Draco stood, barely breathing as the slow tick of a clock lingered — rotted — throughout the subterranean rotunda. Its endless voice echoed like a taunt off the cool marble. He steeled his stomach, welcoming the aquatic chill of the dungeons this evening.

Draco held on to his glass too tightly, glaring into the earthly flames of the regal fireplace within the Slytherin commons. He dreaded every minute that passed. The hours left them behind, stealing shreds of all hope in their wake. Daylight had come and gone long ago, and yet Theodore was still missing. Every moment lost was another opportunity for Theo's return that slipped away — and another agonizing moment of her pain beating against him.

His sick glare cut through the hissing emerald flames. The heat breathed against the skin of his exposed forearms as the sleeves of his rumpled shirt were pushed to his elbows. He stepped closer and let the fire paint him a shade nastier — envious.

They had been good. Really fucking good, and he couldn't let this end.

Dahlia's hand was never far from his hold, whether in the halls or tucked beneath her chin at night. He straightened her hair bows while she loosened his necktie each day before classes. He lingered behind her in the halls as they walked from one classroom to the other, giving her space to laugh with Amelia, Juliet, or Eloise. He was desperate for anything or anyone who might take away her worries, if only for a moment.

They didn't speak of Theo or the Dark Lord as their presence and threats became more imminent. There was nothing more they could do. Nothing more they wanted to do except take in every last moment of peace. It wouldn't be around much longer.

He helped her with her potions assignments, and they spent most classes attempting to form words inside the other's mind through a bonded form of legilimency. Dahlia grew frustrated in her attempts, so her lips were never far from his ear, whispering either ridiculous nonsense or her most profane and ravenous thoughts.

"Would you love me if I was a flobberworm?" She had asked one morning in Potions.

He hadn't looked up from his station, casually tossing the said worm, alive and squirming, into his boiling cauldron.

He turned, deadpan. "I'd probably be even more repulsed by you."

She cracked a sly, pleasing smile.

He grinned crookedly as he teased her. The love was always beneath his words, unspoken in their new language — a crueler shade of sweet nothings.

He raised a brow as her eyes drifted to his hands. She admired the precision with which he worked a large knife. A wicked gleam twirled in her emerald eyes — an earthly yet foreign shade of sparkling peridot that would always bring him to his knees.

She opened her mouth. Before she could step closer and whisper something that would make even the gods gasp, he held up his knife, stopping her in her tracks.

"No. Pervert!" He waved his knife away as she reached for the handle. "You're sick, Dahlia. You need help!"

She had shoved him, and he had kissed her with the promise that he would love her regardless of any circumstance, even if she was slimy and grotesque somewhere in a different world.

These had been their days, rose-colored and delaying the inevitable. He held onto every tick and tock he had her to himself, making every moment count. He hadn't tinkered with the vanishing cabinet in weeks. He didn't even care that he wasn't permitted to play quidditch until it was mended per Snape's orders. He had spent all his hours mending her instead, hoping endlessly that she may never miss Theo and the stolen piece of her heart again.

He sat with her furled in his lap, high on the terrace of Ravenclaw Tower most nights, pointing to new stars and murmuring softly about the constellations the Black family proudly wore. He did the little things like keep her tea warm when she was too engaged in conversation to drink her cup. He kept her ink pots full and her bookbag safely filled with an assortment of her favorite snacks. He had books sent to her from every corner of the world on The Fates, seers and cosmic creatures, and The Wolfwood.

Each day, her smile was burdened by less weight. Her fire burned fiercer, and their golden, Fated bond glowed brighter. He had planted new flowers in the wasteland of all her grief and let her roots climb and creep between his bones, too.

Day after day, he watched her slowly flourish — without him.

But Theo's homecoming had begun to loom like sunrise, and Dahlia's heartbreak had returned like a fire. The ache had slowly and steadily grown over the past few days as the 13th of February neared. Then, tonight, when starlight had fallen on the evening of his return, her heartache had become so overwhelming and uncontrollable that it threatened to singe everything black. The breaking of her heart lashed and burned, even now, as he felt every bite of his poison through their sacred bond.

