Page 48

My brother looked up at the sound of the door, lifted a fistful of documents, and gave me that lopsided grin I had not seen in far too long.

“Yeah,” he said. “It looks a bit different from the last time you were here. Sorry.”

He was right. My office had surrendered entirely to dust and disorder, papers strewn across the floor, sunlight catching the motes that hung thick in the air. But I cared nothing for the state of the room. My only concern stood behind the desk, breathing, smiling…

Alive.

I crossed to him without a word, took his chin in my hand, and tilted his head to inspect the wound at his throat. He let me, rolling his eyes the entire time.

The stitches had already been removed, and the cut faded to a dusty pink. It would be barely noticeable once fully healed. I pressed two fingers against the side of his neck anyway. Just to feel the pulse there. Just to be certain it was real. That Alexandra had not been too late.

“You’ll be fully healed in no time,” I said, hating how rough my voice sounded. How obviously the guilt bled through it.

Lazaros batted my hand away with a sharp flick.

“Look at you, big brother,” he said, grin widening. “Getting all caring these days.”

“Careful,” Aster drawled from his chair without opening his eyes. “Keep talking like that, and he’ll start writing poetry next, and I wonder why… or should I say I wonder who is responsible,” he teased with a smirk.

I shot him a look he did not bother to acknowledge, then huffed something that was almost a laugh before sinking into the chair behind the desk. I dragged both hands down my face.

“I can’t believe what nearly happened.”

“Well,” Lazaros said lightly, perching on the edge of the desk, “thankfully, your little mortal turned up.”

“Yes.” I let my head fall back. “I still can’t believe she’s here.” Not that I was complaining. I had missed her more than a star misses the night sky.

“So,” Lazaros drew the word out, watching me with the sharp, knowing look our mother used to wear. “A mortal. She crossed the Rift. Came through, God knows what… For you.” His brow arched. “Seems an awful lot of trouble to go to for a man who left her behind.”

“Careful,” I said, the warning low in my chest before I could stop it.

His eyebrows shot toward his hairline.

“Oh,” he said slowly, delight curling across his face. “So, she actually matters to you.”

I narrowed my eyes, surprised that it was not plain to him, surprised it was not written across every word I spoke and every breath I took.

“Alexandra matters a great deal.”

“How so?” He tilted his head, all open curiosity now, the teasing gentling into something quieter. And because he was my brother, because I had so very nearly lost him and the truth had grown too large to keep behind my teeth, I gave it to him.

“I found my fated.”

Lazaros went still.

His mouth parted, the breath leaving him in a rush, and all he could do was stare at me as though I had told him the sun had fallen out of the sky. Then, slowly, a smile broke through the shock, warm and real and aching at the edges.

“Then some good came of all this,” he said, more to himself. From the chair by the hearth, Aster finally opened his eyes.

“Yeah, and it only took him three years and an apocalypse to admit it out loud,” he said. “I had begun to lose hope.”

I didn’t bother to remind him that, despite that particular feeling taking root from the very first day, it hadn’t exactly been the right time. Not as I watched a terrified girl drive away from me down a dirt road while the Rift tore the world open behind her. Because something in me had refused to give chase. Instead, I had let her flee rather than terrify her any further.

And I paid the price, because I had searched for her every day since. Not that she knew the extent of this obsession, nor when it truly started. That I recognized it the day I felt that familiar tug, that pull toward a girl folded into the dark of a cupboard while danger prowled close. But time had not been on my side. Not with the wave of threats I knew was coming. I could not risk her being caught in the crossfire. So, I had turned my army aside, headed off the danger and drawn it away from where she hid, certain she would remain somewhere I could easily track her.

She hadn’t.

She had slipped through my fingers a second time, as she would so many times in the years that followed. Mere whispers of her presence, never quite enough to capture her.