My head throbs as consciousness creeps back, each pulse more painful than the last. Through the fog, I try to remember what happened—where I am. The last clear memory I have is from bed…I woke to someone covering my nose and mouth with a pungent cloth. But that’s it. How long has it been? Is this the third trial? Cold metal presses against my bare back, sending ripples of discomfort through my muscles. When I attempt to move, leather straps bite into my wrists and ankles. Something covers my mouth, strapped tightly around my head. Panic surges through me as my eyes snap open. Harsh light assaults my vision, forcing me to squint against its intensity. Dark shapes move at the edges of my sight, but I can’t turn my head enough to track them. This is definitely not the third trial. “—strongest from the trials. His essence readings were off the charts.” The voice is familiar, though I can’t place it through the fogginess filling my head. “If this one doesn’t work…” My heart hammers against my ribs as I strain against the restraints. The leather holds firm, only succeeding in rubbing my skin raw. I try to call out, but the covering muffles my voice to meaningless sounds. More figures move around me, their features blurred by the tears gathering in my eyes. Not one of them even bothers to look at me as I struggle. Healer equipment lines the stone walls, though this is clearly no standard healing room. The tools laid out on nearby tables look more like instruments of torture than healing. Needles, blades, and strange vials are arranged with unnerving precision, and my heart races faster with each item I see. My nose scrunches as it the air reeks of chemicals—sharp and sour, like burnt flesh and rotting food. “Begin the prep work.” This voice I recognize instantly—King Thalion. “I want to start as soon as possible. I need to leave for the arena soon.” Footsteps approach, and a face finally comes into focus. The man peers down at me with austere detachment, his eyes black voids behind wire-rimmed glasses. He prods at my chest with gloved fingers, mapping out something only he can see. “Remarkable muscle density,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “The physical conditioning from Valoria’s guild provides an ideal foundation. It’s too bad we do not have access to the other two.” I move my lips to demand answers, to ask what’s happening, but only muffled grunts escape. The man pays no attention to my attempts at communication, continuing his examination as if I’m nothing more than an interesting specimen. My eyes dart around the room, desperate for anything familiar. Through the gaps between people, I spot another figure propped against the far wall. They’re slumped forward, held up by thick chains, with some kind of metallic device protruding from their chest. Even from here, I can see the dried blood caked around the entry point. By the Angel. Terror claws up my throat as one man wheels over a cart carrying an identical device. The metal is dull and twisted, with sharp prongs extending from its base. They can’t possibly mean to… “Hold him still,” the man with glasses orders. “This part is always unpleasant.” Hands press down on my shoulders and legs, though I’m already thoroughly restrained. A woman approaches with a thin blade, perfectly crafted for precision cutting. She doesn’t meet my eyes as she positions it over my sternum. “Remember,” the king’s voice cuts through my rising panic, “we need the connection point to be perfect this time. The last three failed because the device wasn’t properly seated.” Last three? What happened to them? I thrash against the hands holding me down, but it’s useless. The blade touches my skin, and pain explodes through my chest as the woman begins to cut. I scream behind the gag, my body arching off the table as much as the restraints and hands allow. The woman works methodically, slicing through layers of muscle and tissue with practiced efficiency. Blood runs down my sides, pooling beneath me on the cold metal table. Through the haze of agony, I hear the distinctive crack of bone. They’re breaking through my sternum. The sound drones through my head, mixing with my muffled screams until I can’t tell which is which anymore. “Device,” the woman commands, holding out her bloody hand. The twisted metal contraption is passed over, and I watch in horror as she positions it over the gaping wound in my chest. The prongs align with the broken edges of my sternum, and then she begins to push. If I thought the cutting was painful, it is nothing compared to this. The device burrows into me, the prongs spreading out to anchor themselves in my flesh. My vision whites out repeatedly as wave after wave of agony crashes through me. I’m dimly aware that I’m still screaming, though my throat feels shredded. “Good,” the woman says with a bright smile after what feels like hours. “The connection is solid. Begin essence transfer preparations.” I lay there wheezing, tears streaming down my face as my body trembles with aftershocks of pain. The device in my chest pulses with my heartbeat, each throb sending fresh spikes of agony through me. The king moves into view, looking down at me with an expression that might be pity. “You should be honored, Raine,” he declares, though his words sound distant through the ringing in my ears. “Your sacrifice will help create something magnificent.” Sacrifice? The word bounces around my head as the group bustles around me, connecting things to the device. What are they planning to do? I send out desperate prayers to the Angel, begging for help, for salvation, for anything. But no divine intervention comes. Just more pain as they finish their preparations. My head lolls to the side as they finalize adjustments to the tubes connected to my chest. Through blurry vision, I watch light flow through clear piping toward me. My eyes widen past anything natural, the sight sending fresh waves of terror coursing through my body. “Begin essence transfer.” The king’s voice sounds eager, almost giddy with anticipation. The light reaches the device embedded in my chest, and immediately I know something is wrong. So devastatingly wrong. Heat spreads from the entry point, but it’s not natural warmth—it’s like molten metal being poured directly into my veins. I try to scream, but my voice is gone. Whether from the previous screaming or something else, I don’t know. All I can do is watch helplessly as more of the oddly thick substance pumps into me. The heat intensifies, transforming into something that feels alive. It writhes under my skin like thousands of snakes trying to burrow deeper into my flesh. My muscles spasm violently as foreign things flood my system. “Remarkable,” someone says. “His body isn’t immediately rejecting the essence.” Essence. They’re giving me essence from the chained body. They sound pleased, but I can barely focus on their words. The invading essence is wrong. It doesn’t belong in me. My own essence rises up to fight against it, creating a war inside my body that threatens to tear me apart. Colors start bleeding into my vision—colors that shouldn’t exist. They swirl and pulse with each erratic beat of my heart, creating patterns that hurt to look at. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the colors are there too, more vibrant against the darkness. “Heart rate increasing,” an emotionless voice announces. “Blood pressure rising steadily.” The wriggling under my skin becomes more aggressive. It feels like the foreign essence is desperate to consume me from the inside out, replacing everything that makes me, me with something else. Something twisted and wrong. My back arches off the table as a particularly violent surge rips through me. A scream not my own escapes my throat. The restraints creak but hold firm as my body contorts. Every muscle feels like it’s being shredded and reformed, over and over again. “Fascinating,” the man with glasses murmurs. “The integration is progressing much faster than previous subjects.” Integration. The word bounces around my head as another wave of agony crashes through me. They’re trying to force someone else’s essence into me. To make it part of me. But essence isn’t meant to be transferred like this—it’s tied to our souls, our very being. The pressure in my head increases until I’m certain my skull will crack. My thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, replaced by fragments of memories that aren’t mine. I see flashes of places I’ve never been, people I’ve never met, all tinted with those impossible colors that shouldn’t exist. “Sir,” a worried voice cuts through the chaos in my mind. “His temperature is reaching critical levels.” “Continue the transfer,” the king commands. “We’re too close to stop now.” The foreign memories come faster, more violently. I watch a young boy train with wooden swords, his movements graceful despite his age. But it’s not me—I never trained as a child. The guild found me much later. Another flash: the same boy, older now, sneaking through castle corridors. The thrill of avoiding guards mingles with my own terror until I can’t discern which emotions belong to me anymore. My heart pounds so hard I fear it will burst. Each beat circulates pulses of wrong-essence through my system, trying to overwrite what’s already there. My own essence fights back desperately, but it’s losing. I can feel it being consumed, replaced by this corruption they’re pumping into me. “His body is rejecting it,” someone far away shouts. “We need to—” “Continue!” the king roars. The pressure in my skull reaches unbearable levels. It feels like my brain is trying to expand beyond its confines. Blood trickles from my nose, then my ears. The taste of copper fills my mouth as my teeth clench hard enough to bite through my tongue. Please, I beg silently. Angel, if you can hear me, make it stop. Please make it stop. But no help comes. Just more pain as the essence war rages inside me. The foreign memories overwhelm my own. Who am I? Raine, or the boy from the castle? Both? Neither? My vision fractures, splitting into prismatic patterns that make me horribly nauseous. The impossible colors beat in time with my dying heart, each flash bringing fresh waves of misery. The pressure in my head builds and builds until I’m certain something has to give. “Sir, his vital signs are critical. We need to stop or—” “No!” The king’s face appears above me, his eyes wild with desperation. “This one has to work. He’s the strongest body we’ve found. Keep going!” More essence floods into me, but my body has no more room for it. It feels like my skin is splitting open from the inside, unable to contain the war being waged beneath it. The foreign memories come so fast now that I can’t process them. I can’t process anything. They blur together into a nightmare cascade of sounds and colors and feelings that aren’t mine. Maybe they are. The pressure in my head reaches a crescendo. Blood pours from every orifice as my body fails to contain the corrupted essence they’re pumping into me. I try one last time to pray to the Angel, but I can’t form coherent thoughts any longer. Through the haze of agony and foreign memories, I watch the king’s expression shift from desperate hope to bitter disappointment. He turns away with a disgusted sound, already walking toward the door. “Another failure,” he spits. “Dispose of it like the others.” The king’s advisor hurries after him, his voice soothing. “We’re learning more with each attempt, Your Majesty. Raine was our strongest subject yet—his survival time was nearly double the others. We’re getting closer.” Their voices fade as they leave, abandoning me to my fate. The pressure in my head is impossible now. Something has to give. My skull feels like it’s being crushed and expanded simultaneously. With my last moments of clarity, I realize I’m going to die. Not in glorious combat like I always imagined, but strapped to a table as a failed experiment—a mere statistic. Will anyone even know what happened to me? Or will I just become another disappearance, explained as one more mysterious death during the trials? The final surge of essence hits me like a large wave. My back arches one last time as the pressure reaches its peak. Through eyes that no longer feel like my own, I watch those unyeilding colors explode outward. Then everything goes dark. “Clean this up,” someone says distantly. “And someone fetch the staff—there’s brain matter on the ceiling again.”

Shadows consume me as I slip behind a bookcase and pinch my nose from the onslaught of dust that invades my senses, lest I sneeze and give away my presence. I reach into my core, locating my psionic strand to send out a pulse through the too quiet library. The relief I feel when my essence confirms there’s only one other being is short-lived as my target turns to walk in my direction. I crouch, scrunching my left eye closed to better see through the infinitesimal space between two books that haven’t felt the warm touch of another since the Angel walked this realm. The loud hammering of my heart threatens my concealment, and it takes great effort to keep my breathing slow and shallow. My target shelves the small book he was holding, his lip quirking slightly at whatever he finds amusing on its thin spine. His hand lifts to trace his fingers almost solemnly across a few of the other books before he decides to return to his desk empty-handed. I stand, only to freeze abruptly when my boot scuffs lightly against the tile that makes up the majority of the castle floor. The resulting sound is small. Barely audible. But that is no excuse for my thoughtless behavior. This last week I spent at the guild—not only to search for answers, but to get a break from this damned castle—has coated me in a level of comfort I cannot afford to give in to. The competition may be over, but that was never the threat to begin with. I nearly laugh; the embarrassing manner in which my plan to kill the king played out grates on my nerves every single day. My jaw clenches—images of unwanted sympathy flit through my head. Marek watching me carefully, more so than he ever has. Jaxon’s inability to look me in the eye. Even Isolde was in visible pain as she bit her tongue to keep from making stupid, mediocre remarks to me. Fuck all of them. Isaiah is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring him back. Feeling sorry for me is the worst way to uphold his memory. Not that they understand that. And even then, thoughts of reaching out to him haunt my every lonely moment. I haven’t attempted to call on my spectral strand in two decades, but that hasn’t ceased the bone-deep need inside me that begs to try. I’m unsure if my hesitation is a result of my nervousness at seeing Isaiah in such a manner, or that I wouldn’t be able to call to him at all. Regularly engaging my forbidden essence has been impossible my entire life…and as much as it pains me to admit, I’m not certain I could confidently weave most strands. I’m comfortable with my kinetic strand as I use it regularly, but I’ve spent more time with a blade than I have with the rest of my essence combined. Well, aside from my umbral strand. I’ve found a comfortability with the shadows, as they have with me. A mutually beneficial understanding. Rustling papers snap me from the adverse thoughts I fell into. I focus my trained senses on the other side of the shelf, shuffling forward when nothing seems amiss. My feet