Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
I stared at the blank Bristol board like it might blink first.
It didn’t.
The surface was clean, pristine, unforgiving. No ghosts of old lines. No erased charcoal smudges. Just white space waiting for something to exist.
And for the first time in months, something new wanted to exist.
It wasn’t Oracle’s Silence. It wasn’t Seris or Kael or ruined cities or prophecies spoken into the void. This idea felt lighter somehow. Softer. A different world entirely—one where the stakes weren’t survival, but choice. Where hope didn’t come wrapped in blood and grief.
It had come to me two days after I’d collapsed into Trenda’s arms and sobbed like something feral had finally clawed its way out of my chest.
I picked up my pencil.
The phone rang.
Of course it did.
I glanced at the screen and sighed. Edith.
“Hey,” I said. “I was literally just about to—”
“Don’t care,” Edith said cheerfully. “Because I am sitting at my desk looking at engagement numbers that would make lesser editors weep, and I need you to tell me you’re alive.”
“I’m alive,” I said. “Barely caffeinated, but alive.”
She laughed. “Good. I need teaser boards. Two, maybe three. We’re ramping things up and people are rabid.”
“I’ll send some,” I promised. “By tonight.”
“Perfect.” She launched into marketing plans—rollouts, social engagement, targeted ads, a potential interview spot. I made approving noises and scribbled notes in the margin of the blank board, my pencil itching to draw something that wasn’t rubble.
Then she asked the question I’d been dreading.
“So,” Edith said casually. “How’s the ending coming?”
My hand stilled.
“We’re… getting there,” I lied.
There was a pause. Not suspicious. Not accusatory. Just Edith doing mental math.
“You know we’re on a clock, right?” she said gently. “Those six weeks include printing, review, shipping. We don’t have the luxury of mystery forever.”
“I know.”
“Please tell me it’s a happy ending.”
“Edith…”
“Seriously, kid. Nobody deserves a happy ending more than Kael and Seris. Nobody. Please give this poor menopausal woman a break and tell me they have wild monkey sex, then tender sex, then more monkey sex and walk into a beautiful future together.”
I closed my eyes and bent back my head, then opened them up to stare at the ceiling.
“I’m not going to tell you. It’s a surprise. Think of it like a Christmas gift—you’re just going to have to wait like everyone else.”
You’re going to have to wait just like me.
She cackled. “Oh, I like that,” she said. “We’ll sell the hell out of that.”
We hung up, and the silence rushed back in.
I reached for the stack of Bristol boards beside me and pulled out the last finished pages—Kael and Seris tangled together beneath the sorceress’s shroud, not angry, not gentle, just…human. Unresolved.
I stared at them.
“This is ridiculous,” I told the empty room. “I can’t finish your story if I won’t face my own.”
I should talk to Zarek.
The thought landed and sat there, like a skunk at a picnic.
I immediately talked myself out of it.
Not today. Maybe in a couple of days. Let him come to you.
The phone rang again. It was Trenda.
I groaned. What now?
“Hey,” she said before I had a chance to say anything. “What’s going on with Zarek?”
My stomach clenched. “How would I know?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “that’s the thing. I’ve been at the Onyx office twice in the last two days—once to drop something off, once to kidnap Simon for lunch. Zarek’s been there both times.”
My pulse kicked up. “There? Like… working?”
“No,” Trenda said. “In the conference room with Simon and the other guys. They’re all talking serious like.”
“What did Simon say when you asked him?”
“He said to not worry, it was nothing. That means it’s something. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Trenda, I told you how I last left things with Zarek. He hasn’t filled me in on anything that might have him over at Onyx. Should I be worried?”
There was a long pause.
Shit.
“You think I should be worried.”
“I would be, if I were in your shoes,” Trenda said.
“But we’re not talking,” I whispered.
“Then you need to start.” And there was my big sister, always willing to state the obvious.
We hung up.
And then I did the thing I was very good at.
I imagined everything that could possibly be going wrong.
By the time I grabbed my keys, my heart was already pounding.
He was home.
Seeing him—his face, his body as he opened the door—broke something open inside of me.
He let me in without ceremony, like he’d been expecting me. He moved better than the last time I’d seen him—still stiff, but not guarded.
“Want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
“Sure.” I followed him to the kitchen. He went in, I leaned on the island.
He poured coffee. I accepted, then sat down on one of the barstools as he braced his hip on the island across from me.
We stared at each other like two people standing on opposite ends of a bridge neither of us knew how to cross.
“I need to say something,” he started. “About… the other night.”
I held up a hand. “If you’re about to apologize for the sex, don’t.”
He blinked. “I—”
“You did not take advantage of me,” I said firmly. “If anything, I took advantage of you.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Mutual advantage, then.”
“Something like that,” I agreed.
Silence again.
“Why are you here?” he asked quietly.
“Three reasons,” I said. “One, I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Physically.” I glanced at his ribs. “Two… I wanted to know why you’ve been at Simon’s office. And…”
His jaw tightened.
“And?” he prompted gently.
I deflected. “How are the ribs?”
He twisted, bent, rolled his shoulders. “See? Fine.”
“Impressive. Want me to test that with a light tap?”
“How about you don’t.” He gave me half a smile. It made my heart do a flip. “And?” he pressed.
“Huh?”
“You had a third thing. What was it?”
“You’re supposed to tell me what you’re doing over at Onyx Security.”
He tilted his head and looked at me with that analyzing look. He knew something was up. “I’ll tell you about Onyx after you tell me your ‘and.’”
I looked down at the mug of coffee in front of me, hoping it had words swirling around in it that I could read. A script. Anything.
I took a breath.
Six weeks ago, I’d sat in an OB’s office and watched a future evaporate.
Not just the future of not being able to have babies, but one niggling little thought that Zarek might not want a defective wife.
It was too stupid to believe, but there you had it.
I was too foolish to believe, and now he was asking me to tell him my secret that could potentially blow up all of my tomorrows.
“I went for a routine checkup,” I said. “Six weeks ago.”
His face drained of color. “What? Are you sick?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No. I’m not sick. I promise.”
He came around the counter and pulled me off the stool like he couldn’t help himself. “Then tell me.”
I swallowed.
“I’m never going to be able to have children,” I said. “There’s too much scarring. Carrying a pregnancy to term isn’t possible.”
I watched his eyes, looking for any sign, any nuance of rejection.
He pulled me into his arms.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” For long moments he held me like that and I breathed in the scent of pine, leather, and Zarek. Savoring this moment as if it could be my last.
He pushed me back just enough to look into my eyes. “I love you the same now as I did three minutes ago. You are my life.” He’d said the right words. My man knew my deepest fear.
“But I can’t give you children,” I said, the old shame clawing up my throat. “I’m defective and—”
He shook his head hard. “No.”
He rested his forehead against mine.
“I’ve never been a man who deserved good things,” he said. “And then I met you. And I got the best gift of my life. Having you—this—that’s everything.”
I breathed.
And finally, I let myself bask in his love for me.
I let myself bask in my love for myself.