned. Paused. Then stopped giving a fuck entirely.

I let the aether flow in like a dam breaking. The same way I’d done all the desperate times before. The burn intensified, quickly spreading through my veins like molten metal. It raked against my skin as every nerve ending screamed in protest. I almost stopped, but pain was familiar, and after the last few months, it almost felt like freedom, so I pushed past it, drawing more and more until I felt like I might actually come apart at the seams.

"Fascinating," Lawrence murmured, circling around the barriers to observe from different angles. "It appears as though the formless aether is trying to do what it should. That is, deconstruct you from the inside out, but it's simply... not able to." He tilted his head, thoroughly intrigued. "It may be painful, but the raw aether has no effect… Could you keep going?"

"Yeah, I think so." I choked out the words, palms white in my grip. "But I sure as hell don’t want to."

The barriers dropped.

“If you would humor me one more time, then.” Lawrence studied me for another moment, then turned and pointed toward the landscape at the estate's edge. "Lay waste to that treeline."

“How?” I stared at him. "With what?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you can, I suppose."

"Fine… I guess." I focused on the trees, trying to infuse all this accumulated power with intent. Imagined them exploding in flame, being torn apart by wind, anything, but nothing happened.

Of course not.

"I don't know how to do that," I muttered, voice echoing my frustration.

"Hmm." Lawrence clasped his hands together, considering. "That’s not it… You're sitting on a stockpile of unfocused aether. Affinity or not, it's itching to get out and should concede to your intent."

"Okay, well, I'm trying, and it's not happening." Irritation bled into my tone. "I've never been able to do anything like that, so I don't know what you mean."

He didn’t flinch. "I mean you either don't want to, don't believe you can, or both."

"Fucking shit, Lawrence." My voice began to lace with an amplification spell I hadn’t focused. "Maybe I can't obliterate the trees, but I'm at least trying to want to."

"Why?" His tone was infuriatingly casual, almost mocking. "Because you're angry?"

"No! Because it fucking hurts to stand around with this much channeled, and I'm telling it what to do! I'm pushing the intent. I'm doing the thing!" Thunder seemed to crack through my words, aether resigning to my agitation.

"Are you now?" He stepped closer, voice dropping to something almost gentle despite the mockery still threading through it. "A little secret, I care not for destructive displays either. I couldn't lay waste to the treeline. Not in the way you're probably imagining, because that's not who I am." He paused, holding my gaze without so much as a blink of uncertainty. "So what do you really want from all this raw power that you've so recklessly willed into yourself?"

"I don't fucking know!" The words tore out of me. "You're the teacher, why don't you tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do with it!?"

Lawrence reached out and took my arm, holding it up between us with a surprisingly gentle grip.

I felt his palm on my skin, but my arm was gone. Still present but completely translucent. My eyes flicked down to the rest of me to find the same thing. My entire form made invisible against the backdrop of the rooftop arena. The only thing still visible was the soulstone bracelet, tight around my vanished wrist. We both watched in silence as my form flickered in and out like a candle flame struggling against the wind. The accumulated aether draining away with it.

I want to disappear.

"...Shit…" The word came out quiet, defeated as my form solidified again, flesh and bone returning to visibility. "So that's it." I couldn't look at him. "That's how I fucked everything up." My posture broke as something in my chest sank low, and I pressed my eyes closed for a long second, knowing, definitively now, that it was my fault. Worse. It wasn’t some random, unrepeatable accident. It was me. I did it just like I teleported. Just like I’d turned invisible. My subconscious mind was a weapon I could never contain.

Lawrence released my arm gracefully and stepped back, giving me space I wasn't sure I wanted. He walked a few paces away, one hand pressed to his chin in that contemplative gesture I was beginning to recognize as his thinking pose. "It’s reactionary spellcraft," he said finally, voice measured and clinical. Like we were discussing theory instead of my complete inability to control my own existence.

Something in his expression had shifted when he turned back to face me. Not concern, at least not the kind normal people showed. This was something like interest or fascination. The look of someone who'd just discovered something rare and couldn't quite contain their excitement about it.