He would ruin everything. Draco couldn't allow him to be their end. He couldn't stomach the idea of him breaking her, again. Draco wouldn't allow it. Her hopelessness permeated both of their hearts, and it broke him to think that she still loved him this much, even if she would never admit it.

Draco brought the glass to his lips and winced as he restlessly prowled in front of the fire. It was filled to the brim with whatever shit liquor he could find. He knew he might hate himself in the morning for drinking like this.

"Stop your pacing," Blaise muttered, lounging comfortably in a velvet chaise. "It's unlike you — and rather unhelpful."

Draco shot him a glare as he turned and leaned against the mantle. The green flames at his back cast his anxious features in shadows as he scowled.

Only he, Lucas, and Blaise remained in the common area. Xavier slept peacefully, fully in faith that he would stretch leisurely in the morning with one less missing roommate.

Lucas sighed as he peered up from his book titled 'Spirit Walking: Thrilling Theories Through the Veil and Back.' His gaze focused on something unseen in the corner without a kernel of concern.

Blaise and Draco shared an uncomfortable look.

"They're spying on us," Draco mouthed to Blaise. He slapped the air like he might locate a lingering spirit with the back of his hand.

Lucas finally came to a conclusion as he lazily waved off a spirit. "Juliet thinks you should check on her." He brushed his golden hair to the side and casually continued reading his book once more.

Blaise's eyes widened. He slowly glanced over his shoulder to the empty corner as if he expected to see the ghost Lucas was conversing with, possibly black-pupiled and horrifying.

"I don't like that," he mumbled quietly as if the ghost might hear, "Don't like that one bit."

Draco rolled his eyes, hiding his fear much better than Blaise. He strolled forward and pointed a finger in Lucas's direction while still holding his now half-empty glass — anything to numb the pain radiating from Dahlia through their soul-bound bond.

"First," Draco slurred. "Don't talk about my business with your ghost minions." He took another gulp, swaying only a little bit, or so he assumed. "I don't need Moaning Myrtle gossiping with her sewer rats about my affairs."

Lucas smirked as he took a sip from his dark and frothy beer. "I know you may find this hard to believe, Malfoy, but not everyone constantly speaks of you — even the dead."

Blaise snorted as he tossed a jelly bean into the air and caught it with his mouth. A tray of lavender power peaks lay before him on the marble table next to his foot.

He quietly turned to Lucas with an innocent smile. "So, do you and Juliet use ghosts like owls?" His mouth spread into a disbelieving smile as his imagination ran wild. "Like little invisible spy owls?" Blaise waved his hands as if mystified, then made hand goggles over his eyes.

"Eh, not quite." Lucas squinted and nodded partly. He waved his hand as if his ghost-owl theory wasn't completely off base.

Draco let out a frustrated sigh as he began to pace again. He tugged at his silver hair and rubbed his brows together. "In all seriousness, I asked Amelia to check on Dahlia. Gods know she needs her more than me right now."

Blaise returned his dwindling span of attention back to Draco and frowned as he surveyed his disheveled state. "You should get some sleep, mate."

"No." Draco shook his head.

He needed to know the moment Theo arrived, but he wasn't entirely sure of what he wanted. He was torn. Theo had always been his closest friend before Dahlia. They had grown up together. They were like brothers, so of course, a piece of him wished for Theo to return for his own safety and well-being. Selfishly, he wished that Theo wouldn't return. Dahlia was beginning to thrive without him, and he would take that from her.

And what if Dahlia returned to him?

Draco halted, shoving his empty glass onto the table and shaking his head.

"What if he's dead?"

Blaise let out an ungraceful cackle. "He has superior self-preservation skills. He was always the first one to leave us for dead if we heard a sound in the forest."

Blaise smacked loudly as he chewed more jelly beans, picking out only the red ones from the bowl. "And it's pretty hard to kill a Nott..."

A bitter and beaten smile found Draco's lips.

