[Tessa's POV]
The day of the Challenge arrives too soon and not soon enough.
House Nyx is transformed. Every corridor gleams with polished stone and ancient magic. Banners hang from the vaulted ceilings—symbols of every major vampire house come to witness what they're calling a "historical moment." Whether that moment ends in my triumph or my humiliation remains to be seen.
I can hear them. Even from the private training room where I've sequestered myself, I can hear the visiting nobility arriving. Carriages on gravel. Voices carrying through stone. Laughter that sounds too sharp, too eager for blood.
My blood, specifically. Or at least my failure.
I run through the Influence sequence again. Focus. Intent. Will over will. The words have become a mantra I've been repeating since before dawn. Since before that, actually—I don't think I've slept more than an hour in the past two days.
Every time I close my eyes, I see it. The throne room filled with vampires. All of them watching. Waiting for me to prove I'm worthy of the Nyx name. Waiting for me to fail.
My hands shake as I reach for the practice dummy. Again. I've been at this since dusk yesterday, and the sky outside is already lightening toward dawn. Hours. I have hours before I have to face them all.
Not enough time. Never enough time.
"You're going to exhaust yourself before it even begins."
I spin around, and Soren stands in the doorway. He's dressed formally—black with silver embroidery, the Ravencrest sigil on his chest. Here as a witness, then. One of the nobles come to watch.
"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out hoarse from disuse. From exhaustion.
"I came to find you." He steps into the room, and I notice the way his eyes scan me—taking in the sweat on my skin, the trembling in my hands, the wild desperation I can't quite hide. "Sebastian said you've been training alone all night. That you won't rest."
"I can't rest." I turn back to the dummy, trying to focus. "I need to be ready. I need to be perfect. If I make one mistake, if I show any weakness—"
"Tessa." His hand on my shoulder stops me. Gentle. Careful. "You're already ready. You've been ready."
"You don't know that." I shrug off his touch, moving away. "You don't know what they'll ask. What they'll demand I prove. What if I can't—"
"You can." His voice is firm. Certain. "I've watched you these past days. Watched you master Influence faster than anyone I've ever seen. Watched you command power that vampires twice your age couldn't dream of controlling. You're going to walk into that throne room and crush every single doubt they have."
The words should comfort me. Should ease the panic clawing at my chest.
Instead, they make my eyes burn with unshed tears.
"What if I'm not enough?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "What if I get out there and freeze? What if the power won't come when I need it? What if—"
"Then you'll handle it." Soren moves closer, and this time I don't back away. "Because that's what you do. You survive impossible things. You break blood bonds that should kill you. You walk through sunrise. You stand in front of the entire vampire nobility and claim your birthright without flinching."
"I was flinching." A bitter laugh escapes me. "I was terrified."
"But you did it anyway." His hand finds my chin, tilts my face up to meet his eyes. "That's courage, Tessa. Not the absence of fear—the ability to act despite it. And you have more courage than anyone I've ever known."
Something in his voice makes my throat tight. Makes old feelings stir that I thought I'd buried.
"I don't feel courageous," I whisper. "I feel like I'm about to shatter."
"I know." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, catching a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "But you won't. You're stronger than that. Stronger than they know. Stronger than even you know."
"Soren—"
"I'm proud of you." The words stop me cold. "I know I have no right to be. I know I forfeited any claim to your success when I failed you so catastrophically. But I am. Proud. Watching you prepare for this, watching you fight for your place—I've never been more proud of anyone in my life."
The tears come faster now. I try to blink them back, but they won't stop.
"You don't get to say things like that," I manage. "You don't get to make me feel—"
"Feel what?"
"Anything." The word breaks on a sob. "I'm supposed to hate you. I'm supposed to be angry and cold and completely over whatever we had. But then you say things like that and I—"
I don't finish. Can't finish. Because I don't know what I feel. Anger and gratitude and old love and new hurt all tangled together until I can't separate one from another.
"I don't want your forgiveness," Soren says quietly. "I don't deserve it. But I want you to know—need you to know—that what happened between us, that was my failure. Not yours. Never yours. You were always enough, Tessa. More than enough. I was just too blind to see it."
His hand is still on my face. His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes breathing difficult.
"I should have protected you," he continues, voice rough. "Should have seen your strength instead of dismissing it. Should have held onto you like you were precious instead of treating you like an inconvenience. And I will regret that for the rest of my existence."
"Stop," I whisper, because his words are breaking something open inside me. Something I've been trying to keep sealed.
"You're going to be magnificent tonight," he says. "You're going to stand in that throne room and show every vampire in attendance exactly what they overlooked. What I overlooked. And when you do—when you pass this Challenge and claim your power—I'll be watching. Knowing that I had the privilege of seeing you become who you were always meant to be."
The tears are streaming down my face now. I should pull away. Should put distance between us. Should remember everything he did and why this is dangerous.
But I'm exhausted and terrified and his presence is painful, but familiar.
When he leans in, I know what's coming. Know I should stop it.
I don't.
His lips brush mine—soft, tentative, just like at the start of our marriage. This is asking. Pleading. A question instead of a claim.
And I answer it.
My hands fist in his shirt and I kiss him back. Let myself fall into the familiar taste of him, the familiar feel of his mouth on mine. It's not the same as kissing Sebastian—there's no fire, no desperation, no sense of drowning in something bigger than myself.
This is comfort. Familiar. Safe in a way that has nothing to do with passion and everything to do with history.
This is saying goodbye to what we were. What we might have been if he'd been different. If I'd been different. If the world had been kinder.
Then I feel it.
A presence. Sharp and cold and unmistakable.
Silver eyes watching from the doorway.
Sebastian.