“I need a patrol to the border,” I tell Toren, trying to sound reasonable instead of desperate. “Just a reconnaissance mission. See what Valen’s actually planning.”
He doesn’t even look up from whatever document he’s pretending to read. “No.”
“It’s standard protocol—”
“We need peace, not chaos.” His voice carries that particular blend of authority and condescension that makes me want to break furniture. “Your obsession with that girl has clouded your judgment enough.”
Obsession. Right. Because wanting to know if the woman I’m bonded to is dead or alive is totally irrational.
“She’s not ‘that girl.’ She has a name.”
“Which you need to forget.”
The bond flickers in my chest—weak, barely there, but still humming with something that might be hope or might be delusion. I can’t tell anymore.
“I can’t just—”
“You can. You will.” He finally looks up, and his expression could freeze hellfire. “Lady Vaela is waiting for you in the east wing. Go.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I never kid about politics.”
So here I am, walking toward my assigned future like a good prince, while my actual future fades a little more each day. The bond’s getting weaker—I can feel it unraveling like a rope someone’s cutting strand by strand.
I find Vaela in some sunny chamber that screams “look how normal and pleasant this could be.” She’s arranged herself near the window, naturally backlit like she’s auditioning for a Renaissance painting.
“Cassian,” she says with that smile that’s probably supposed to be encouraging. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Were you now.”
She doesn’t flinch at my tone, which is either impressive or terrifying. “About the future. About what comes after.”
After. Like Lucy’s already dead instead of just missing.
“I’m not really in a planning mood,” I say, dropping into a chair across from her.
“I understand this is difficult. But dwelling on what’s behind us won’t help anyone.”
Behind us. She’s talking about Lucy like she’s a bad decision I made in college instead of the person who saved my life.
“You don’t understand shit about what’s difficult.”
“Don’t I?” She leans forward, and there’s something almost genuine in her eyes. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to have duty override desire? To have your entire life planned by other people?”
Point taken. Still don’t care.
“The difference is,” she continues, “I’ve learned to find opportunity in obligation. You could too.”
“What kind of opportunity?”
“Power. Real power. The West needs strong leadership, and you need allies who won’t flinch when you show them who you really are.”
I laugh—bitter, sharp. “You have no idea who I really am.”
“I know you transform. I know it’s violent and unpredictable. I know most people are terrified of you because of it.”
“And you’re not?”
She shrugs. “I’m not most people.”
The bond flickers again—sharper this time, like Lucy’s trying to reach me across whatever distance separates us. I press my hand to my chest, and Vaela notices.
“It’s fading, isn’t it?” she asks, voice gentler than I expected. “The connection to her.”
“Not fast enough for everyone else’s liking.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe you’ll finally be free to be yourself instead of what she needed you to be.”
“She never needed me to be anything but myself.”
“Didn’t she? Even the monster?”
The question hits like a physical blow. Because Lucy did see the monster. Walked right into it, called it back from the edge, made it human again. But she never asked for that burden.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“I’m not afraid of your transformations,” Vaela says. “If anything, I’m curious about them.”
“Curious how?”
“Show me. Next full moon. Let me see what everyone’s so terrified of.”
I stare at her. “You want to watch me lose my mind?”
“I want to understand what I’m signing up for. Full transparency. No illusions.”
There’s something almost refreshing about her directness. No pretense, no fairy tale bullshit about love conquering all. Just practical acceptance of the reality everyone else wants to pretend doesn’t exist.
“You might change your mind,” I warn.
“I might. But I’d rather know now than find out later.”
The bond gives another weak pulse, and I wonder if Lucy can feel this conversation. If she knows I’m sitting here discussing my future with another woman while she’s trapped god knows where.
“Fine,” I say. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I never expected you to.”
As I leave, I catch my reflection in the window. Still look like me, but something’s different. Harder. Like I’m already becoming the person I’ll need to be if Lucy never comes back.