* Jiselle*
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The shadows in the lower hall had grown longer since Ist passed through, curling at the edges like ink dropped in water. The old storage wing beneath the observatory was mostly forgotten now, its wards cracked and faded, dust clinging to the vault doors like it was part of their design. But that night, they weren’t what drew me in.
It was him.
Nathaniel was already there.
He didn’t hear mee in. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care.
The way he stood–half–crouched, torchlight flickering across his shoulders, hands pressed <i>to </i>something in the alcove like it might vanish if he blinked–told me it wasn’t just another artifact. It was personal. Important. Dangerous.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he moved too quickly, rolling the scroll and stuffing it into his jacket like a reflex. And just like that, the air between us shifted.
I stepped forward. “What was that?”
He didn’t turn around. “Nothing.”
My jaw clenched. “If it was nothing, why are you hiding it?”
Silence.
It stretched too long.
When he finally turned, the look in his eyes wasn’t guilt. It was something worse–defense. Like I was the enemy. Like my asking made me the threat.
“It was a scroll,” he said tly. “From Serina.”
I waited.
He didn’t continue.
I crossed my arms. “And?”
“And nothing. It wasn’t relevant.”
I hated how calm he sounded. How collected. Like he hadn’t just lied to my face.
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
A pause.
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That single syble knocked the breath from my lungs harder than if he’d shouted at me. I stared at him, heart thudding. “No?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Jiselle, not everything is meant for you to carry.”
My power stirred.
I felt the rune on my back pulse–felt the leyline shiver beneath the stone like it could sense the fracture forming in the bond. My hands burned faintly at my sides, not with fire, but with restraint.
I took a step forward. “You don’t get to decide that. Not after everything we’ve seen. Not after-” My voice cracked. “Not after I let you in.”
“You think I want to keep things from you?” His voice finally rose, the veneer cracking. “You think it’s easy watching you burn, wondering if you’ll evene back the same? You think it doesn’t kill me every time I feel you slip further into whatever this is?”
“This what?” I demanded. “The Sovereign? The me? The thing you said you’d walk into with me?”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“Then stop hiding things!”
my
He took a step toward me, and for a second, I thought he might pull me into his arms–end this with warmth instead of ash. But then he said, “The scroll was a letter. From Serina. To her brother.”
My breath caught.
“She begged him not to open the Gate,” he continued. “Not with anger. Not with fear. Not even with hope.”
My stomach twisted. “Then what?”
“With love.”
Everything inside me stilled.
Love<i>. </i>
Not a weapon.
Not a shield.
A key.
The word echoed through me, unraveling something I hadn’t realized I’d beer holding together by thread and denial. Love was supposed to save us, wasn’t it? The reason we endured. The reason I burned and came back. The reason I survived.
But Serina hadn’t used it to save the world.
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She’d begged her brother not to.
Because even love could tear open doors never meant to be unsealed.
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I felt it settle into my bones, this understanding–this terrible, aching truth–and when I looked up, Nate was already shaking his head. Already backing away from the revtion he feared I would use.
“You would’ve used it,” he said quietly, like he couldn’t stand the idea. “You would’ve read that and thought- maybe if I love hard enough, burn bright enough, I can control this. I can rewrite it.”
“And you think I can’t?” My voice came out quieter than I intended, but it was sharp. Too sharp.
His eyes met mine, not angry–just… tired. Worn. Like the weight of carrying me had finally begun to crack something in him.
“I think you’re not the girl I met anymore.”
The words hit harder than I expected. They didn’t explode like a scream. They settled like dust–heavy, choking, everywhere.
I didn’t speak right away. I couldn’t. Not because what he said was a lie.
But because it was the truth.
And maybe that was the point.
Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be her anymore–the girl with soft hands and quiet hope, the one who dreamed more than she dared. She had died somewhere between the first mark and the second me.
My throat burned as I tried to swallow the ache. “Then maybe….” I whispered, “you’re not the boy who believed in me.”
His eyes darkened. Not with anger. But grief.
“I do believe in you,” he said, like it hurt to speak the words. “But this thing inside you–this me, this power -it’s twisting everything. It’s making you reckless. You walked into fire, Jiselle. Alone. You came back with glowing veins and empty eyes and told me you were fine-”
“Because I am!” I snapped, the lie tasting like copper. “You don’t get to decide how I survive, Nate. You don’t get to wrap me in silk and call it protection. You don’t get to lock me in safer choices and softer words and call it love.”
My voice shook. My body didn’t.
“I don’t need you to guard me like a child,” I whispered. “I need you to stand beside me like a mate. Like a partner.”
He took a step back, and for the first time, I saw it.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of losing me.
Of being powerless to stop whatever this was turning into.
Like he could feel me slipping between his fingers one heartbeat at a time.
And I hated how much of me wanted to hold on tighter just to soothe his storm.
His voice came quieter this time, hollowed by truth. “You’re bing too much like the me.”
I stared at him, stunned.
He didn’t stop there.
“And not enough like the girl I fell for.”
For one heartbeat, everything in me fractured.
Every wall I’d rebuilt.
Every thread of control I’d wrapped around the core of who I was.
Cracked.
I didn’t let it show.
Not to him.
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Even as my lungs burned, even as the heat surged in my chest, I swallowed it down and lifted my chin.
Because if that was the girl he loved, then he’d already lost her.
And I was done begging to be seen in pieces.
I walked past him without another word.
Past the alcove still lit by dying torchlight.
Past the shelves of brittle scrolls that smelled like dust and regret.
Past the part of me that wanted him to stop me.
I didn’t stop walking until I reached the archway.
Until the air cooled and the bond between us dimmed.
Then I turned.
Just once.
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“If that’s how you feel…” My voice shook, but it didn’t falter. “Then maybe you should stop trying to save me.”
I turned again.
The bond flickered, soft and distant, like a candle choked by wind.
Not gone.
But quiet.
Muted.
Dimmed.
I didn’t wait for a reply.
I walked out.
And this time, I didn’t look back.
Not even when I felt the pulse of heat behind me–gentle, steady.
Not even when the scroll he tried to hide glowed with fresh me–like something inside it had woken up.
Not even when the scent of ash crept along the stone corridor like smoke.
And not even when a whisper followed me through the dark, curling down the ancient passage like a prophecy.
Love opens. Love burns. Love ends.
<b>A</b>