45. Ava
AVA
A few months later…
I woke to the sense of being watched.
My eyes adjusted to the soft light of the moon filtering through the gauzy curtains.
Beside me, Ty lay sprawled, his arm slung possessively across my waist even in sleep. His face was peaceful, and my heart thrilled at the sight of him, the word “husband” reverberating in my chest like a melody.
My gaze drifted to the balcony doors where one of them was ajar, and the breeze carried the unmistakable scent of the sea, mingled with the faintest trace of something else.
Some one I knew all too well.
I slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Ty, and padded barefoot across the room. Pushing through the fluttering curtains, I stepped out into the cool night air.
There, by the latticed ivy, he stood. My shadow .
I didn’t know whether to run to him, curse him for coming, or beg for forgiveness I didn’t deserve.
He stepped forward, and the moonlight revealed his face. His expression, so full of conflict and pain, twisted something deep inside me. His torment mirrored my own.
My breath hitched, and the chill in the air seeped into my skin.
Ciaran must have seen it as a shiver because he whispered, “It’s cold. I shouldn’t have brought you out here.”
“Scáth,” I whispered, reaching out to him, my hand hovering in the space between us.
He stepped back, retreating into the shadows with a sad smile that tore through me like a knife.
“I just wanted to make sure you were happy,” he said, his voice low, almost lost in the crashing waves below.
The truth clawed at my throat. I was happy—terribly, painfully happy.
And the weight of that truth, that I had chosen happiness at the cost of his, was almost too much to bear.
But I couldn’t lie to him.
“I am,” I admitted, my voice breaking.
Tears blurred my vision, and I didn’t see him move. Suddenly, he was there, his lips brushing my cheek, so soft it was almost a memory.
When I blinked, he was gone.
I spun, searching the misty corners of the balcony, the potted plants Ty and I had tended together, the dark lattice leading to the strawberry patch below. There was no trace of him.
I leaned over the railing, desperate to catch a glimpse of his retreating figure, but the garden was empty, the shadows empty of the one I could never hold. Only the wind remained, carrying the echoes of his presence.
As I gripped the railing, something fluttered in my hand. A piece of paper, so light I hadn’t even realized it was there.
It could only have come from Ciaran, but I hadn’t felt a thing.
But what message could he possibly have for me?
Ciaran’s path to hunt down every last member of the Sochai was shrouded in blood and darkness.
He had chosen it, embraced it, and it terrified me to think of what cruel or heart-wrenching truth he might leave behind.
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, each beat reverberating with dread. What if his words were meant to sever the last thread between us? Or worse, what if they carried a truth so unbearable it would break me completely?
The note in my hand felt impossibly heavy, like it held the weight of every secret, every sacrifice he had ever made.
My fingers trembled as I held it, the edges whispering against my skin in the cool breeze. I hesitated, fear locking my chest tight.
For a brief, fleeting moment, I wanted to crumple it up and throw it into the sea—to let it drift away with the mist and take with it whatever pain it contained.
But I couldn’t. This was Ciaran. Whatever he had to say, I had to face it.
With a deep breath, I unfolded it slowly, as though it might detonate in my hands. The faint creases gave way, revealing the words inside.
They were written in tight, looping letters.
Three words. Just three .
And they stopped my heart cold.
Then the weight of them—the meaning —stole the breath from my lungs and sent my heart into a wild, erratic rhythm.
Liath is alive.