silently take me to the back of the room, darkness steadying my breathing the more it covers me. This shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve played this game a thousand times, not having lost once. I curse the unsettling feeling in my stomach and press my back against the end of the bookshelf. Peering over my right shoulder, I tense as my teeth grip my bottom lip at the sight of my target. Foolish idiot—he hasn’t a clue that I’m here. Has he learned nothing? My body straightens once more, and I stretch my neck in each direction. Some may call it stalling—I call it being prepared. I am stalling, though. I will berate myself for hesitating later; right now, I must concentrate. Not allowing any more wayward thoughts to seep through the cracks that have appeared in my mind uninvited, I step my left foot over my right and spin to stalk down the aisle that will lead directly to my target. My jaw drops on a breathless gasp as a blade slides into my abdomen with a questionable force the moment I turn. If this were anyone else, their heads would already be on the ground. But the purpose of my current mission is entirely different—not to harm, but to teach. My eyes drag up the wrinkled, black shirt, momentarily pausing at the expanse of skin showing through the half that remains unbuttoned. The prince’s face is a mirror to mine; though instead of meeting my gaze, his horror-stricken irises are fixated on the hand that still grips the blade he just impaled me with. “By the Angel,” Caspian whispers through a cracked voice. I tense as his hand begins to tremble, causing the tip of his blade to cut me further. “Ariella…I—I didn’t know it was you…” My hand snaps out to grab his wrist, forcing him to still so that I may focus on something other than the pain. “I mean, of course I knew it was you, I just didn’t think—oh, fuck, I’m so—” “Prince,” I bark, effectively shutting him up, and his eyes finally slide to meet mine. I momentarily forget about my potentially fatal wound as I look at him for the first time since returning to the castle. His dark hair is disheveled and clunky, as if he hasn’t washed it in the time I’ve been gone, while also running his hands through it a hundred times a day. Dark purple shadows line the spaces under his eyes, and his lids look as if they’re struggling to remain open, even in their currently alarmed state. His mouth—tense and dry—is surrounded by ashen skin. I’ve the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks and ensure blood still runs through his veins. He looks…bad. Worse than I’ve been feeling. What the fuck happened? I grunt and clench my teeth when I mindlessly release his wrist to feel the temperature of his face. Right. He stabbed me. My eyes find the wound and roll hard. “Why must blood always be spilled on my freshly cleaned clothes? Have you any idea how long it took me to rid these leathers of Desmond’s blood?” Until this last week, I’d never spoken to Desmond at the guild before. He must be just a year or so younger than me, but Isaiah was the only person I ever willingly gave my attention to. Unfortunate really, because Desmond is a decent fighter and made a good opponent these last few days. I’m not sure he reciprocates the feelings as it was his blood soaking the ground each time we sparred, but I do not care, nor am I surprised. No one faces me and turns away with a pleased smile on their face. I refuse to acknowledge the one exception to that standing in front of me. The prince didn’t seem to hear my question, as he just stares at me as if he’s seeing a spirit. I don’t have time for this. I sigh, grasping his wrist once more and rip it back before I allow myself to think twice about the decision. My breathing stalls and the prince begins to speak frantically, but I do not notice either as I tug on my vital strand and coax the essence to the oozing cut. I cover the area with a hand to dim the light beneath my skin; it’s dark enough in here that anyone would notice the healing essence before realizing there is not a healer present. A breathy sigh escapes my mouth as the worst of the pain dissipates, along with my already lacking energy. My head tilts. I must not have noticed, but I’ve been unusually fatigued since arriving at the guild. There is no reason I should feel this tired; I’m aware of all that has happened recently, but trauma and exhaustion are two things I refuse to let coexist together. So I ignore the dull heaviness in my muscles, and shake off the thoughts as I focus on Caspian. “You look like shit,” I mutter quietly. I cross my arms to remove his attention from my wound, but he only rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, so do you.” He spins to trudge back to his table without another word, or even the smile that never seems to leave his face around me. There must be something wrong. I stride forward, stopping when I reach the chair opposite the prince, intentionally yanking it in a rough manner. His forehead creases slightly while his eyes scrunch closed, and he takes a few deep breaths before focusing on his work once more. Interesting. “Has Gavriel finally decided to stop worshiping you, or is your crappy mood related to your father?” It’s a genuine question. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was both the guard and king upsetting Caspian; their only talent is pissing everyone else off. The prince’s exhausted eyes drag up my chest to my waiting glare. “And who’s to say it isn’t your presence souring my mood?” I swallow at the sting of his words, but my face gives away nothing but amusement as I raise a brow and allow my lips to curve. But something about the question doesn’t settle right within me. What if he’s being truthful? Has this week apart allowed him to see that I’m truly the monster everyone believes I am? Perhaps he no longer wants anything to do with me. I wouldn’t blame him…though that doesn’t mean I will allow it to happen. Angel save him from me, because I am no hero. I will be his undoing and gladly introduce my blade to any who thinks they can stop me. I do not wish to fight right now, though. I’m too tired to keep this unfeeling facade going. “Okay. Let me know when you’ve grown tired of being a dick.” I shift to march from the library like a fucking child, pausing when the prince speaks again. “Wait—” he says frantically, reaching a hand across the table as if to stop me, though he makes no real effort to do so. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m being a dick. It’s not you, I…I just haven’t been feeling like myself the last few days.” I shrug and cross my arms, frowning at the still-wet blood that seeps through my sleeve. “Don’t apologize. It’s not as if I’ve ever treated you,” I pause, pursing my lips before continuing, “or anyone really, with kindness before.” Instead of moving back to the chair across from him, I pull at the one to his right, spinning it backward and straddling its base. His truth snags my interest. I will find whoever has made him feel this way. I am his guard, after all—so of course I must ask, “You said you’re not feeling like yourself. What happened?” His hand drags through his hair, tugging at the ends before dropping to his lap. “I really don’t know. I just feel so empty and tired. And yet I can’t sleep, or focus, and it’s just—fuck. I don’t know.” His feelings are familiar, though I press in a different direction. “What are you working on?” I finally take notice of the books and stacks of paper chaotically organized across the table. Trade agreements with Meridian and Lumarna sit off to the side, along with what looks to be residential plans and a budget for the upcoming bi-annual Frostwell competition. One lucky citizen will reign champion and be afforded the opportunity to serve as a royal sentry. I’d offer up my position, but no one would find themselves worthy of protecting the man in front of me. Not even Gavriel is suitable, regardless that he’s been Caspian’s guard for years. I chuckle before yawning behind my hand—I truly look forward to the day I can finally end his miserable existence. I do not care for the laws prohibiting murder—I’m a fucking assassin, why would I?