"He should have attempted to break our bond by now..."

"Or curse," Lucas sang to Draco's annoyance. He was also playing the devil's advocate, provoking Draco's worst thoughts.

"What if he tried and failed?" Blaise shrugged, peering at the fire. "Or what if he had a change of heart?"

Draco halted, a sneer curling at his lip. "Have you been having tea with Gryffindors? Theo doesn't give up." Draco reached for the fireplace poker, spinning it in his hand before stabbing the burning logs. "It's one of his more annoying traits," he mumbled beneath his breath.

Blaise pelted a jelly bean at Draco. "I resent that, Malfoy. How dare you? My hate is equal to yours of Gryffindors. I gave three of them mild food poisoning just last week."

Draco narrowed his eyes as he restlessly threw aside the poker.

Draco couldn't stand still. The unknown gnawed at his gut.

The stained glass groaned as the Black Lake couldn't rest either. It was as if the world stood on the edge and held its breath to see how things might unfold. He peered through the windows where the waters were raging and dark tonight.

"What if..."

Draco couldn't say it. It was too crushing.

What if she loves him? Chooses him? Forgives him?

Blaise straightened, all humor gone from his striking features. "She won't."

But there was too much uncertainty in the soft mutter to count for anything.

As the silence weighed, a coldness found them. And as dawn neared and the whispers of the dead spread through the veil and carried news, Lucas breathed sharply with shock.

"Fucking hell," he gasped. "Tiberius Nott is dead."

—

Dahlia stood, peering out to the cusp of the horizon where she and Theo's hearts met each day. She shivered, numbed on the shore of the Black Lake. The frozen, reflectionless water neared the gravestones as the sun refused to not rise. It refused to wait a moment more for him to come home — as he had promised.

She broke.

She had been right when she was so desperate to be wrong. He hadn't returned for her. There was a painstaking hope she hadn't known was within her until he had let her down again.

His golden light began to eclipse her starlit skies. She watched how their forces refused to exist in the same plane, always reaching to uncross their stars in the brief moment when their hearts met and begged for more time.

She tilted her head back as the sun inevitably rose. She could at least pretend the warmth of the blazing morning rays was the same as the touch of his skin upon hers.

I miss him, she thought as she trembled in the winter air.

She choked and wiped a fresh tear with her black sleeve. All too aware that she just missed the memories of him. It was fresh wreckage to realize she missed something that hadn't been all it seemed and loved someone who had changed.

The sun cast her reddened cheeks golden as she clutched a crumpled piece of paper in her pocket — the last words he had written to her.

They were too crossed, unable to fall back in step within a strict universe. Regardless, she closed her eyes and prayed to the wind that guided him. "Bring him back to me. Carry him back to me, please."

If she was made from the fury of stars and wrath of the wildest winter, then he was molded from the chaos of chance and lazy gleaming days of summer.

She fisted the note in her balmy, shaking hands, pressing against her heart.

"I love him," she admitted on an excruciating breath. It was treacherous and faithless, yet still true. Her voice carried out weak to the dancing sunlight that played upon the ice of the lake. "Please don't let anything hurt him."

She wiped her nose, thoughts blinded by how much she still loved him and how much this hurt.

"Dahlia?" Amelia's soft voice lingered behind her, drifting through the frost of the small graveyard.

Dahlia didn't turn, although her shoulders relaxed. She wiped her tears, but they persisted as Amelia stood ready to take on her crumbling heart.

Amelia's voice grew small and uncertain. "The others are looking for you. I knew you'd be here..."

Dahlia breathed in a harsh sob, reminded of the grief she endured for her mother in this same graveyard. She used to spend hours here, thinking of nothing and everything. She had even brought Theo to this sacred place as the sun rose after All Hallow's Eve.

She laughed bitterly. What she would give to fall apart in her mother's arms right now and let her repair everything. Guide her and scold her gently. She could mend her world in a day.

Dahlia couldn't bring herself to smile, couldn't bring herself to take hold of the calming peace Draco sent pulsing through their bond and straight to her heart to ease her discomfort. She knew he was far, giving her proper space to feel the finale of a grand heartbreak.

