I don't remember falling asleep.
One minute, I was curled in the corner of the old chamber, the mark on my chest still pulsing faintly like it didn't know how to fade.
The next, I'm somewhere else entirely.
Not dreaming.
Not exactly.
The ground beneath me is black stone, stretching into mist. There's no ceiling, no sky—-only stars spinning far too fast, like the realm is breathing in reverse.
I don't move.
Because I'm not afraid.
I'm waiting.
Then I see him.
Not clearly.
Fragments.
Justin, sleeping in his bed, suddenly sitting up clutching his chest like it hurts to breathe. A shimmer of light cuts across his skin—-the same mark that burns on mine.
He doesn't speak.
But I feel it.
The pain.
The pull.
The ache that never really left either of us.
Then I'm closer.
His head is bowed, and I realize—-
I'm seeing through him.
No—-with him.
I feel his confusion.
His guilt.
His restraint.
And the part of him that still wants to find me, even if he doesn't forgive me.
The bond stretches between us in the vision—-not bright, not clean—-a tattered thread hanging by a thread of belief.
And then a voice—-soft, ancient, not mine—-not his—-fills the air around us:
"He won't wait forever."
I jerk awake,
The chamber is pitch black.
The cold clings to my skin.
And I'm shaking—-not from fear. From recognition.
The mark over my heart still glows.
And my first thought—--before logic, before guilt—--is his name.
Justin.
*********
The shadows don't match.
That's the first thing I notice.
The chamber I fell asleep in had narrow arches and iron sconces lining the walls—-cold, sterile, unmoving. This one is different.
The walls are curved, almost breathing. The light here comes from somewhere I can't see, dim and gold, like candlelight without a flame.
I sit up slowly, the sheets coarse and unfamiliar.
My heart hasn't stopped racing since the vision. Since him.
Since the voice.
I press my hand to the mark still glowing faintly over my chest.
It pulses once—-soft, almost shy.
This isn't where I was.
I rise carefully, my bare feet hitting the stone with a sound too loud in the silence. There's no furniture. No personal belongings.
Just me.
And the faint hum of something watching.
The walls are lined with carvings I didn't see before—-not Freyr's runes.
Older.
Twisting, interwoven patterns that shift slightly when I stare too long.
I step closer.
Touch one.
It's warm.
Not like stone should be.
I draw my fingers back.
I don't know how I got here.
But I didn't walk.
And Freyr didn't bring me.
The realm did.
That thought roots deeper in my chest that I expect.
Because if the realm is moving me now…..
It's not listening to him anymore.
A soft breeze slips through the doorframe behind me.
And the door—--solid black iron, sealed when i entered—-opens on its own.
No spell.
No gesture.
It simply yields.
And waits.
I don't hear him approach.
But I feel him.
Like the air folding in on itself, too still to be natural. Too careful.
Freyr appears at the far end of the corridor, all black robes and composed expression, like nothing has changed.
But something has.
His magic drags behind him now, slower, like it has to be called back into place instead of falling at his feet.
I turn to face him as he stops a few steps away.
He smiles.
Soft.
False.
"You're unsettled," he says. Not a question. "It's the bond. Echoes. Sometimes when magic is being killed and fails, it lashes out. It created…..illusions."
I stare at him, jaw tight.
"That wasn't an illusion."
His smile twitches, but he catches it.
"You think you saw him?" Freyr steps closer, voice still calm. "He isn't reaching for you. He doesn't even know what you two are."
He lets that hand in the air between us.
Waiting for it to sting.
It does.
But not the way he thinks.
Because now I'm wondering.
How does he know that? And why is he still trying so hard to convince me it's wrong?
I say nothing.
He continues. "These things—--mating bonds, can be dangerous. Especially, unnatural ones."
The mark over my heart pulses once—-hot, deliberate.
I lift my chin. "Why does it bother you so much?"
That catches him.
It's quick—-but I see it.
The flicker in his eyes.
He schools his expression. "It doesn't."
"You're lying."
He freezes. "What did that flame show you?"
"You tell me," I answer, voice quiet.
Another beat of silence.
And then, for the first time, he doesn't offer an answer.
He watches me too closely.
Like he's trying to read what he can't control anymore.
"You're afraid," I say before I can stop myself.
The words hang like a blade between us.
Freyr steps back.
Not far.
But enough.
His voice lowers, smother and venomous. "Be careful, Sarah. You don't know what's speaking through that bond anymore."
Neither do you, I want to say.
But instead, I turn and walk past him.
He doesn't stop me.
Doesn't speak.
Doesn't follow.
I don't look back.
I don't need to.
The silence between us says enough.
*********
I sit at the edge of the narrow stone bed, legs tucked beneath me, arms wrapped tight around my ribs like I can hold myself together if I just stay still long enough.
The mark hasn't faded.
It's still there.
Still warm beneath my hand.
I hate that part of me is relieved.
I tell myself it should scare me—--should make me feel trapped again.
But all I feel is the ache.
Not like before.
Not the tearing.
Just...hollow.
I breathe in, then out, pressing my palm harder against it like I can will it silent.
It doesn't respond.
Not with magic or visions.
But I feel something.
Not loud or clear.
Just a weight in my chest that wasn't there before.
Something heavy that I know isn't mine.
It feels like missing someone and knowing they're missing you back—-but neither of you is ready to admit it.
I close my eyes. My voice barely makes it past my lips.
"Why does it still feel like you're here?"
The mark pulses beneath my hand—-once.
Steady. Definite.
I don't move.
Don't say his name.
Don't let myself hope.
But deep down, I already know—-
He felt that.