The moon hadn't risen yet,but Elara could feel it.
Its pull.
Its scream.
Its hunger.
The pact burned under her skin.
A brand no longer hot—but sentient.
Like it knew she was about to betray it.
She sat alone in the tower chamber.
A silver blade rested across her knees.
Not Kael's.
Not ceremonial.
Her own.
Fashioned from the remnants of the failed ritual circle.
Still laced with ash and old blood.
Its edge shimmered with a promise.
Not of peace.
But of freedom.
The voices started softly.
Not the howls.
Not Kael's.
But hers.
Her sister's.
A memory. A ghost. A guilt that never stopped bleeding.
"Elara," the voice whispered.
"Why are you still breathing?"
Elara's breath caught.
She pressed the flat of the blade to her palm.
"Don't do this," she whispered.
But the voice continued.
"You should've burned with me."
Elara's hand trembled.
The mark on her collarbone flared—in pain or protest, she couldn't tell.
"You think he loves you?" her sister's voice hissed.
"He loves who you remind him of."
Tears spilled down Elara's cheeks.
Her fingers closed around the hilt.
"I can end this," she whispered.
"I can cut it out."
And she meant it.
Not her life.
Just the mark.
The bond.
The thing that made Kael's fate tangled with hers.
If she severed it—
He could be free.
From her.
From guilt.
From the path they were spiraling down together.
She stood.
Walked to the mirror.
Watched herself raise the blade.
Her fingers were steady now.
Her breath calm.
"Goodbye," she whispered to the reflection.
Then drew the blade across her chest—right over the sigil.
She never reached it.
Because the door exploded inward.
Kael tackled her to the ground.
The blade skittered across the stone.
He grabbed her wrists—hard.
His eyes were wild.
Feral.
Half-wolf.
Half-grief.
"Elara!" he roared. "What the fuck are you doing?!"
She didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Her throat was full of salt and smoke.
He shook her once.
"You were going to cut the bond?!"
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Yes."
"Why?!"
"Because it's killing you!"
Kael froze.
His grip slackened.
"What?"
"You're crystallizing," she choked out. "Every time you bleed for me, a part of you dies."
"I don't care—"
"I care!"
"I chose this—"
"I didn't choose to be your cage!"
Kael stared at her.
Then slowly sat back.
Still straddling her legs.
Still shaking.
"Elara," he whispered.
"I'm the reason you can't be free," she said.
"You think I want to be free?"
"Yes."
"I want you."
She turned her face away.
"I was trying to protect you."
"By removing yourself?"
"By making sure I don't ruin you."
Kael exhaled—harsh, broken.
His voice dropped.
"You think I haven't already been ruined?"
She met his gaze.
And saw it:
The pain.
The pride.
The fear.
"Don't do that again," he whispered.
"I have to—"
"No," he snapped. "If you ever reach for a blade again, Elara…"
He leaned closer.
His voice dropped to a growl.
"I will resurrect youjust to show youhow it feels to be brokenover and over againand still choosethe person who keeps the knife sharp."
Silence.
Raw.
Ragged.
Sacred.
Elara reached up.
Touched his face.
"I don't want to be the reason you forget yourself."
Kael leaned into her touch.
"You're the reason I remember what I am."
She closed her eyes.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
And whispered:
"You want to protect me?Then live.Even when it hurts.Especially when it hurts.Because I'd rather be dying with youthan surviving without you."
Far below, the first moon howl began.
High.
Mournful.
Unrelenting.
But in the tower—
Two monsters held each other.
And learned what it meant
to survive something louder than love.