bChapter /bb171 /b

*Jiselle

b?? /b

b88/bb% /b

Max’s body was still warm.

That was the part that broke me first.

Because it meant he hadn’t been gone long. Because some part of me–some foolish, aching, deluded part–thought that maybe if I held bon /bbtight /benough, screamed loud enough, breathed hard enough, he’de back.

But he didn’t.

The fire that had always burned too close to the surface in Maximus Laker was gone.

Extinguished.

I held him in myp, arms cradling him like the way my mother used to hold me when I was a child crying over scraped knees and stormy nights. Only this–this was not a wound that time or balm or whisperedfort could ever fix. My sobs cracked the air open. Rawb, /bugly, guttural. I didn’t bcare /bwho heard. I didn’t care that we were still surrounded by war. That danger still loomed behind the smoke.

Because grief didn’t care.

Grief screamed when it wanted to.

Grief copsed the strongest of us.

I pressed my forehead to Max’s, ignoring the way his skin had already begun to cool. “You stupid, stubborn, beautiful bastard,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “iYou /isaid you were going to walk me to the end. You said you’d stay behind me. Why didn’t you stay?”

A hand touched my shoulder.

Gentle.

Careful.

Nate.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. If I did, I’d shatter in a way I didn’t think I coulde back from. So I just held Max tighter.

Behind me, I heard Bastain murmuring a ward. Ethan’s voice low and tight. Eva–godsb, /bEva was sobbing. Not like me. Hers was high–pitched. Breathless. A child’s grief in a grown woman’s body.

“No,” she kept repeating. b“/bNo, he’s not–he’s just winded. He’s just unconscious.

Bastain tried to move toward her, but she shoved him away, dropping to her knees on the blood–soaked stone beside us.

Her fingers trembled as they reached for Max’s sleeveb. /bb“/bCome on, get up. I didn’t see this. I would’ve seen it.”

Ethan’s voice broke for the first time. “Eva…”

“I would’ve seen it,” she snapped, turning wild–eyed to him. “I always bsee /bbit/bb!/bb” /b

She didn’t say bit/bb, /bbbut /bthe words hung in the air like poison:

bWhy /bdidn’t bI /bbsee /bhim die?

I held bMax /bbtighter/b, tears streaming silently bnow/b. I had no more bvoice /bleft. Only bthe /bhollow, bechoing /bbache /bbof /bba heart /bbthat /bbhad /bbknown /btoo bmany /bbends/b.

b1/5 /b

10:37 Sunb, /b22 bJun /bG

And Nate-

b88/bb% /b

b28 /b

Nate knelt behind me, arms wrapping around my back. He didn’t speak. Didn’t try to make it better. He just let me fall against bhim/bb, /bbMax /bbstill /bin bmy /barms. And when I shook–when the next sob tore out of me like me–he held me tighter. Anchored me.

“I was so angry with him,” I whispered hoarsely. “I hated him for so long. I hated him for touching me, for hurting me. And I thinkb–/bgoddess, bI /bbthink /bbhe /bdied thinking that’s all fremembered.”

Nate pressed a kiss to my temple. “No,” he said. “He knew.”

“He died for me.”

“He chose you.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want this,” I whispered, fingers curling into Max’s torn tunic. “I didn’t want him to die a hero. I just wanted him to live. bJust/bb… /blive. Find his true mate. Be happy.”

Ethan crouched across from us, shoulders trembling. He looked as if someone had broken a part of him that would never be mended.

“He always talked about it,” he said quietly. “About wanting his death to mean something. I thought it was guilt. Maybe it was. But… I don’t bthink /bbhe /b

regretted it.”

“He didn’t,” Nate said.

I didn’t respond.

We all sat there for too long.

The war outside didn’t care. I could still hear it. Roars and steel, fire and shouts. The Gate screaming through the ley blurred beneath the weight of what we’d lost.

But in that moment, ball /bof it

Eva was the first to stand.

But it wasn’t sudden.

It was slow.

Painful.

Her fingers scraped against the floor as she pushed herself upright like her body had forgotten how to move without him breathing beside her. Her knees buckled once–then again. She caught herself, knuckles bloodied from where she’d struck the ground, the memory of his name bstill /bstuck in her bthroat/b,

She wiped her face with the back of her sleeveb, /bdragging streaks of ash and tears across her cheeks like war paint made of sorrow. Her blip /btrembled. Her shoulders shook. But she didn’t bcry /bagain.

No.

bThe /bkind of grief that lived in Eva now didn’t make sound.

bIt /bsimply swallowed everything else.

bShe /btook one step back.

Then another.

b2/5 /b

10:37 Sun, 22 Jun

Then turned.

200%

Her braid was half unraveled. Her coat torn. She looked like a girl who had wandered through the ruins of her own heart and couldn’t find the door out.

And she didn’t say a word.

Not to me. Not to Ethan. Not even to Max.

28

Because denial only holds for so long.

And when it breaks–it breaks like bone.

Bastain moved to her side, but she didn’t look at him. She just walked toward the remaining tunnel, arms limp at her sides, like they didn’t know who to reach for anymore.

I leaned back against Nate, breath shallow, fingers still locked around Max’s ruined armor. His blood was drying inow/i. So was mine. But neither of us felt

clean.