—so the only thing stopping me is him. They’re friends. Or so the prince claims. “I have been sitting in on my father’s council and shadowing his activities, looking for…things.” I’ve also been in search of these things. Answers to my father’s journal, my mother’s letter. Everything I’m tired of thinking about. Something heavy settles in my gut—the prince is more likely to find what we need, but his current state tells me his efforts have been just as fruitless. “I haven’t gathered anything I believe will help—” of course, “—but there are some interesting things I’ve picked up on. I don’t know, maybe they’ll be a start and this will just take much longer than we anticipated. "He wasn’t thrilled when I told him you’d were my new guard, by the way—not that you’d know, considering you ran off for a week. He’s probably off brooding somewhere, cursing my name for defying his orders again to remove you from the castle." I nod as my finger taps against my other arm. I rest my chin on their crossing, ignoring the way Caspian drinks in my presence. I may have missed his lack of subtlety. It’s refreshing—not suppressing everything I am and endlessly wondering what those around me are also hiding. My world is exhausting. Wholly opposite of the prince’s; and yet here we sit, exchanging secrets and both looking as if the Angel itself is draining our inner essence. “And what are these interesting things you mentioned?” I press when he doesn’t continue, choosing instead to watch me. I'm sure he's looking for a reaction about his father's displeasure at my presence in the castle, but he will not get a response. He breaks his perusal to scan the empty library. “Not here,” he breathes, shaking his head. I know we’re alone in this massive space. The closest person to us is three hallways down, in a paralleled staff corridor. Until another presence enters the barrier of my psionic strand, and my lip curls. “Well, allow me to escort you to your room.” The prince perks up at my offer; those eyes make it difficult to hide my smile, but I manage. “Where you will sleep alone. You’re clearly exhausted and will be nothing of use without rest.” He grins, clasping his hands behind his head to stretch over the back of the chair. The movement tugs at the hem of his shirt, exposing a sliver of his abdomen. His smile widens as he takes my mere curiosity as encouragement and somehow stretches even further. I have the flitting urge to push him back and leave for another week. I cringe at the thought. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit better. Less achy and tired…likely your doing,” he drawls with a confident energy that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. I raise a brow and offer my best disbelieving look, to which he laughs loud enough for the presence—just outside now—to hear. Perhaps he does seem lighter, though it’s near impossible to tell with how dark it is in here. “Don’t believe me, but it’s true.” I do not bother responding as I pull back on my psionic strand and wait for the library doors to burst open with the force of an unbearable brute. I look over my shoulder just as Gavriel throws the doors open, looking just as angry as I’d anticipated. “What the fuck did you do, wraith?” My lips threaten to smirk just as a familiar giddiness swirls through my stomach. I swipe my blade from its sheathe and twirl it through my fingers as I face the dramatic male stalking toward me. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I drawl sweetly, stopping him in his advance when I take a step. And another. “If you’ve interrupted your prince’s working just to threaten me, get on with it.” His jaw clenches, and I can practically see the effort it takes him to not swing one of his white-knuckled fists at me. I haven’t felt this light in days. “I know it was you—none of the other sentries would dare.” “Dare what, Gav?” Caspian asks, stepping next to me. His arm grazes mine, and my eyes nearly— What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get a hold of myself. “Yeah, Gav, what exactly are you referring to? Has yet another woman found your bed lacking and took her frustrations out on you?” He’s seething essence, warming the space around us with his pyro strand. Intentional or not, his control over the affinity is impressive. Though I’d offer myself as griffin meat before ever considering uttering such words aloud. “You’re lucky that fucker,” he spits, shoving a finger into the prince’s chest, “has forbidden me to lay a hand on you. I’ll relish the day he tires of your blackened heart, so that I may cut it out with that blade you seem so fond of.” A wide grin spreads across my face. Not one heartbeat later am I directly in front of the brute holding said blade against his cock while the one from my left thigh grazes the sharp line of his jaw. “Oh, don’t tease me, Gav. Perhaps the prince will allow you to spar with me.” I pull my hands back and step around Gavriel, kicking the backs of his legs and forcing him to his knees. Both of my blades cross against the taut skin of his throat before he has a chance to process what just happened. “Be a good boy and ask him nicely.” Heat prickles the back of my neck, and not the kind I feel when I’m about to take a life. I swallow tightly before my eyes slowly focus on the figure standing just ahead. Where I expect Caspian to be glaring at the blades threatening his other guard’s life, he instead watches me. No, not me—my eyes. There is some heat within the depths of his, but his stare is so focused that it feels as if he’s searching for something inside my head. My skin prickles while my mind begs me to look away from his intensity. It’s far too knowing and intimate. I don’t, though. I remain so still that only the beat of my heart could give away my discomfort. I want so badly to shift on my feet, or even for Gavriel to speak, just to give me an excuse to break Caspian’s stare. But it’s as if I am stuck in a trance—like I could give every bit of my essence in attempting to move, only to remain unsuccessful until the prince finds what he’s seeking. He finally severs the hold, allowing air to fill my burning lungs. “—and go find a fucking room. I do not want to watch this.” Gavriel’s voice startles me, and he hisses as I nick his throat. At least I wasn’t caught unaware. The blood seeping from his skin only serves my purpose. I want to respond and tell him exactly what I’ll do to his prince if I go find a room, but I cannot summon the words. The man himself rubs a hand over his face as he scoffs. “As long as you don’t kill each other, I do not care.” He turns to drop back into his seat and rubs the sides of his head. Ah, yes. He’s referring to the sparring Gavriel was supposed to ask about. All previous conversation since arriving at the castle is pushed to the back of my mind. I release the brute and sheathe my blades while I saunter back to the table, reaching to gather the mess of materials. Ungracefully, my arms shovel the books and paper together, making a less than appealing pile of everything. “What are you doing?” I’d think it was obvious, so I don’t respond. I lift the materials and spin to stalk from the library. It’s dark in here; the lamps fixed to various places along the walls barely illuminate the space. I