"Speaking plainly, you've displayed the ability to transmute three of the four pillars. Life, death, and now space." He shook his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "And the best way you know how is to channel raw aether into yourself, letting it react to your intent, purely based on instinct… Willful or not." He let out a soft chuckle. "It's ridiculous."

A beat of silence passed. I had no idea what to say, or if I wanted to talk at all. Didn’t know if I still wanted to be here. Stay. Go. Vanish again. I guess my magic knew what I wanted even if I didn’t, and it was right.

"...And I love it." He finally continued.

I stared at him in complete disbelief. "You what?"

"It's not perfect," he added, turning back toward me like he hadn't just said the most insane thing I'd heard all day, and that was saying something. "We could make you name spells, push intent while channeling like everyone else, but that would be a waste."

"A waste?" The word came out deflated.

"Yes, Remy. Forgive me for being blunt, but it would be a complete waste of such unique talent."

Something snapped.

"Nah, forgive me for calling you a fucking lunatic!" My voice was laced with bite. "This bullshit talent is what imprisoned my brother."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. For the first time since I'd met him, Lawrence seemed genuinely caught off guard and at a loss for words. "...That's not…” He started. “...You…” He tried again, before finally. “...I don't think you understand how impossibly rare this is."

"Fuck Lawrence! I don't give a shit!" My voice came out sharp enough to cut. "I'm not here because I want to open the floodgates of whatever power I might have. I'm doing this because I don't want to hurt anyone, and we just proved that I have no control and likely never will."

“What makes you think you’ll never have control?” His brows furrowed.

“Because I’m not doing it! It’s happening subconsciously! I didn’t want to turn invisible. I wasn’t even remotely trying to. I didn't want to activate the scroll that trapped Dent. Whatever this pillar-breaking power is, I can’t even trust it enough to fucking listen to me.”

"So it needs refinement." He countered, voice taking on that careful, measured tone again. Like if he just explained it properly, I'd understand. "We shut down unintended use of destructive paths. Hone your intent so it doesn't run amok. Design safeguards. That is the purpose of your mentorship, is it not?"

"I don't… " My hands clenched into fists. "I don't know, Lawrence. Shit. I just… " The admission fought its way up my throat. "I'm fucking scared, alright!? I didn't know that's what I was doing, and now I'm just scared of doing anything at all."

The words hung in the air between us. Vulnerable and exposed. Exactly the kind of weakness I never enjoyed showing.

I’d hurt plenty of people before I had any magic at all, and now this. It felt like every time I got even remotely close to someone, the universe became intent on burning it all to the ground. Like every time I near anything blissful, it punches me in the ribs.

There was only so many times I could make excuses before the obvious pattern presented itself. Me. I learned I could wield death, and was trying to make amends with that, but just when I thought I might, I realized it’s not even me doing it. It’s whatever my subconscious mind dictates I want or need or whatever. I had no fucking control, and how could I ever find any if I can’t even trust myself? Honestly, I don’t even know who the hell I really am. Where did I even come from? Is this why I grew up alone?

"Remy." His voice dropped quieter than I'd heard it before. Almost tender. "I understand."

"Don't." I wrapped my arms around myself, like it was all I could do to hold myself together. "Just. Don't."

"Would you look at me?" He said, soft but laced with something solid.

I shook my head, stared at the stone beneath my feet.

His tone softened further. "Please."

Fuck.

It physically hurt, but I did. I met his gaze, every second threatening to hollow me out.

"I know you don't trust me. You have no reason to." His jaw tensed. "But no one understands what you're going through more than me. You may have grown up on the streets, but I grew up with this. This type of power that broke my family.” He continued. Eyes crushingly soft. “I've wished I could bury it away more times than I can count, and I don't want the same for you. I want to help you."

Silence settled over the rooftop like snow.

"You don't get it." My voice cracked despite my best efforts. "Even if I could…" I gestured helplessly at him. "Trust… You." Then down at the soulstone on my wrist. "I just... How could I ever trust myself?"