She heard Amelia take a step closer as the gravel of the rocky shore shuffled beneath her boots. "Dahlia," she gently called. "I love you, but it's not wise to go beyond the wards..."

It wasn't wise, but she didn't care.

The wind burned her skin with any icy touch as it whipped her boundless hair from beneath her velvet, midnight-hued cloak. It was distressed, even possibly angry, and she was chilled to the core. She held her head to the sky, begging the sun not to take the soothing, sweet lullabies of her stars just yet.

If I don't return, know that I will still find you — somewhere out there in a different time or another life. I'll be in your sky above, forever leading you home.

Her face burned, overwhelmed at the finality of his written words. They repeated so loudly she couldn't focus on anything else.

She felt Amelia's small arms wrap around her shoulders as her friend leaned her head on her shoulder. It was a welcomed warmth as Amelia's black fur cloak fell around her own.

"I'm so sorry, Dahlia."

"Amelia," she struggled to sniff. "Something has happened to him."

Amelia's arms stiffened, hugging her tighter. "Dahlia, do you know that for certain?"

There was fear in her voice. She was afraid that she had seen something or heard it from her always whispering stars, but Dahlia shook her head. She wished she wasn't so blinded by her emotions to use her magic properly. This disappointment was too bone-crushing.

"He wrote to me, Amelia. If he didn't return-"

Dahlia choked and covered her mouth, too horrified to speak it.

If he didn't return. If he died.

"What is it, Dahlia? What did it say?"

Dahlia loosened her grip on the note from Theo and smoothed out the crumpled ridges. She squeezed Amelia's leather-gloved hand on her shoulder and began to read aloud to the sun the words she had seen — memorized too late — with blurry eyes.

"My Dahlia, I've been in the Northeast for some time now, but today I will return for you. I must say, your stars are far kinder to me here. They shine brighter as if they know my heart belongs to them — you..."

Dahlia's voice drifted and cracked. "I love you," she forced through her lips.

"Even when we are stars ourselves, I'll cross the universe if only to be laid to rest in the night sky by your side so the mortals and gods might write tales about us. I know you've stopped reading my messages, maybe even burned your journal, and I know forgiveness is not in your nature, as I once warned you that it was not in mine either, but please know that I am forever sorry. I am sorry..."

Dahlia's throat ached as she stumbled to read out loud the only thing she had ever needed from him. Amelia squeezed her hand more tightly so she could continue.

"I'm sorry that I left you behind..."

She read as if she was bleeding out. Amelia shook as if she might be crying, too.

"And I'm sorry that I've disappointed you, and I'm most sorry that I spilled your tears. I've only ever wished to give you the love story you deserve. Be a greater man that might be worth your heart. I can live without your forgiveness, but I cannot live without your love. You will come to inherit a dragon if something should happen to me, as her heart already calls to you through my own. Her name is Valeria. As you once told me, your mother dreamed of dragons. If I don't return, know that I will still find you — somewhere out there in a different time or another life. I'll be in your sky above, forever leading you home. And lastly, know that I wasn't afraid. Only villains fear death, and you always believed..."

Dahlia's face crumpled. It was true and too late.

"You always believed I could be a hero."

There was nothing left to do than to fall into the embrace of Amelia. She turned and let her friend hold her tight like a tourniquet as her heart bled.

"I promise, Dahlia." Amelia nodded and wiped her cheeks with one of the handkerchiefs she had brought along. She sniffed, devastated that she couldn't burden this for her. "I promise you'll be okay."

There was a gentle concern in Amelia's tone, one they used only for tears like this. It promised to heal all heartbreaks and stand by each other through the worst the world had to offer. It promised their friendship would last longer than any man because this was a love that couldn't be lost. It withheld through all storms.

"I would take this feeling from you if I could," Amelia unfurled in a broken murmur.

Dahlia stepped back from Amelia and wiped her eyes. "I have to find him, Amelia. What if he's-"

Dead.