suspect that is the purpose of the three-story windows that span the back wall, but it is dreary and stormy outside the castle, the clouds dark enough to mask nearly all light from the sun. I don't mind it, though, creepy as it is. Ornate, gold-filled shelves seem to stretch endlessly through the space, each one overfilled with books that wait for their time to be read. I can barely make out four stories as each side of the library rises further than I thought the castle could accommodate. There are no stairs in sight, likely located in the depths of the space that are conveniently covered by limitless shadows. Despite the eeriness, there’s something strangely comforting about this place. The way each shelf seems to embrace me, offering me safety amongst the ancient wisdom. The heavy scent of aged literature that is an intrinsic part of the atmosphere, and reminds me of a certain prince. It takes me a few moments as I consider my comfortability in this space before I realize why it feels so natural to be here—it reminds me of home. I do not possess the capacity to think further about it, and I quickly shove at the thoughts before they hold hostage my mind. They’re too much. I pause my steps when a slight tremor radiates through my feet. I curse before dropping everything in my hands and spinning to reach Caspian before the shaking intensifies. It’s thoroughly relieving to find him just behind me. The panic in his eyes as he reaches for me stings, but I do not have time to acknowledge his feelings. I snatch the front of his shirt and yank him into me as the vibrations in the ground become so loud I can no longer hear my own thoughts. I chuckle when Caspian bends me so that his body covers my head. He can be sweet sometimes. I don’t resist him, needing to concentrate on my essence. I reach with my inner awareness to the surrounding environment and tug on my aero strand, but lose control when the prince and I fall to our knees from the violent quaking. I try once more with a frantic urgency that is never useful in these situations, successfully crushing the air above us together until it forms an impenetrable barrier. I’d feel far more comfortable weaving my umbral strand for this, but I will not risk Gavriel seeing that essence. My arms tighten around the prince’s stiff body. I release a thin breath when the first objects reach us, thudding against my barrier before sliding to crash into the ground. Caspian winces at the sounds, lifting his head before his chest bounces under mine. “You’re incredible,” he says with enough force that I can make out his words. If he’s expecting a response, he will be disappointed. I’m too focused on maintaining my essence to have attention for much else. I have practiced with most of my strands for years, but never to such a degree. My shadows are the only essence I have held for long periods of time and used to ward against things. My aero strand? Never had I considered needing to use it in such a manner, so I find my body trembling after just a few minutes. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Caspian whispers in my ear, likely thinking I’m shaking from fear. Maybe I am. I’ve never struggled with my essence like this before. It’s pathetic. The prince’s hold does not waver as the ground sways in various directions, practically throwing us from one side of the library to the other. Too many objects continue to slam into my barrier—a vexation of the highest degree. If this lasts much longer, my grip on my aero strand may falter…but I would first drain the entirety of my essence, emptying my body of its life source, before allowing this weakening Accord to claim Caspian’s life. Because that’s all this is. It must be. This is the second time the ground has shaken, but if I consider all the strange weather over the last few months…it is too coincidental to be anything but the Accord. I’ve yet to discern just what it means and how it is affected by a sort of balance, though I have no doubt that this incessant fucking quaking is connected. It feels as if I’ve aged years by the time the ground levels out and the tremors slow to nothing once more. “Fuck’s sake, finally,” I mumble as I push from Caspian and stand on wobbly legs. The library looks just as dreadful as I’d expected. Books cover the floor as far as I can see, along with chairs and tables that are far from their normal resting places. A few taller plants lay strewn across the ground, their soil smeared over open pages and previously clean tile. I look over my shoulder at a loud pattering to find one of the windows cracked, with a large piece missing. Chilled rain and wind welcome themselves into the space, ruining decades-old texts and wooden furniture. My eyes scan the prince quickly before focusing on an object under the broken window. I walk toward it, ignoring Gavriel when he scoffs from my lack of awareness of what I am stepping on. I’m aware—I just don’t fucking care. He scoots from under a table as I walk by, mumbling something to himself about how I’m the worst kind of human. It’s too easy to ignore his taunts, especially when a large wooden object is laying propped against a shelf—none of which seem to have fallen. They must be fused to the tile in some manner. My steps halt me just beside the aged wood, likely twice my height if I’m seeing correctly. There’s a salty air surrounding it, and the grooves along it seem almost mushy. Disgusting. This is certainly what came through the window, as shards of glass surround the immediate area. Against every rational instinct I have, I press against the wood, testing its weight. Curious. Something I couldn’t lift without aid had managed to fly several stories up at such a rate that it smashed through a window…when the ground was shaking. I cannot make sense of the logic, but I’m far too tired to think about it any longer. I used more essence than I’ll ever admit holding that barrier up. I need to train my stamina. After I sleep. My chin remains high as I walk back through the library, grabbing the prince’s hand and pulling him from whatever he and Gavriel were discussing. “Excuse you, I was talking with my guard.” He sounds just as frustrated as I am. “Is that so?” He exhales loudly. “Because, as I recall, I’m your guard.” “I’m not in the mood for this, Ariella,” he mutters as he pulls his hand from mine, though he continues to walk next to me. I don’t answer, instead leading us down the seemingly unaffected hallways aside from a few dropped portraits. How satisfying it is that each of them is torn, ridding the castle of some of the king’s ego. We make it to our rooms, and before Caspian can speak I nod to his and walk into mine, shutting the door loud enough that he thankfully doesn’t come knocking. I shed my bloody clothes and drop to the bed, scrunching my eyes closed. It feels like the first time in weeks that I can allow myself to relax. Though that’s a false hope. This quake was far more violent than the first, filling me with a sense of urgency I didn’t feel before. I thought I’d have more time to figure this out. But clearly I need to increase my efforts and accelerate my timeline. This is no longer just about some nonsense words I discovered in my father’s journal—there’s so much more at risk than I realized.

