Chapter 34 #2
Selene was asleep, curled on her side. I lay behind her, holding her against me.
On her shoulder, the silver curve was fading—an unfinished arc, a fracture in the skin where the light bled from molten gold into a ghostly shimmer.
I traced the edge of the glowing crescent.
The precise geometry was unmistakable, echoing the plate in Aelira's codex.
It was the brand. But instead of the Light-born symbol of Dawn, her skin bore the Shadow-born sign of Dusk.
The symbol of my power.
Her pulse beat against my skin, triggering a memory from the deep Archives.
Years ago, I had deciphered a rotting text about bindings strong enough to share a heartbeat.
The archaic script described a bond where the death of one didn’t just leave the other alone—it left them obliterated.
A sudden, violent hollowing that turned power into poison.
I didn’t know for certain if the current between us was that same fatal tie.
But looking at the mark claiming her shoulder, I knew I wasn't going to let anyone test it.
If I fell—if I let Varessia tear me apart downstairs—I would be ripping the foundation out from under Selene right when she needed to be invincible.
I tightened my grip.
I couldn’t tell her. If she suspected that my survival was the anchor for her own, she would hesitate. She would try to save me instead of the city, terrified that if I fell, I would take her life with mine. I had to let her believe she could walk away from me and survive.
But I knew the truth. My suicide mission was over. I had to fight harder than I ever had—not just to protect her, but to stay alive long enough for her to finish it.
I kissed the scar on her shoulder.
“Survive,” I whispered into her skin. “You have to live. For both of us.”
0400 hours. The time of day when the world is at its thinnest.
The Cistern was quiet, the air thick with the damp, subterranean chill that never truly lifted. The lights overhead were dimmed to a faint amber pulse, mimicking a sunrise that wouldn’t reach us down here.
I stood near the large exit doors watching Selene.
She moved through the atrium, every step laden with the weight of what was coming. She held a canvas bag tight against her chest—the one containing Liora’s books and the journal.
She walked over to Aelira. The ancient Archivist stood by the entrance to the eastern tunnel, looking timeless, a statue carved from sorrow.
I stayed back, leaning against a pillar. Selene thought they were having a private moment, but the distance between us had thinned since last night. The bridge we’d forged tonight, making every hitch in her breath vibrate through my own lungs.
“I can’t take this,” Selene whispered, holding out the green leather journal. “If the core blows… I don’t want it turning to ash with me. Take care of this one, along with the rest of the books my mother wrote.”
Aelira took the journal, her hands reverent. “I will keep them safe. They will be here when you return.”
“If I don’t return,” Selene pressed. She looked down at her boots. “Eamon… he’s in the city morgue. The police recovered him from the wreckage of the lab. But if Varessia wins today, no one will claim him.”
I felt a sharp pang in my chest—a mirror of the pain spiking in hers. It was a physical ache, a symptom of the way our lives had begun to overlap.
“Make sure he gets a proper send-off,” Selene said, her voice cracking. “Please. Don’t let him stay in a cold drawer.”
Aelira reached out and pulled Selene into an embrace.
“I promise,” Aelira murmured. “Eamon will rest in the light.”
Selene broke the contact. She wiped her eyes quickly, angrily. When she lifted her head, the grief was still etched into the lines of her face, but it had hardened into an unforgiving resolve.
She turned to join the team assembling by the exit.
The group was a strange, mismatched collection of soldiers. Dane stood by the heavy wheel of the door, checking the telescoping baton at his hip. Goran loomed beside him, a mountain in a tattered coat.
And near the wall, Una was holding the twins.
She gripped Torvin by the shoulders, saying something stern and quiet, while brushing a piece of lint from Karys’s jacket. The twins—usually so flippant, so untouchable—stood still, letting her fuss over them.
“We know the drill, Mum,” Torvin said, though his voice lacked its usual mocking edge.
“Then follow it,” Una replied. She kissed Karys’s forehead, then Torvin’s. She stepped back, her eyes bright with tears she refused to shed. “Bring them back.”
Karys nodded once, her face set. She touched the knives at her belt and turned away.
Una was their mother.
The stakes just got higher. The twins were Una’s children. She was paying the highest price of command, sending her own blood to the front.
I pushed off the wall, joining the group by the exit.
Selene looked up. The bond between us flared—a steady, grounding wire snapping taut as our magic answered each other. Her shoulders dropped a fraction.
“We’re set,” Dane said, his voice echoing in the quiet atrium.
I held Selene’s gaze, ignoring the others. “Once you are in that shaft, you don’t stop. No matter what you hear happening below. You keep climbing.”
“I know,” she said.
Goran turned to the blast door. He gripped the iron wheel and heaved. Deep inside the stone, colossal tumblers shifted with a guttural scrape that vibrated through the floor. The metal swung outward, exhaling the damp, rotting breath of the storm drains.
Selene stepped up beside me. She ignored the open tunnel, keeping her eyes fixed on mine.
“Ready?” she asked.
The magic hummed between us, a quiet, steady rhythm. Keeping her alive was the only objective left.
“Ready,” I said.
I moved past her to take the point, pushing through the threshold. The iron bulkhead slammed shut behind us, cutting the light and leaving us in the pitch.