"You can do this, Remy. I know you can, and you’re not alone." He took a step closer, careful, like approaching a wounded animal. "I'm here. We're here. Please just provide me a little bit of faith."

I stepped back, voice barely a whisper as my eyes turned back to the ground. "I want to go home now."

He froze mid-stride. Something flickered across his expression, calculation, frustration, maybe even fear before he locked it all down behind that careful mask. "Remy... I didn't… "

"I want to leave." I interrupted, going back to holding his gaze, now refusing to look away. "Take me home."

The silence stretched out, painful and sharp. I watched his expression cycle through emotions too fast for me to name. Then his features smoothed into something carefully neutral, though his eyes remained too intense, too focused. "You've always been free to go." His voice was measured. "But we did make a deal."

"Then show me how to come back." My jaw tensed. "Trust that I will."

He studied me for a long moment. Long enough that I almost broke under the weight of that red-eyed stare. Then he nodded, "If that's what you want." Something in his carefully neutral expression looked almost like panic, quickly masked, but there for just a second. He turned toward the spire stairs leading down from the roof. "I'll show you the way out."

I followed him, the soulstone heavy on my wrist and my brother's soul heavier still in my chest. Behind us, the false sky pressed down like a weight I was desperate to escape, and ahead of me walked the only person who claimed to understand. One I couldn't afford to trust.

One more problem I didn't know how to solve.

…

Nyla caught up with us, hopping up onto my shoulders as Lawrence led me to a small shed behind the manor. Inside was an empty room with a single door for entering and exiting. Turning back towards the door revealed a brass dial with colored markers.

"It's already attuned to your signature," he said, voice carefully neutral. "Pink takes you to Floor Two. Black brings you back here."

I stared at the dial. "That's it? Just twist and walk through?"

"That's it." He paused. "But this is a closely guarded secret. Council authorities don't know it exists, so consider it as... me trusting you with something valuable."

"Right." I nodded, not even trying for a smile.

“Before you go.” He produced a package wrapped in brown parchment and a single, freshly picked rose, stem still laden with thorns. "The book for Eshlyn," he said. "And your homework."

I took both, careful not to let our fingers touch. "Homework?"

"The rose." He gestured to it. "If you’d like to practice, then try cutting the life thread without killing the flower. A severed thread cannot be undone, so you will need more than one, but you should practice until you can fray and restore it cleanly."

I looked down at the flower in my hand. Bright red petals, some of them turning pink. "That's it? Try not to kill it?"

"That's it." His expression was unreadable. "Master restraint on something small. Something that doesn't matter if you fail."

I nodded, the weight of it settling in my chest. Something that doesn't matter. Unlike Dent. Unlike everyone I might hurt, and already have.

"Remy." His voice was quieter. "I didn't mean to, on the roof, I should have been more careful with how I…" He stopped. Started again. "I know it’s not fair, and you're frightened. I know this is overwhelming… But running won't make it go away."

"I'm not running," I said, though we both knew that was a lie. "I just need… Space."

"I understand." He took a step back, giving me room. "When you're ready, the door will be here. No pressure. No timeline."

I wanted to believe he wasn't calculating every word, every gesture. That this was genuine concern and not some strategy.

Gods, I wish I could trust you. "Goodbye, Lawrence."

He looked at me for a long moment. Something flickered in his expression, worry, maybe, or frustration; he was too controlled to voice. "Be safe, Remy." He paused. "Please."

The last word caught me off guard. Like it felt genuine in a way the rest didn't.

I turned the dial to pink and opened the door before I could think too hard about how this weird door mechanism might actually work, then stepped through without looking back. Bright daylight spilled through large windows as I turned the corner, walking out of the backroom in an old, cluttered shop deep in the fey markets on Floor Two. A grey-haired pixie shopowner smiled as I walked by, but I tried hard to ignore them on my way out the exit.

