The library folded inward like paper catching fire—edges curling, color fading, sound shrinking.
The Seer didn't bid us farewell. She didn't have to because for her all out meetings were in order sequels one after another since time didn't really move forward the same for her.
She blinked, and the world snapped again.
Bookshelves became walls of dark stone. Candlelight became cold-glow runes. The air grew heavier, charged—not with magic, but with something older, quieter, more permanent.
We were in Knight's lair.
Not a house. Not a home.
A command post.
The space smelled like steel and old ink. Precise. Controlled. No clutter. No warmth. It made the memories in my chest ache louder.
I exhaled through my nose and moved without a word. Across the room, to the glass cabinet nestled between two floor-to-ceiling maps. Inside—drinks, a few tumblers, polished obsidian trays. I opened it with ease, my fingers finding the bottle by memory more than sight.
Poured two glasses.
Set them both down.
One for him. One for me.
It wasn't kindness.
It was habit or maybe a mistake.
Knight took his time approaching. His boots didn't echo. The wards in this place absorbed even sound. I hated how much I admired the precision of it.
He didn't reach for the drink.
Instead, he watched me like I was a scroll he'd half-translated.
"You've been here before," he said finally.
"Of course."
"I don't remember you. This place is warded and seal."
I took a sip from my glass. "You're not supposed to but you gave me a invitation."
"I can guess."
His eyes pinned mine then—intense, unreadable. "You don't trust anyone else. You work alone. You hate oversight. And yet… you follow protocol almost too well."
I smirked. "And yet you haven't arrested me."
"Yet."
We stood in silence for a moment, the drink warming my palm, tension thrumming in the air between us like old music.
Then, I set the glass down and leaned back against the obsidian shelf.
"I'm not here to sabotage your mission, Warden."
"You're not here to help it either."
"No," I agreed. "But I am here to stop the world from breaking again. That doesn't mean I'll undo your work. I'm not interested in ruin."
Knight crossed his arms. "But you won't follow orders."
"From whom?" I asked, arching a brow. "The Council? The Guardians? You?"
He didn't answer.
I gestured between us. "We don't have to work together. But we can work... alongside. Just don't get in my way, and I won't erase yours."
Knight studied me for a long beat. "You like to negotiate."
"It keeps people from bleeding more than they need to."
"And if I refuse?"
I smiled faintly. "Then we waste each other's time. And time, in case you haven't noticed, is the one thing we've already spent too much of."
Knight picked up the glass at last. Studied the amber liquid inside. Moments like this made me remember a few old memories. Those not valuble enough to trade away. It was how it was to be but that didn't mean I didn't have my regrets about him.
"You always pour this?"
I didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
He drank anyway.
Then he pace.
Not like a man lost in thought—more like someone trying to get ahead of his own instincts.
I let him.
I sat in the chair across from the long, iron-inlaid desk, legs crossed, fingers steepled under my chin. I wasn't going to break the silence. Not yet.
He was close.
I could feel it.
Finally, he stopped beside the far wall. His hand hovered over the embedded safe—low profile, enchanted six ways to hell and back.
I remembered it. Of course I did.
But he didn't.
He reached for it slowly, palm pressing to the panel. Magic surged. The lock hissed open with a soft click.
Inside: a small stack of documents. Sealed vials. One black envelope, matte and old.
He pulled it out and stared at the front.
Knight. In his own hand.
Below it: Deliver if memory fails. Only in her presence.
His fingers curled around it. "It's mine."
"Yes," I said quietly.
He opened it.
The paper inside was thick. Charcoal grey. Written in a silver-ink script that shimmered faintly under the light.
He read it silently, lips barely moving.
Then again.
Slower.
When he lowered the paper, his expression was... not quite broken. But cracked. Like he'd just started to believe something impossible.
"What does it say?" I asked.
He looked at me, voice hollow.
He looked at me, voice hollow. "It says, Trust her. Even if she lies. Even if you hate her. Even if she hates you."
I stilled.
I hadn't expected the letter.
And I definitely hadn't expected that line.
Knight's eyes never left mine as he continued, slower this time. "She's the only one who remembers what we lost. She'll know what to do."
He placed the letter on the table between us. Not like a threat. Not like a peace offering.
Like a mirror.
Then he said it.
"We," he murmured. "That means me and him. My past self and my present."
I doubt it, I thought. But I didn't correct him. Not yet.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight.
"I think I'm meant to follow this through. Us. Diana. The collapse. The fix."
There it is. The pieces were rearranging in his head. Sliding toward a shape I could use.
I took a slow breath, letting the moment settle like dust before I spoke.
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I don't need to," he said. "My past self trusted you."
"That version of you," I said, my tone carefully even, "was not bound by this council. This duty. This set of rules. That Knight had already broken ten oaths to protect something that hadn't even bloomed yet."
Knight stared at me.
"But you still want the same outcome."
I nodded. "Yes. I want the world to hold."
He leaned back in the chair, the tension in his body drawing tight again. "So tell me what you want from me. This version."
A rare opening. He didn't offer many.
So I took it.
"I want you to back Kael."
Knight blinked, stunned.
"You're serious."
"I am," I said. "You and I both know the Council's compromised. Kael has the power to make Diana's survival legitimate. Unquestioned. Safe."
"You want me to help another man seal her fate?"
I tilted my head, watching him. "You think this is about love?"
Knight's jaw clenched.
"I want you," I said softly, "to use your power to keep this version of the world from ending. That means protecting her. That means choosing the cleanest path."
"And if I say no?"
I smiled faintly. "Then I'll do what I've always done. Rewrite the terms without you."
He didn't speak for a long time.
But eventually, he picked up the letter again.
Read it one last time.
And then he looked at me and said, "What's the first move?"
I didn't answer.
Not right away.
Knight leaned back, holding my gaze now with something sharper than curiosity—terms. The weight of logic and war settling into his voice.
"I'll go along with your plan," he said. "Back Kael. Quietly. For now."
He let that linger for a moment. Long enough for me to feel the edge beneath it.
"But if I'm going to be your shield, Gray—I want answers."
I arched a brow. "You're already getting answers."
"Not the right ones."
He tapped the envelope once with a knuckle. "You remember more than you say. And if I'm going to put my reputation—hell, the Council's—on the line to follow your lead, I want something real."
I let out a slow breath. "Define real."
"One answer. Honest. Complete. No riddles. No contracts. No clever pivots."
I studied him, weighing the request. "How many answers?"
Knight smirked faintly. "One every two hours."
My laugh was low and dry. "Planning to follow me around with a stopwatch?"
"If I have to."
I stared at him, then glanced at the letter again.
He had no memory. No trust. And yet… he chose to follow anyway. A version of him had loved me enough to pay for the chance. This one just wanted to know why.
It wasn't ideal but it was close enough.
"Fine," I said. "One real answer. Every two hours."
Knight stood, offered his hand. "Agreed."
I took it.
There was no spell. No binding.
But something clicked in the air between us, like an old lock turning for the first time in centuries.
He didn't let go.
His voice was quieter now.
"What's the first move?"
I held his hand a moment longer than I needed to before letting go to pour myself another drink.
Then answered, "Convince Kael he's already won."
It was quite the logical answer. Even if it was sort of a lie package into a truth. But it was all part of my little secret plan.