32. Rylan
32
RYLAN
T he fire crackles in the hearth, the only sound in the dead silence between us.
Seraphina doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
But the air between us shifts—like the moment before a blade is driven into flesh, before the pain truly begins.
She is the key.
She was always meant to be.
The revelation settles in my ribs like a slow, sinking weight.
I should have known.
No.
I should have seen.
Every piece of the puzzle was laid before me, yet I refused to grasp the full shape of it.
I called her a little thief, convinced she had simply stumbled into this war with reckless hands and a hunger for survival.
But she didn’t stumble.
She was placed.
Marked. Chosen.
Not by accident.
Not by fate.
But by something deeper.
Something far more dangerous.
I turn, slowly.
She stands near the fire, arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to contain the truth she just gave me.
She won’t meet my eyes.
Smart.
If she did—if she saw the way I am looking at her now—she would run.
And I would chase her.
“Who knew?” I murmur, my voice quiet.
She exhales, steady. “Knew what?”
I let my thumb trace her cheek, slow, calculated.
“Do not toy with me.”
Her pulse thrums against my fingers.
“Who put this on you?” I press, my voice turning to steel. “Who made you the key?”
Her breath shudders. I feel her throat work through a swallow.
“I told you. I was born with it.”
A lie.
Or a half-truth.
I can’t tell which.
But I can smell deception like I can smell blood.
I tilt my head, dragging my gaze down to where the markings are hidden beneath her clothes once more.
It’s still there.
Even covered, I can feel the weight of it.
A map.
Not just a key—but a curse.
A sentence written into her very flesh. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you’ll only see scars.
No human should have something like this burned into them from birth.
Which means it was never meant for a human.
A pulse of something dark coils in my gut.
Something like recognition.
Like I have seen this before.
Felt it before.
I release her, stepping back.
She watches me carefully, wary of the space I have given her.
“You were chosen for this,” I say, my voice unreadable.
She hesitates. Then, slowly, nods.
I exhale sharply.
I don’t know why it makes me want to tear something apart.
I should have killed her the first night she came to me.
I should have let her die when I had the chance.
It would have been easier.
Cleaner.
Instead, she is here, bound to me now by more than just a stolen bargain.
What the hell do I do with that?
I sink into a chair, my head tipping back, staring at the ceiling.
The flames flicker, casting shadows against the stone walls.
I feel uncertain.
Not of what I must do.
But of what I want to do.
There is a difference.
And it kills me.
Seraphina shifts, watching me.
Waiting.
For my next move.
For my next command.
She thinks I am in control of this.
And maybe, for a while, I was.
But now… Now, I feel the strings twisting.
And I don’t know who is holding them anymore.
I don’t like it.
And yet I can’t stop.
Not until I get what is mine.
And if I have to destroy the world for it?—
So be it.