My gaze trailed down to the rose in my hand, petals beginning to curl as I made my way through the narrow streets. I guess some part of me was curious enough to try. So I stopped for a second, tapping into the weave to press the lightest, most delicate cut I could muster. Its tether to life snapped clean through, and it wilted immediately.

Cut without killing. Master restraint. I almost laughed. Almost cried. What a load of bullshit. All of it. Hone my intent? Design safeguards? Shut down the destructive paths before they manifest?

I would swear to the gods themselves that I never asked for that scroll to activate. I hardly even remembered it was there. I never wanted this. If that wasn’t enough, I apparently decimated the vegetation in the whole area. What shithole part of my subconscious thought that was necessary?

I wanted to disappear today. Fine. I still do, but I didn't even realize it until I was already invisible. That’s not something you can fix or train away, and even if I decided to NEVER cast again, it’s not like I hadn’t been laying a path of destruction long before now, and it’d still run the risk of it spilling out of me at any vulnerable moment.

One slip. That's all it takes. One nightmare, one moment of anger, one unconscious wish, and I might literally kill someone, or worse.

I tossed the flower away. Let it join the other dead things I'd left in my wake as I tucked the book under my arm and started the short walk toward home.

…

The three-story house that encased everyone I cared about looked the same as it always did. Warm light spilled from the windows, golden and inviting in the settling dusk. I could make out shapes moving inside. Lyssa at the stove, probably. Eshlyn's silhouette passed by the second-floor window. It didn’t seem like Val was home; he must have been out somewhere. Life continuing the way it should.

I stood on the street below, Lawrence's book tucked under one arm, Nyla a growing weight on my shoulders. My feet felt rooted to the cobblestones, like if I stood here long enough, I'd turn into one more forgotten fixture. A simple statue left to degrade with time.

Just go in. At least give Eshlyn the book.

My hand found the railing of the front steps. One foot on the first stair. Then nothing. I froze.

Whether Lawrence meant to or not, we had figured it out, and now I knew. Knew that every subconscious thought was a fuse to the volatile powderkeg of my ability. My limitless and idiotic spellcraft not even constrained by whatever fundamental pillars upheld reality. All of a sudden, it felt like I could kill in my sleep. Rip the house apart with a nightmare. I was a weapon masquerading as an individual. A weapon stupid enough to grow attached and let someone love it.

My hand snapped back like the railing had burned me.

I stared at it a moment before letting out a sigh and easing down to sit on the steps. Lightly paranoid that one of them would open the door and I’d have to explain myself.

Nyla hopped down off my shoulders, big black eyes peering up at me like they could see the war waging beneath my skin.

I looked down at her, this living shadow who has hardly left my side since I killed her mother, leading that cursed expedition that took everything from me. "What do you want to do, Nyla?"

I thought about it for a long moment. Wondering if I wanted to run off. Where could I even go?

Not back to the estate. Lawrence wanted me to embrace whatever this was, to lean into the thing that bound Dent to a fate worse than death. To treat my unintended casting as some kind of tool to be honed instead of the indiscriminate weapon it actually was. "And I love it," he'd said, like my brother's eternal imprisonment was just a fascinating side effect of a unique talent.

He doesn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know how much I hated it. How every spark of power reinforced the idea that I can never be free of it. I knew better than to believe he wasn’t getting anything out of this. Nothings free, so why did I let those sweet words and soft expressions wear me down?

…I can’t go back there, not right now…

But I couldn't stay here either. Couldn't walk up those steps, turn that doorknob, sit at the table, and pretend I wasn't a loaded crossbow pointed at everyone I cared about.

Heading back down to Floor One wasn’t an option. Even if I could avoid being arrested, the memories would plague me in the worst of ways.

I looked over to Nyla. At least she could make up her mind. She chirped, prancing in a small circle before lying down.

"Yeah, I figured." I reached to scratch behind her ears. "You probably want to stay, right? Nom on Val's boots some more. Steal Lyssa's cooking.” Live a pleasant, long life with some nice people.