“We have to keep going,” I said, and my voice cracked around the edges. Hollow. A breath pulled from stone.

Nate didn’t answer right away.

I didn’t me him.

“We can’t leave him here,” I added. The words tasted wrong. Final. “Not like this.”

“I’ll carry him,” Ethan said from across the rubble, his voice low and ragged.

But I shook my head.

“No.”

He blinked, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “We can’t leave him alone–”

“He’s not alone,” I said, softer this time. “He made this choice. We honor it. We leave him with his mark.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Bastain stepped forward and knelt beside Max’s body. His fingers dipped into a pouch and retrieved a shard of white chalkced with ashroot–a relic of remembrance. He traced a perfect circle around Max, murmuring something in a tongue I didn’t understand.

Not a cage.

Not a grave.

A seal. A promise.

One of remembrance.

One of protection.

Something old and holy and final.

I leaned down. Smoothed Max’s blood–matted hair from his brow. Hisshes were still golden, even now. Still soft. Still him.

Then I pressed a kiss to his forehead, shaking as I reached beneath my cor and pulled the pendant he’d once given me the one I never wore, but never threw away.

I ced it over his chest, above the heart that had once betrayed me, then protected me, then died for me.

b10:37 /bbSun/b, 22 bJun /bG

Then turned.

b88/bb% /b

Her braid was half unraveled. Her coat torn. She looked like a girl who had wandered through the ruins of her own heart and couldn’t find bthe /bdoor bout/b.

bAnd /bshe didn’t say a word.

bNot /bto me. bNot /bto Ethan. Not even bto /bbMax/b.

Because denial only holds for so long.

And when it breaksb–/bit breaks like bone.

Bastain moved to her side, but she didn’t look at him. She just walked toward the remaining tunnel, arms limp at her sides, like they didn’t know who bto /breach for anymore.

I leaned back against Nate, breath shallow, fingers still locked around Max’s ruined armor. His blood was drying now. So was mine. But neither of us bfelt /b

clean.

“We have to keep going,” I said, and my voice cracked around the edges. Hollow. A breath pulled from stone.

Nate didn’t answer right away.

I didn’t me him.

“We can’t leave him here,” I added. The words tasted wrong. Final. “Not like this.”

“I’ll carry him,” Ethan said from across the rubble, his voice low and ragged.

But I shook my head.

“No.”

He blinked, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “We can’t leave him alone-”

“He’s not alone,” I said, softer this time. “He made this choice. We honor it. We leave him with his mark.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Bastain stepped forward and knelt beside Max’s body. His fingers dipped into a pouch and retrieved a shard of white chalkced with ashroot–a relic of remembrance. He traced a perfect circle around Max, murmuring something in a tongue I didn’t understand.

Not a cage.

Not a grave.

A seal. A promise.

One of remembrance.

One of protection.

Something old and holy and final.

I leaned down. Smoothed Max’s blood–matted hair from his brow. Hisshes were still golden, even now. Still soft. Still him.

Then I pressed a kiss to his forehead, shaking bas /bI reached beneath my cor and pulled the pendant he’d once given meb—/bbthe /bbone /bI bnever /bbwore/bb, /bbbut /bnever threw away.

I ced bit /bover his chest, above the heart that had once betrayed me, then protected meb, /bthen died for me.

b3/5 /b

b“/bYou were more bthan /bthe worst thing you ever didb,/bb” /bbI /bwhisperedb, /bvoice breaking. “You matteredb./bb” /b

bI /bclosed his eyes bwith /btrembling fingers.

bAnd stood/b.

bIt /btook everything.

My spine straightened like it belonged to someone else–like I was slipping into armor I hadn’t earned. bBut /bthe moment my shoulders roseb, /bbthe /bair

around me shiftedb. /b

Changed.

The world felt brittle and taut and brimming with something that didn’t belong to it.

The war outside hadn’t paused. I could still hear it–roars and screams, steel and w. But it sounded distant now. Drowned beneath the pounding bin /bbmy /bskull and the me coiling beneath my skin.

Because all I could feel was fury.

And grief.

And me.

My fingers curled. The fire lit across my skin in flickers at first, then fully. Like it was waiting for me. The rune on my back pulsed in time with my heart- slow, dangerous, final.

Nate rose beside me, his presence steady. I felt his hand ghost against mine, offering nothing but presence. Support. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Because when I turned–when I faced the shattered courtyard where death waited with open arms-

I wasn’t just Jiselle anymore.

I was every version of the girl who had once bled under the stars.

Every ghost of the child who had knelt by Eden’s grave.

Every echo of the girl Max had marked.

Every me the Gate had tried to twist into something lesser.

And I was done letting anyone define me but me.

I walked forward.

Through the smoke. Through the ash.

And with each step, the world bent.

Bent to me.

Not in submission.

In warning.

bIn /brecognition.

bThe /bfire grew around me. bIn /bbme/bb. /bbBecause /bthe bond bwasn’t /bbjust /bba /btether anymore. It was ba /bpurpose.

b1930 /bbSun/b, b22 /b

And when I stepped onto the final stone overlooking the courtyard, I stopped.

Lifted my chin.

No plea.

No fear.

Just ba /bpromise.

“This ends tonight.”