Epilogue 3 Thorne
The fire eats the house in greedy gulps, smoke curling into the night sky, sirens wailing in the distance.
I should be back in Nightfall, plotting Idris’s end or wrangling with my brothers over the Prime.
But instead, I stand in the mortal world, flames licking over my skin like an old friend, unseen by the humans who scramble in panic.
Until she sees me.
Delia Esposito.
Dark hair plastered to her cheeks with sweat, brown eyes sharp and furious, her curvy body moving fast under the weight of gear.
An EMT running into the inferno when everyone else runs out.
She spots me through the haze, staggers, then curses and barrels straight toward me like she’s not afraid of anything.
“You—sir, you need to get out of here!” she shouts, voice rough, strong.
I let her.
Let her put her hands on me, check my pulse, press oxygen to my mouth.
She doesn’t flinch at the heat rolling off me, doesn’t shy from the burn of my gaze.
She treats me like I’m worth saving.
That’s when I know.
She’s the one.
Not sweet. Not fragile. Not a wide-eyed innocent who needs coddling.
She’s fire and grit and backbone, the kind of woman who can take the truth without crumbling.
Later, when the flames are only embers, I step through the veil and take her with me—back to the Ashfell, my keep in the Broken Plains, where my people wait and the air always tastes of smoke.
She stares at me, defiance blazing even through her confusion.
“Why me?” she demands, her voice cracking but unafraid.
I bare my teeth, fire curling up around us, and answer with the only truth that matters.
“Because you will be good for Nightfall.”
I ignore the small hopeful whisper that breathes inside of me
And maybe you will be good for me, too.