Surely she would sense it? Surely, the stars would rattle, and the wind would roar if he was truly gone.

Amelia was quick to shake her head. "Dahlia, you can't leave. I can't let anything happen to you." She took a step forward to offer more support, but Dahlia stepped back onto the ice of the lake.

Amelia's arms fell, leaving her alone from an embrace. "Give it more time. He's okay. He'll always be okay. He's Theo..."

Dahlia surmised the unspoken.

He's a Nott. Self-serving, reckless, and conniving. Notorious and violent. Unkillable.

Dahlia shook her head, frowning with blowing disappointment. "He promised."

"He'll come back. I promise you, Dahlia. I promise..."

Amelia's own voice rasped as she struggled to promise that he would return.

The revelation couldn't be hidden from her, and Dahlia scoffed as if the entirety of the past seven months had been a merciless joke, and no one was left to laugh.

Things had been perfect, too perfect, over the past few weeks as she let Draco steer her away from everything painful. She let herself live and be in love as that was the permission that only Draco granted, but the guilt of daring to forget about Theo was rebounding. He loved her. A Nott, who should have only been capable of loving himself, loved her more than time, and that both broke and rebuilt her heart at once.

Dahlia pulled her velvet cloak tight. "I just want to be alone for a little longer..."

"Dahlia, you'll freeze," Amelia argued.

Dahlia snapped. "Please, Amelia!"

Her friend bit her lip, holding back a whipped response that would usually slip. Dahlia was hurting, and for a moment, she thought of what it might be like to lose Blaise.

Amelia sighed in agreement despite the risks of leaving her outside the protective wards. "Fine, but I'm coming back soon."

Dahlia nodded. "Thank you. I love you..."

It was close to an apology, so Amelia accepted it. "I love you too, and Draco loves you. He's waiting for you, patiently."

Dahlia rubbed her eyes as the weight of the world fell on her shoulders. "I know, and I love him. I'm just..."

"I know."

Amelia nodded and slowly walked up the pebbled shore. She didn't turn her back until she reached the grassy hill, where she silently moved between the broken and abandoned headstones of graves buried long ago.

Dahlia sat on the ice-frosted lake beneath the new sun. It shined brightly as if it might shed light on her missing pieces and try to fix her, too. Her cloak draped around her like a heavy, soothing blanket. It had belonged to her mother and her grandmother before, so Dahlia only hoped that it would summon their guidance.

"Where do I go from here?" She whispered, cracked and desperate.

She wiped her tears. "I cannot See, and I do not know how to find you."

She held all this power, a well of infinite light and vast blackness, yet she didn't know what she was made for — if or how she was meant to save the stars. She didn't even know where the fires burned or who started them.

She thought of Draco and how the moonlight always painted him magnificent as he was their chosen. Did she love a man who was doomed to kill her? Was the boundless magic within her meant for nothing? Was she wasting it?

She thought of Theo. The image of him — the monster she might have made — grinning with an outstretched hand, the destruction of perfection, incandescent and distorted, moving fluidly in his grasp. A weapon. A god's killer. Did she also love the enemy of the universe — their murderer? Surely, the Dark Lord was the villain.

What is the way? What am I meant for?

Dahlia's face crumpled as loneliness thoroughly drowned her.

"I am blind, and I cannot find the path." She prayed to her mother, her grandmother, and all her ancestors. But nothing came, and no one answered.

She shivered in her cloak. "Please..."

She wasn't sure how long she had been sitting, begging for answers when the hair on her neck rose. A gale wind cut her cheek and blew her cloak. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She wished the wind had been meant for her, but it carried no soothing guidance.

Instead, every nerve within her roared with danger, yet still, she turned fiercely, glancing over her shoulder. She scanned the silent wood of the Forbidden Forest in the distance, finding nothing suspicious. The sound of nature returned, and she settled back into her cloak.

She wiped her tears and reckoned it was time to leave. She stood, disheartened and exhausted. There were no more prayers or wishes to send.

She had given up when whispers emerged.