When did my skin become so sallow? I pinch my cheeks and frown at the lack of color that appears. I haven’t looked into a mirror for weeks, but if I’d known just how sickly I look… I swipe damp hair from my face, curling it behind my ears before studying my features some more. Normally, the silver covering my head compliments the tone of my skin, though I am a fair bit more pale than usual and the colors are not sitting well together. I shouldn’t care so much. I’ve never worried over my appearance before. Foolish thoughts. I shake my head and walk into the overly ostentatious room I’ve been assigned as a royal guard. As much as I love the color of blood, the use of it here makes my stomach turn. I’ll have to see about redecorating. I’m sure Thalion would have something to say about ruining such decor, but there’s nothing left for him to take from me. He wouldn’t dare harm his heir, his only son, so I’m antsy to get under his skin in any way possible. Until I kill him for good. Then I’ll actually be under his skin, only to toss it aside and watch as it rots enough for the maggots to feast. Caspian was foolishly not against my declaration of murdering his father, as if his loyalty to his family means nothing in the wake of my presence. The man is truly in love with me—it’s disturbing. We’ve known one another for mere months, though that is not even the worst part of his obsession. It was the day we met in the training room that I saw his infatuation settle around his being. I’d convinced myself that his pursuit was some personal endeavor he sought to achieve, the thought of which never bothered me much before. Surely that is all he wished for at first. He’s the prince—it isn’t difficult to conclude how he’d brag for fucking the Silver Wraith and lived to shout the achievement from rooftops. But nothing with him is ever so simple. He ruined every plan I’d devised. I should have torn his heart out just for standing in my way too many times. That would have been simple. Much easier than the storm of emotion constantly surging through me that I continue to fight with everything I am. But my life has never proven so easy. The Angel truly despises me—something I couldn’t care less about, but will punish all the same. I slide on my usual leathers—black, as I refuse to don the hideous outfit every sentry is made to wear—and turn from my closet, pausing. The gilded egg I took from my encounter with the griffin sits on the table next to my bed. I’ve yet to decide what to do with it because fuck if I’ll toss it out for the king to find and fuck if I’ll return it to the creature that nearly tore every organ from my body. She may have spared me, but even I am not foolish enough to test fate again. Sucking in a deep, grating breath, I tug on my umbral strand and unwind the wards from my door. It’s satisfying, barely needing to flick my fingers to weave my ethereal affinity. The other affinities require more effort, their essence originating from the surrounding realm instead of inside me. My steps slow as I approach Caspian’s room, and I smile—genuinely. “I don’t know how many times we must have this conversation, Cas. She needed to go before, but after seeing her in the library? I’m not fucking playing this run-around game with you and her anymore.” I lean against the wall, my leathers doing nothing to keep the cold of the stone out. A finger taps on the blade sheathed at my hip as I chuckle softly when there’s a deep sigh following Gavriel’s hissed declaration. “I do not wish to continuously have this conversation, but it seems it’s something my friend will not leave alone.” “How do you not see it? The girl has gone crazy! Her eyes were somehow even more emotionless earlier than they normally are. I’m worried for your safety if you do not rid of her.” Strange—I felt far too full of emotions when I’d returned to the castle. He’s likely just pissed that I ruined his sleeping arrangements. At least he's angry enough that he won't question just how I imbued his mattress with as much water as it would hold. “I’m done talking about this with you, Gavriel. Bring it up again and we’ll have a problem,” the prince snaps, earning himself a growl from his brute of a friend. I twist to my right and dramatically throw Caspian’s door open. “Aw, please don’t stop, Gav; I wanted to hear just how crazy I’ve become.” The stalky guard faces me with a sneer that would make any weaker man piss themselves. But I am no man. “This is a private conversation, wraith.” My lips curve before I drop into a cushioned chair and wave a hand idly. “Surely you’re aware half of Valoria could hear you barking at your prince,” I drawl, disinterested. Though my eyes snap up when Gavriel adjusts himself to be a barrier between Caspian and me—a rather unattractive one. “Don’t stress yourself too much, Gav. I won’t bite him.” My tongue runs along my lower lip as I meet the prince’s amused gaze. “Unless he asks, that is.” He swipes a hand along his chin, a slight twitch appearing at the corner of his mouth. Gavriel’s face contorts. “You’re proving my point, wraith.” I roll my eyes, crossing one leg over the other. “Oh please, as if you haven’t thought about it yourself. Perhaps you’re just jealous?” The guard’s hand flies to the hilt of his sword, but Caspian steps forward, placing a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “That’s enough, both of you,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of command. I cannot help but smirk at the way Gavriel’s posture instantly stiffens, his ingrained obedience to the prince overriding his hatred for me. It’s almost endearing. Caspian turns to me, his moonlit eyes softening slightly. “Ariella, what brings you here?” I shrug, feigning indifference. “I was bored.” I unsheathe my blade and rest my cheek on the point, needing some way to ground myself for the conversation to come. “And we need to discuss the Accord.” My eyes narrow on Gavriel’s face, and my suspicions are confirmed when he shows little reaction to my words. Caspian indeed informed him of our little secret. The prince sighs as he drops to his bed and leans back on his hands. “That we do. Gavriel,” he says, catching the guard’s attention. “You have training soon, so please inform us of what you’ve discovered.” He gestures a hand out as if in offering, but Gavriel’s lip just curls. He doesn’t respond for a moment, seeming to contemplate something before deciding to ask. “You wish for her to hear?” Caspian nods once, leaving no room for argument. The brute crosses his arms and faces the prince fully, widening his stance while he pointedly ignores my presence. Foolish fucking man. “I was able to find a way into the tunnels without the other sentries suspecting, but I didn’t uncover much. There were,” he stretches his neck to each side as he pauses, “sounds.” “Sounds?” I ask, my interest piqued despite my distaste for the messenger. “What kind of sounds?” Gavriel’s jaw clenches, but he answers, still refusing to look at me. “Inhuman. Like…like something crawling—scratching—against the stone.” A chill runs down my spine, but I mask the unease with a smirk. “Scared of a few rats, Gav?” He whirls on me, eyes blazing. “These were no rats, wraith. Whatever’s down there is not right.” Caspian leans forward, resting both elbows on his knees. “Could you see anything?” The guard shakes his head. “No. It was too dark, and fuck if I was going to use a light. But I could feel them. Their presence.” He shudders slightly. Curious. My gut is telling me that his story is relevant to our current search, but how? There’s something I am missing—something important. If I could just figure out what it is, I know that this will all make sense. As much as I despise his presence, perhaps Gavriel could be useful. We need to know what the king is doing in the tunnels, and I will enthusiastically volunteer the brute to go in deeper. If one of us needs to be sacrificed for answers, it will be him. I lean back in my chair, twirling my blade absently as I consider our next steps. Caspian stands, pacing the room with a thoughtful expression. “We need to explore further. If there’s something in those tunnels that could pose a