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I rubbed my forehead, trying to stave away the headache that was slowly beginning to bloom. I’d really put myself in the middle of it now. Wolfe headed into the study and I followed, standing in the door as he rifled through his cabinets and drawers. He didn’t stumble, didn’t drop a thing. He tugged his journals out and blew the dust off the tops.

“I forget the small things,” he said, cracking the first one open. “The big events of my life are all there but the mundane, the day to day…” He bent his head, sunlight catching the threads of gold in his brown hair.

“I’ll give you some time,” I mumbled, slipping from the room.

I needed to get my head on straight. Prepare for what the next few days would bring me. I showered and made lunch. Wrote another five thousand words and plotted out the rest of my book, heart tangled in my throat.

Truthfully, I didn’t know how it would end. If it would be happy or bittersweet. I knew for certain Juliet would be just fine. She was strong and brave—she’d discovered herself and no one, no one, would ever be able to take that away from her again.

I chanted it like a mantra in my head.

I would never lose myself again.

I would never let myself slip back into the shadows.

I would fight every day to be a part of my own life, to grip it tight with both hands. Even on the hard days, I would do my best to get up. Keep moving. Keep dreaming. Keep…trying.

I blinked back tears and closed my laptop.

When I made it back downstairs, Wolfe stood before the fire. Outside, the sun began to sink.

“Last chance,” he said, staring at the flames.

He looked otherworldly, painted in bronze and amber and pink. His hair was alight, as was every inch of his skin, like the stars had come to see him.

“I’m not running,” I said simply.

His eyes were storm-dark and wild. “What did I do,” he breathed, “to deserve this?”

I crossed to him, taking his hand in mine. The fabric of his shirt rustled and shifted between us. God, he was so real it broke my heart.

“I could ask the same.”

“No.” He turned toward me, cupping both my hands within his. “What I’ll be able to give you will never be enough. You deserve so much more than this but Christ, Avery.” He touched my forehead with his. “You know I’ll do anything and everything I can for you.”

“I know.” His nose brushed mine.

“I—” He seized, doubling over in pain. He tore his hand from mine, pressing it against his chest instead.

“Wolfe?” I asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

He grimaced, eyes squeezed shut as another shudder moved through him. He groaned, dropping to a knee on the floor.

“What’s happening?”

“I’ll come,” he hissed between his teeth. “I promise I will.”

Was this it then? The veil was tearing him back to its depths?

“I didn’t know it hurt you.” I fluttered my hands uselessly around him.

He convulsed, body twisting under the pain. “It all costs something, grá. Some things are worth aching for.”

Slowly, he began to leech of color.

I pressed my hands to my mouth, horrified. It felt like I was losing him, like he was being sucked into the mist and back out to sea.

“Wolfe—”