Chapter 3 August
August
I stared at the fire for longer than I ever had.
Letting it sear into my memory. The way the heat licked at the stone.
The way the shadows danced like taunts. Every flicker branded into my brain.
Because I didn’t know if I’d ever see fire again—real, wild, roaring fire.
Not the kind in nightmares or hallucinations, but the kind that crackles in a hearth and smells like burning wood and old safety.
I didn’t even know if I’d see the light of day again, for that matter.
It had only been one day.
Just one.
That was all it took for the walls of my mind to fracture, for time to stretch and warp and gnaw at itself. It felt like years had passed since she left. A lifetime.
But it had only been one day.
And it was only a matter of time before they realized he was dead. A matter of time before they came through that door and took every bit of freedom that I had away from me. I just hoped she would come first.
I prayed she would come first.
And for a moment, I let myself imagine her there—out on the hills, beneath the pale sky where the snow had just begun to fall. The first snow of the season, soft as ash, blanketing the world in quiet.
I had taken her there.
The place my mother used to bring me when I was a boy. Where the wind never seemed to bite, and the grass grew even in winter’s grasp. Where I’d felt human once. Alive.
I told her about my mother. About the lullabies I only remembered in pieces. About how we’d lie in the grass until the stars came out, and the world felt far away. No one else knew that. No one else got that piece of me.
And I gave it to her.
I saw her again in the memory—laughing, her black hair catching flakes of snow, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She lay back and pulled me down beside her. We stayed like that for hours. Just us. Just warmth. And I let myself believe it was real.
But the memory twisted.
Her smile sharpened. Her eyes filled with something cruel. She stood over me now in the vision, her boots pressing into my chest, voice cold as the snow falling around us.
“I used you.”
I blinked. The room snapped back into place.
Gods. I had let her in. Let her see me. Let her dig around in my ribs and take whatever she wanted. And she smiled the whole time.
I wanted to throw up.
I had given her something pure, and she turned it into a weapon.
The one who made me beg. The one who looked at me like I mattered. Who said my name like a promise. And then lied.
She should’ve been different.
I despised her for what she did. Lied to me. Used me. Played me like a fool. But gods help me, I wasn’t letting her go. She was mine.
And she would fix this. Even if I had to chain her to the damn wall.
The silence filled the room. Something I usually despised as it let the dark thoughts take hold of my mind a little tighter, but for now, I let it happen. There wouldn’t be any more silence once they came for me. Someone would always be watching me. Protecting me.
I stood. My body barely remembered how. The wreckage around me wasn’t new—I’d done it hours ago.
Glass shards sparkled in the corners like fallen stars.
Books with their spines ripped open. Blood smeared across the stone like art.
My own, I thought. I didn’t feel it anymore.
I’d destroyed everything. Except the fury.
No pain. No bruises. Just the ghost of rage crawling under my skin like worms.
I walked the room like a ghost. The wind outside howled, but it was nothing compared to what screamed inside me.
She said she loved me.
Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe I made that part up.
But gods, I felt it. Every moment with her was etched into my skin like scripture. I remembered the way her breath caught when I touched her wrist. The way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching. The way she whispered my name like it meant something sacred.
She was in my blood. My bones. I couldn’t find the edges of myself anymore without finding her too. She wasn’t just a memory.
She was a hunger.
I turned in the ruin, chest heaving. The wind hissed through broken panes and dragged the curtains like specters across the floor.
It all looked how I felt. Shattered. She had made me beg.
Me. August. And I did it. I would’ve given her my fucking heart if she asked for it.
And all along, she was twisting the knife.
I hated her. Hated the way I still thought about her. The way I still wanted her.
I reached for the bottle—empty. I crushed it against the wall, watching it explode like a star dying. Beautiful and pointless. The rage pulsed in my bones. But below it, darker and crueler, throbbed something else.
Need.
And I hated her for that most of all.
The journal lay open like a wound. I’d read every damn line, searching for answers. Nothing but ink and emptiness. Confusion. Madness. Carrow was fucking insane from the beginning. The kind of madness that hides in genius. That masquerades as brilliance until it’s too late to run.
He wrote in circles—pages full of half-sentences and loops. Names scratched out. Symbols I didn’t recognize. I didn’t know what they meant. But I read it anyway.
Again. And again.
I wondered if he was already in me. Waiting. Watching. Laughing at how I had been fooled. Sometimes I swore I heard him. A whisper when no one was near. A voice in my own head that wasn’t mine. Telling me to hurt. To destroy. To burn.
I caught my reflection in the glass and my eyes seemed darker. My smile a little too wide. Maybe I did inherit something from him. Maybe I was never supposed to survive him. Maybe I was only ever meant to become him.
I slammed the journal shut. My hands were trembling.
A creak. My head snapped toward the door.
No scent.
The cloak. Fucking magic.
Don’t be insane, I warned myself. Not now. Not yet. She needed charm and control. Not teeth and claws.
The door cracked open just a sliver, and for a moment, I thought I was hallucinating again. My body locked up. The shadows shifted, but they didn’t move like ghosts. They moved like her.
Her hood slipped back slowly. Those eyes—gods, those eyes—met mine.
I didn’t believe it was real until the scent hit me, warm and sharp, soaked in jasmine and memory. For a breath, I just stared. Silent. Staggered. If I blinked, she might vanish.
And I said nothing. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, I might confess everything. Or tear her throat out. The words clawed up, burning. I swallowed them.
Then I smelled something too late. Something wild and male behind me.
The blade tore through me.
I dropped, breath knocked out, pain like lightning caging my ribs. Her fucking twin. He knew exactly where to strike. Precise. Just like her.
It wasn’t wood, and yet the pain was excruciating. Fire raced through me. It was poisoned and completely wrong. I could barely breathe. My limbs betrayed me, folding as shadows closed in. My mind scrambled to hold onto anything.
Her face. Her scent. Her name.
Her face. Her scent. Her name.
Gods, I would kill for her.
I did kill for her.
And still she betrayed me.
I laughed, even as the world unraveled.
The pain flared, impossibly bright, like someone had poured molten iron through my veins.
“So you’re not here to apologize, I see.”
Darkness took me.