She stilled, pulling her cloak as a spine chill stopped her in her tracks. She held her breath as the faded stars called out, imploring her to tilt her head skyward. She obeyed as a great wind billowed, and as she turned her head to the golden sun, she was immersed in the shadow of a great beast.

A dragon.

It was incredible, beautiful as the light of morning shimmered upon its opalescent, darkened scales. The beast was black as the longest night, with a swirl of battle scars patterning its skin. The dragon was the largest creature she had ever seen as it beat its powerful, outstretched wings and soared past her. It banked over the forest, and as its shadow left her, she squinted in the return of the light.

The ground shook with a rumble as it disappeared within the canopy of the forest, and Dahlia surmised that it had landed nearby. She swallowed hard as nature stilled, sensing a greater predator.

Her arms slackened. Her cloak freely blew in the wind as Dahlia froze. The dragon emitted a soft cry that rustled the branches, and a pair of magnificent and macabrely beautiful amethyst eyes glowed from within the darkened tree line. They were familiar, but only as if she had dreamed them.

The dragon blinked slowly before the jeweled eyes lowered, finally laying to rest for a slumber. She could hardly understand the image before her, and then she went numb as the memorized words ricocheted through her mind like a smoking gun.

Valeria...his dragon...should something happen...

Dahlia choked a sob.

Dead.

She saw speckled stars dancing across her vision, but before her stomach could drop, she was saved by her own name.

"Dahlia?" As it always had, it fell from his mouth as if he had nothing better to do than dream about her. Her name lingered on his lips like wine — heaven sent — like it was his own personal escape to a midsummer daydream.

She didn't dare to wish it. She shut her eyes, afraid she had imagined it.

The call came again. "Dahlia?"

Rocks rustled beneath the grind of boots — a real sound. Dahlia finally turned to peer up the small hill from where she stood on the brim of the frozen lake.

Theo.

Her eyes found him, a shadow amongst the pristine and picturesque landscape. The darkest haze of smoke evaporated around him and curled to the stars.

She blinked, unbelieving, as he moved toward her casually as if they had all the time in the world. The new leanness of his frame made him appear taller. He was paler, but that only made him and his gold-spun eyes all the more striking as he stalked through the graveyard dressed in pressed blacks. An emerald jumper lay beneath his inky wool coat.

She wasn't sure how she had thought he might return to her after devising a mass breakout, but supremely dressed — clean — was not what she had anticipated.

"Dahlia," he called more quietly as he neared the rocky shore — neared her.

He slowed his pace as if he was unsure if he could hold her in his arms. There was heartbreak in his eyes, too, as they stood on the shores of the water where they had once bared their hearts beneath his sunrise.

She wanted to go to him. Tried to make herself go to him, but...

Theo took in the sight of her, a puddle of blue velvet and frozen curls within his wind — their wind, always.

A space, a great opening, stood between them, and he didn't want to play this game again. He acted without a thought, without a scheme or grand plan. He moved towards her, desperate to have and hold her.

Dahlia inhaled sharply as he decidedly closed the distance and pulled her into his chest. Her mind whirled. His oaken scent of the richest moss touched her tongue, yet she stumbled to speak. She was enveloped and finally warming when a horrid thought revealed itself.

"Is this a dream?" She whispered, unsure if he would even be able to answer if it was.

But Theo pulled back as his rough hands made their way from her waist to cradle her face. A dimpled smirk slowly graced his features. It held a hundred unserious answers:

Are you finally dreaming of me?

And what might you do to me if it was?

My Dahlia, I know I'm too good to be true.

But Theo only shook his head and answered truthfully. "No."

Dahlia inhaled sharply, nearly broken by how beautiful he was when he was honest. He brushed her cheek with a gilded thumb and tilted his head. His voice was deep and soft, too vulnerable. "I'm afraid I've never been the one you've dreamt of."

He pressed his lips together and shook his head as if knowing he had lost her when to have her was to have the stars, the heavens, and the universe. The thief of time, out of it, and all too late.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he let it fall and drip upon his hand. He didn't dare wipe it away because he had done this to her. Watching her tears fall was what he deserved.