My mind went to the Feywilds stretching out beyond the city wall, chaotic, vast, and full of places where people vanished without a trace or got lost forever. It was never the same two days in a row. Just wild, untamed wilderness, where a girl could walk until she was never seen again.

No one could follow me there. Never be able to find me. I could teleport far enough to blink out of trackable range in an instant… But my mind drifted to the last time I’d done that. Remembered how Eshlyn’s voice cracked like dry porcelain, yelling at me to never do it again… And I promised I wouldn’t.

I shouldn’t have.

I finally stood and climbed the steps slowly, each one feeling heavier than the last. Then set Lawrence's book down on the doorstep. The brown parchment was a stark contrast to the weathered stone.

Then I reached up and unclasped Eshlyn's necklace. The silver felt cold in my palm, the delicate chain catching the lamplight from inside, and placed it on top of the book.

The moment I let go, something burned at the base of my skull, not quite pain, but it felt just like… Nico's deal. Not like I’d broken anything, not yet, but it was close enough to make itself known. Almost like some cosmic arbiter was giving me a warning.

Don’t disappear without saying goodbye.

"Shit," I whispered under my breath.

I stared at the necklace on the doorstep, thinking it through. I could just say it. Right here, right now. ‘Goodbye.’ The binding would fade, technically fulfilled. Wouldn’t it? I said goodbye to Lawrence earlier, but I guess that didn’t count. Maybe I had to direct it towards Nico, or at least have the deal in mind when I said it aloud. That had to be it. I needed to at least intend to fulfill the deal, but they would notice. Would feel the deal’s finality and know I'd said it alone, in the dark, to no one. They might come looking. Or worse, tell them to.

I just need to do it at the right time. Right before I step out. The burn faded slightly with the thought.

I looked up at the window one more time. Lyssa moved past, carrying something. Probably dinner. Maybe they'd eat together. It was a nice thought. They’ll get by. Maybe notice I hadn't come home. Maybe worry for a while. But they'd move on eventually, and they'd be alive and unharmed. Free enough to worry. That was what mattered.

I turned away from the house, from the warm light and the kind of life I couldn't have anymore, and started walking toward the wall. Toward the massive spiral-like tree that overlooked the Feywilds. Toward the choice I'd already made, even if my feet felt like lead with every step.

Nyla hopped up, settling against my neck, a small, warm reminder that I wasn't completely alone. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re not coming with me," I told her, but her claws dug in response. Enough to read the sass in her pawprints.

“Uh-huh.” I reiterated. “I mean it.”

She yowled, an actual, indignant sound I'd never heard from her before.

I shook my head but didn’t fight her on it, and didn’t look back.

The book and necklace stayed where I'd left them, catching the lamplight like evidence I was moving on.

…

Nyla and I climbed the spiraled tree trunk like it was any other morning. Of course, this time it was the dead of night, but the streets were still busy with chatter. Always were it seemed like. We hauled ourselves up, reaching our familiar perch. The one with the thick branch that jutted out towards the wall.

The landscape beyond spread out like a blanket of darkness. Tuning my vision lit it in shades of blue and grey. Enough to make out the shapes of the slopes and distant trees at least.

The night sky pressed down overhead, bright with stars and constellations. A contrast to Lawrence’s estate, which had none of it. I lay back on the trunk, staring up at them.

Nyla settled into my lap, purring like she hadn't just witnessed me abandon my family. I ran my fingers through her fur, focusing on the repetitive motion and the stars above.

The soulstone pulsed against my wrist, faint and rhythmic. Dent's prison. My creation. The physical proof that I was exactly what I'd realized on that rooftop, a blade that couldn't be sheathed.

"Hey," I said quietly, touching the stone. "If you can hear me, I hope you're not too pissed to respond. I wouldn't blame you if you were, but… I think I know what to do now."

The stone's rhythm didn’t change; it just beat like it usually did. A faint glow of silver light.

"I’ve spent most of my life fighting to survive," I muttered, rambling out loud even if no one was listening. "A desperate thief, scraping by with lies and quick feet. Always thinking that if I just fought hard enough, if I just survived long enough, eventually things would get better. That I’d stop having to do it all the time, but no."

