54. Rylan
54
RYLAN
S eraphina is still asleep when I wake.
Or, at least, I think she is.
Her body is curled against mine, her bare skin cool beneath my fingertips. Too cool.
My heart pounds as I stare at her—memorizing every breath, every faint movement, every slow rise and fall of her chest.
She is here.
She is alive.
And yet, something inside me twists, unsettled.
This isn’t the same woman I brought into this cave.
She is something else now.
Something different.
The book is still beside me.
Still blackened, burned, lifeless.
As if the magic within it has been spent, drained, consumed.
I don’t know what the price was.
Not fully.
But I can feel it.
The empty space in my chest where something used to be.
Something I can never get back.
Seraphina stirs.
Her fingers twitch against my ribs.
A breath escapes her lips, slow, uneven.
She turns toward me, blinking too slowly, her lashes heavy as she wakes.
And when she looks at me?—
I see it.
The change.
Her eyes are the same.
But not quite.
A shade darker, deeper—like there is something else beneath them, something ancient, something lingering.
Her lips part, her voice low, husky.
"You're staring."
I don't answer.
I can't.
My chest is too tight, my mind racing too fast.
I realize?—
She isn't breathing.
A second passes.
Then another.
Still, no inhale.
No rise in her chest.
No sound of breath pulling into her lungs.
Then—
A slow exhale.
As if she had been holding it for too long.
Too long for any normal human.
My blood turns to ice.
"Seraphina," I say, my voice rough, almost unwilling to ask the question clawing at the edges of my mind.
Her head tilts slightly, a small crease forming between her brows.
"Yes?"
I press a hand to her chest, right over her heart.
It beats far too slow.
Like she isn’t fully alive.
Like she is something else now.
Something in between.
She watches me carefully, then smiles—soft, small.
As if nothing is wrong.
As if everything isn’t wrong.
I shift, propping myself up on one elbow.
The shadows stretch across the cave walls, flickering over the treasure that still waits in the ruined chamber beyond us.
The gold is untouched.
The riches we nearly died for gleam in the dim light.
But it doesn’t matter.
She is different.
And I can’t shake the feeling that I did this to her.
She reaches for me, pressing a palm to my cheek.
Her fingers are cold.
Colder than before.
And yet, her touch is the same.
Her eyes search mine, something knowing and quiet in her expression.
"You’re afraid," she whispers.
I don’t deny it.
"You’re different," I murmur.
She doesn’t blink.
"I’m still me," she says softly.
I swallow hard.
Are you?
I don’t ask it out loud.
I don’t think I can bear the answer.
The cave rumbles.
A warning.
It’s collapsing.
The magic is unstable, breaking apart, unraveling.
We can’t stay.
I push the thoughts away—force myself to focus.
"The treasure," I mutter, shifting off the stone floor.
Seraphina sits up slowly, the sheets sliding from her bare skin, her hair tumbling over her shoulder in wild waves.
She glances at the mountain of wealth glimmering beyond the altar.
Then back at me.
"We don’t need all of it," she murmurs.
A ghost of a smile flickers at the edge of my lips.
"No. But I want what’s mine. My… adoptive father always told me stories about this treasure. I never knew it holds so much secret.”
"Then let’s take it and leave before we die for real this time.
I gather what I can—the heirlooms, the things that mattered to my father, the wealth that will rebuild my house.
Seraphina moves beside me, her movements fluid, too smooth, too quiet.
I pretend not to notice.
But the unease settles deeper in my bones.
The cave shudders.
The ceiling begins to crack.
We don’t have much time.
I grab her wrist, pulling her toward the exit.
She doesn’t resist.
We run, the firelight behind us flickering, the shadows swallowing the remains of the magic, the treasure, the past. I don’t dare look back.