threat to us or the city—even the Accord—finding it is a top priority.” “Or aid it,” I interject, earning a sharp look from both men. I shrug. “What? We don’t know what these creatures are. They could be useful.” The prince shakes his head. “We can’t risk it. I won’t allow you down there, not without more information.” I scoff as I rise from my seat, sheathing my blade. “Then, by all means, Your Highness, let’s get more information.” *** The library is still a disaster from yesterday’s quake. Shards of glass litter the floor, glinting in the sunlight that now streams unobstructed through the shattered window. Books are strewn everywhere, their pages stuck open from their fall. It seems the staff has cleaned up a bit, as the large piece of wood is no longer here. I walk my way carefully through the debris, my eyes scanning the shelves that remain intact. “We should start with the historical texts,” I mutter, more to myself than to Caspian. Thank the Angel Gavriel did not insist on following the prince around like an obedient puppy, though I could tell the idiot wanted to. How in the Aether Caspian ever saw any redeeming qualities in the man is far beyond my comprehension abilities. He nods, already moving toward a far corner of the room where the dustiest books rest. “I’ll check the older records. Maybe there’s something about the tunnels in the original castle blueprints.” We work in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of pages and the occasional curse when one of us steps on a shard of glass. The quiet is almost peaceful, but there’s an undercurrent of tension that I can’t quite shake. I run my fingers along the spines of the ancient texts, dust collecting on my fingertips as I search for anything remotely useful. My mind races as I try to piece together the fragments of information I’ve gathered. The balance seems to be at the heart of everything. But how does it connect to the Accord? The Aether? To the strange creatures in the tunnels? To my parents’ cryptic warnings? I pull out a promising-looking volume and flip through its yellowed pages, my eyes scanning for any mention of the Aether or the Accord. A few passages catch my attention, speaking of a delicate balance between realms, of cosmic forces that have been relied upon for centuries. My eyes widen as I read a particularly intriguing passage: “The balance, the mystical force which binds both realms, flows through the veins of our land like lifeblood. It is the source of peace, the harmony of essence itself. But beware, for as the Accord gives, so too can it take away. Should the balance be disturbed, the very fabric of reality may unravel.” I frown, my mind racing. This sounds eerily similar to what my father’s journal hinted at. The balance shifting, the Accord weakening…could it all be connected to the Aether? I flip through more pages, searching for any further mention of the Accord. My frustration grows as I find nothing concrete, just vague allusions to ancient rituals and binding agreements. It’s as if the true nature of the Accord has been deliberately obscured—hidden from something that’s deemed a threat. Or someone. I force the useless book shut, dust puffing into the air. My eyes sting, though whether from the particles or dissatisfaction, I’m unsure. Tossing the text back on its shelf, I reach for another when a warm breath tickles my ear. “Find anything interesting?” I whirl, my hand instinctively wrapping around the blade at my hip. Caspian stands there, an infuriating smirk on his face. How did he manage to sneak up on me? My senses are slipping in his presence. Unacceptable. “Nothing substantial,” I mutter, annoyed at both his stealth and my lack of progress. “You?” His smirk widens as he holds up a weathering, leather-bound book. “Actually, I might have something. Look at this.” He flips the book open to a marked page and points to a faded illustration. It shows a network of tunnels beneath what appears to be the entirety of Valoria, some branches stretching into the Elysaran Mountains. The calm I was beginning to feel melts away as a heavy weight settles in my gut. “Fuck me—they’re not just under the castle.” I sigh and lean back against a shelf, crossing my arms. “There is no possible way we could search through every one of those tunnels within the next century.” I barely finish my words before the prince shakes his head. “That’s not necessary,” he answers, running his fingers along the book he holds. “Whatever my father is doing is big. I know you’ve felt the essence emanating from him and how wrong it is. He wouldn’t risk something so important outside the castle walls. There are too many variables—too many people he would need to rely on to keep his secret. Here, he and Varrick can monitor things without seeming suspicious. I’m certain whatever we need to find is under the castle.” I nod slowly, considering his words. “You’re right.” His brows shoot up at the words. I may not normally speak kindly, but perhaps I’ll indulge him once in a while just to see this playful curiosity in his eyes some more. “It makes sense to focus on the castle tunnels. But even that’s a significant area to cover. We’ll need a plan.” I lean in closer, studying the illustration. The drawing is worn, but it’s easy enough to surmise the different landmarks illustrated along the pages. The castle, the guild, the lesser district. There is no mistaking the areas in which these tunnels run. But why? Why are they there? Though I wouldn't speak the words aloud, I trust Caspian’s word about the king. But I do not trust Thalion, and fuck if I’ll dismiss this entire map just because the prince believes his father doesn’t make use of it. Caspian’s eyes meet mine, a determined glint in them. “We’ll start with the areas closest to where Gavriel heard those sounds. Work our way out from there.” “And what about your guard dog, prince?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Will he be joining us on this little expedition? Now that you’ve informed him of everything we wanted to keep hidden, that is.” The prince sighs, running a hand through his hair. A puff of air sweeps over my skin as he closes the book and steps toward me. I may be angry with him, but it’s a relief to not see the dark circles under his eyes any longer. “Gavriel is loyal.” “To you,” I point out, tilting my head as I press a finger to the center of his chest and push. He remains still—close enough that the heat of his body warms the chill in mine. “Not to me. Not to what we need to do.” “He’ll do as I say, angel,” Caspian assures me, his voice firm enough that I know he will welcome no more talk of his guard. Too bad I do not answer to him. “And how far does that loyalty reach, hm?” His eyes drop and track the movement of my fingers walking up his chest. I hold back a smile when his muscles tense under my touch. “Gavriel is loyal to his kingdom. The man loves his rules. How can you be certain he won’t turn on you the moment you reveal your treasonous thoughts against the king?” My hand drifts over his throat and catches his chin, jerking enough for his gaze to meet mine once more. I need to move away from him—the hunger and tension emanating from him are pure torture to my traitorous body. But I don’t move. Not even when he steps closer, dropping his book on the shelf as his arms raise to each side of my head. He leans closer, and I use every bit of control I’ve learned over the years to stabilize my breathing. I cannot stop the flip of my stomach, and I wince as my shoulder jerks slightly, instinctively wanting to cover the violent storm in my abdomen. Caspian’s lips rise as he searches my face. “How do I know you won’t turn on me the moment I help you find answers?” I narrow