The Feywilds stretched out below, dark and wild.

“No matter how many times I get back up, it’s for nothing. All that grit, just to end up here. Just to realize I'm not someone who makes mistakes. I am the mistake… I’m going to hurt people.” No amount of training could dissuade that simple fact. “I’ve already done it to so many. Gods, so many fucking people. For what?”

The weight of that settled in my chest like stones.

“Some part of me can just feel it. I know it in my core. The stupid instinctual magic, the power over death, it’s not something I have. It's who I am…” No amount of safeguards could separate me from my subconscious mind. “I can't separate myself from it any more than I can stop breathing, so what’s the point?”

The soulstone flared brighter for just a second.

"So I see two options," I said, voice surprisingly calm. "I jump into the Feywilds, and just... keep walking. Maybe something will finally succeed in killing me, or I’ll find a hollowed-out tree to live in, but at least no one could follow."

Nyla's purring intensified, like she was trying to drown me out or fill any bit of silence I might let her.

"Or..." I peered into the weave, pressing a hand to my chest and channeling just enough to peer deeper. Quickly finding my very own tether to life. The silent cord connected to everything and nothing all at once. Thicker than I imagined it would be, and beautiful in that terrible sort of way. “I could give myself what I so selfishly stole from you," I finished quietly, but without reservation. "Peace. Rest. I’d even get to spite the universe by using this fucked up power to do it. Finally, give in to what fate has obviously wanted my entire existence.”

I wondered if I could do it in one cut. “I’m even curious how easy it’d be,” I admitted. Would it be fragile like the flower? Or require a bigger push, like when I destroyed your camp? “Either way. I could do it. One precise cut and I'd finally have control over something. The one thing that mattered. No suffering. Just... over."

Nyla licked my hand. Sharp tongue like sandpaper against my palm.

"None of that helps you, though.” I continued. “So I’ll leave the soulstone somewhere they'll find it.” I ran my thumb over the surface. They’ll figure out how to free you, eventually. Probably Eshlyn or just… Someone smarter than me. Someone who wasn't a walking disaster. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands, and then come back here. Pick one of the only two options I have left. Simple. Done."

The stone hummed with something steady and certain.

“Well.” I nodded. “We don’t have to decide tonight.” I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t, but the peace that followed was almost frightening in its completeness. Like I'd been holding my breath for months and finally remembered how to exhale. “I should still go over there, at least one last time.”

So tomorrow, then. I’ll come back. Decide. Maybe that’ll be it.

Nyla looked up at me with those big black eyes, and I could swear she understood every word.

"You're not coming with me," I told her firmly. "When I drop off the soulstone, you stay there. With them. They'll take care of you better than I ever could.”

She made a sound that was half-chirp, full-protest.

“Yeah, well," The words came easier than they should have. "For now, let’s just go home, make breakfast, pretend everything's fine… because, I mean… it is.” I shrugged with alarming nonchalance. “I’ll let them see me happy so they remember the good times.”

They’ll appreciate that, won’t they?

The hours crawled by as I sat in that tree, trying to catch the Feywilds shift and move through the darkness, and felt nothing but relief. One happy day, then I’ll either leave or rest. The weight I'd been carrying, the responsibility, the fear, the constant terror of when I might slip next, all of it faded into background noise.

Tomorrow, I'd smile. I'd laugh. I'd give them one perfect day to remember me by. And then I’d give myself the one thing I'd been too stubborn to accept my entire life.

Rest.

Probably rest. Maybe Feywilds. Either way, finality. The soulstone pulsed one more time, and I chose to believe it was Dent sharing a preliminary goodbye.

The sun crept in slowly over the horizon as the darkness faded into a grey color that signaled my departure. I climbed down, energized despite not getting a wink of sleep. Nyla was reluctant, but following as we started the walk back toward home, feeling lighter than I had in months.

Floor 2: Chapter Four - Options