She shook her head in his palm as if she had doubted him at every turn and for every moment that he was gone. "I'm sorry," he whispered, still holding her face.

There were no crashing waves or dancing leaves to fill the silence around them and soften the blows. This wasn't grand or poetic like he had imagined for so long. It was so quiet that all he heard was her deafening, uneven breaths and his own small, raw whispers.

Her lips parted as her hair blew wildly in the returned wind. He couldn't help but remember how her eyes had been this wide with dripping dreams and awe on the night she had gotten so fucked up that she had asked him if he was a god.

Battered and bruised, he mustered as much sincerity as he could from a heart such as his — wicked in all the right ways. He wasn't sure what an apology counted for through the lips of a sinful dreamer and a fraud, but he offered what he had.

"I'm sorry I left." He swallowed hard, struggling with the only apology he had ever meant. "I'm sorry, Dahlia, that I broke your heart."

A bumpy exhale left her as if her chest and heart were caving in. It was in her eyes, and it made him nauseous.

Why did it have to be like this? Why did he hurt me?

Dahlia was sure the ground was quaking beneath her as he threatened to toss up her entire world. His apology was the worst and best thing, and she had absolutely no idea what to do with it or where to go from here.

She had a million questions, but the most important answer felt as if it had come too late as he pulled her into his chest and murmured softly.

"This is enough. I swear to you that this is enough. I know that now."

He brushed her hair with his hand as if he had missed every fiber, nerve, and strand of her. "Runaway with me, Dahlia. This is all I want. This is enough," he whispered.

She was whole, yet she couldn't find her smile because he was still lost.

She pulled back and gently brushed her fingers over every angle of his face. He was so gorgeous with his blood-red pout and features carved from the heat of the sun. His honeyed eyes remained on her, worn and desperate. She smoothed her hand through his still tapered curls, then brought her arms around his neck and held him tight.

"Stay, Theo," she whispered. "Please, stay."

She felt him stiffen within her arms as if she had asked the impossible, but he quickly gave in and nodded. "Okay."

It was the simplest, sincerest of promises, and her voice quivered with relief. "Thank you, Theo."

Her heart filled. He was home.

Theo rubbed her back beneath her cloak and black shirt. He needed to feel her skin, desperate to know she was real. She tensed uncomfortably for a moment but allowed it.

"Dahlia, I love you," he murmured against her hair as he held her tight. "I'm here. I came for you. I'm here. Please have me. I know I do awful things, but I do them to keep you. I do them to protect my family — you. My intentions are good. I am good, like you used to believe. I love you. Please, Dahlia."

Something still felt broken and irreparable inside of her. Maybe the cut had been too deep. Maybe this was too exhausting, or his cost had been too high. Maybe he asked and took too much of her, or she wasn't as gracious and grateful as when he had left her.

Maybe, in return, she was the monster he had made, too.

She pulled a breath away from his chest and found his siren eyes like shimmering pools of summer ponds, alluring and murky beneath. "I love you, Theo. I do, but I love him, and I'm not ready to forgive you."

His eyes darkened, hope dimming. He grinned wolfishly to the stars and the Fates as if he had known it already and dreaded this. His hand danced from her back to her bare waist beneath her shirt before he traced the fabric to her fingertips. She said nothing — pitiful — as he laced his hand with hers.

Dahlia remembered. She squeezed his hand once for the forgotten purity of their love and twice to remind him that she had vowed to love him through anything, and she did, but she couldn't forgive him.

He laughed, bitter as belladonna. He tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ear as if it were the first step of perfecting her.

They stared at each other, stuck in a moment of love and hate.

He grinned as if he had been bested, no dimple in sight. His voice was deep and lyrical, with so much pride for her and what she had become. "My wildcard," he whispered ruefully.

The thief of time had run out of it.

He heard Amelia and others call his name in the distance, but he peered at the castle instead, readying for more heartache and chaos.

Dahlia Aldair would be his again.