my eyes, a smirk playing at my lips. Smart man, finally thinking with his head instead of his dick. “You don’t.” His breath hitches, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me. Part of me—a part I desperately try to ignore—wants him to. The memory of his full lips pressing against mine, fighting for dominance as we both take what we want… But instead he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “That’s what makes this so exciting, isn’t it?” A shiver runs down my spine, and I hate myself for it. I loathe how my body responds to him—how my heart races when he’s this close. It’s a weakness I cannot afford. But one I’m increasingly convinced is worth the cost. “Exciting isn’t the word I’d use,” I mutter, pushing against his chest. He doesn’t budge, instead pressing the lightest of kisses just under my ear. “Dangerous, perhaps. Foolish, undeniably.” Caspian chuckles, the sound low and rich and enough that a breath of raw need gets stuck in my throat. “Since when has danger ever stopped the illustrious Silver Wraith?” Since you became more important to me than anything else. I jump at my internal admission—something I’ve refused to acknowledge. I shouldn’t be thinking so openly. It’s messy and will cause more issues than I can deal with right now. It is all just repressed lust, anyway; nothing so important it requires more than a few mere heartbeats of my attention. But the prince’s lips slide over my cheek, brushing faintly against mine, and suddenly I cannot remember why this isn’t a good idea. His hands lower to grab my waist, and I am but a willing hostage as their grip locks and prevents my retreat. This position, these feelings, are dangerous. But Caspian is right…when have I ever avoided it, instead of eagerly falling into its waiting embrace? I open my mouth to retort, but something prickles at the edge of my senses. A presence, watching. Observing. My instincts scream danger. In an instant, I clamp my hand over Caspian’s mouth and spin us around, pressing him against the bookshelf. His eyes noticeably widen, but I silence any protest with a sharp look. My body is flush against his, every muscle taut as I scan our surroundings. The library appears empty, but the feeling persists. Someone—or something—is here. I lean in close, a whisper barely leaving my lips. “We’re not alone.” Caspian’s body tenses, understanding flooding his eyes. He gives a slight nod, his hand moving slowly to his sides as he considers his options. He has none, but I let him think, anyway. He is my charge to keep safe, not the other way around. I maintain my hand over his mouth, using the position to shield him from the darkened opening at the end of the shelves. I tug on my psionic strand and carefully send the essence away. It gets no more than a few feet before a wave of wrongness touches it, and I recoil so hard that the strand slips loose, the essence slamming back into me. I have never felt something so utterly revolting. Whatever that was is not natural, and for the first time since meeting the griffin, a trickle of fear settles under my skin. But not fear for myself. No, this thing is something evil—hostile. Its energy is indescribably death, and it will kill the prince and me without hesitation. But it will not get so far. No one touches him but me. I carefully step away from Caspian, my movements slow and deliberate. Every sense is on high alert as I inch toward the darkness at the end of the aisle. The wrongness I felt earlier intensifies with each step as a haze of decay and corruption that threatens to overwhelm me. My mind races as I attempt to make sense of whatever the fuck this is. Is it connected to the sounds Gavriel heard in the tunnels? To the Accord? To my parents’ warnings? There are too many questions and not enough answers. And I’m beginning to get fucking irritated about it. The wrongness I felt when my essence touched it reminds me of the corruption I’ve encountered before in the throne room, but this…this is different. More potent. More needy. A memory flashes through my mind—my mother’s face, twisted with fear as she whispered to my father about the balance being disturbed. How they had thought I was sleeping, but I had already been listening for minutes after sinking to the floor from their frightening conversation. Chaos. The word that had repeated in my head for days after hearing them speak. Disappointing that I had not connected this memory before now. But was this what she meant? Perhaps this is the consequence of the balance or Accord being endangered. There is a shift in the air, and in one fluid motion, I spin and fling my blade down the aisle, right in between the eyes of— “What the fuck is that?” Caspian’s words echo the stall in my thoughts. I walk forward slowly as the creature’s distorted form twists and writhes in pain, its limbs elongated and its skin a sickly yellow. It shudders before falling still, allowing me to study its strange form. It may be dark in this part of the library, but I am unfortunately able to make out what I’m seeing. The creature is a strange amalgamation of human and…something I do not understand. There are mismatched limbs jutting at odd angles and bright red veins pulsing underneath its fairly translucent skin. Its eyes are wild and unseeing, glowing with the same frenzied energy I felt minutes ago. I crouch next to it, immediately covering my nose as the scent of burnt flesh and blood fills the air. I can only describe the revolting smell as living rot—something that’s not quite dead, but should be. Even through each uncanny difference, this being was certainly human at one point. Everything about it defies explanation. Whatever it is, I can’t shake the sense that its purpose wasn’t to harm Caspian—but that’s who it struck. Caspian steps closer, stopping next to me as I look up at the horror settling on his features. “Is this…was this a person?” My only response is a nod. My head whirls at his sharp intake of breath. I turn to see him clutching his arm as a dark stain spreads across his sleeve. “You’re hurt.” Without thinking, I jump to my feet and grab the lower part of his arm. My forehead creases as I inspect the wound. A clean slice, matching the small blade Caspian holds in his hand. Not one of mine, nor his, so the creature must have thrown it before I cut off his life. I’m unsure of how to proceed. The wound is deep enough that it needs attention, that much is obvious. And I should be able to heal him with my living affinity…but I’ve never used my vital strand to heal anyone other than myself. I’d be nothing but an embarrassment to the Angel’s will if I attempted to heal him. Pathetic fucking excuse, but I swipe the thought away and make a decision. “We need—” I pause with my mouth open when I catch the prince’s eye. He’s staring at me with a fondness I do not deserve. I sigh, because of course I let him see my worry. Clearing my throat, I release his arm and step back. “We need to get you to Elowen.” The slightest hint of pain flashes through his gaze before his face hardens, and he nods to the creature. “Let’s burn the body—we’ll find nothing we haven’t already gathered, and we cannot leave it here for my father to find. The more he believes us ignorant of him, the better.” I raise a brow at the hardness of his tone, but do not stop to question his command. Reaching for my pyro strand, I coax the neglected essence out, demanding it to destroy the body and leave no trace before spinning to stalk from the library. I do not bother to check if Caspian is following—there’s never been a need to. I realize, with a chilling certainty, that he will always be right behind me with unwavering loyalty. The thought is more relieving than it should be.