Cora stood in a tower. Not the stone towers of Ashford, with their modern lights and safety rails, but an ancient spire of white marble that reached toward a sky full of strange stars. Below her, a city sprawled—not Verland, not any city she knew in this life. Spires and bridges and canals of silver water. Lanterns that burned with blue flame. Streets crowded with people in robes and tunics, carrying staves and wands and crystals that glowed with inner light.

She was the Archmage of the Silver Tower.

Her name had been Elara Vance. Not that it mattered now. The name was ash, like everything else.

In the dream, she was young. Ageless, really. Magic kept her face smooth, kept her body strong, kept time at bay. She stood on the balcony of her study, looking out at the city she had protected for three hundred years.

"You’re brooding again."

She turned.

Kaelen stood in the doorway. His dark hair was pulled back, his grey eyes soft with affection. He wore the silver robes of the Tower Guard, a sword at his hip, a smile on his lips.

"Someone has to," Elara said. "The council meets tomorrow. They want to discuss the rifts again."

"The rifts are stable."

"They’re not." She turned back to the city. "Something’s coming. I can feel it."

Kaelen walked to her, put his hands on her shoulders. "Then we’ll face it together."

She leaned into him. Believed him.

The dream shifted.

The council chamber was cold. The twelve seats were filled with faces she knew—friends, allies, people she had trusted with her life. Kaelen stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

"The rifts are widening," Elara said. "If we don’t seal them within the month, the void will consume the outer districts."

Lord Mercer, the eldest of the council, leaned forward. "And who will perform the sealing?"

"I will."

"You’ll need an anchor. Someone to hold the other side."

Elara nodded. "Kaelen has volunteered."

The council exchanged glances. Mercer’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Very well," he said. "Tomorrow night. The Eastern Rift."

The dream shifted again.

The rift was a wound in the sky, a tear of purple light that bled shadows into the world. Elara stood at its edge, her staff raised, her power flowing through her like a river. Kaelen stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, anchoring her to this side of the veil.

"It’s working," she said. "The rift is closing."

But something was wrong.

The shadows weren’t retreating. They were gathering. Forming. Taking shape.

"Kaelen?"

He didn’t answer.

She turned.

He was smiling.

Not the soft smile she knew. A cold smile. A hungry smile.

"I’m sorry, Elara," he said. "But the void promised me something you couldn’t."

His hands shoved.

She fell.

The rift swallowed her. The shadows tore at her robes, her skin, her magic. She tried to cast, tried to summon the power she had spent three centuries mastering, but the void was hungry and she was not enough.

The last thing she saw was Kaelen’s face, watching from the edge of the rift.

The last thing she heard was his voice.

"You should have trusted fewer people."

---

Cora woke screaming.

The sound tore out of her throat, raw and animal, before she could stop it. Her hands clawed at the sheets, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth. The room was dark—her room, Ashford, not the tower, not the void—and she couldn’t breathe.

The door burst open.

Lucian stood in the doorway, one blade in his hand, his eyes scanning the room for threats. He saw none. Just Cora, shaking, tears streaming down her face, her nightgown soaked with sweat.

"Nightmare," she gasped. "Just a nightmare."

He lowered his blade. Didn’t sheathe it. Just lowered it.

"Bad one?"

She couldn’t answer. The image of Kaelen’s smile was still burned into her mind. The feel of falling, of being betrayed, of trusting someone with everything and having that trust turned into a blade.

Lucian walked to her bed. He didn’t sit on it—sat on the floor beside it, his back against the frame, his blade across his knees.

"I’m not going anywhere," he said.

She stared at him. "What?"

"You woke up screaming. You’re shaking. You’re not sleeping alone tonight."

She wanted to argue. To tell him to leave, that she was fine, that she didn’t need anyone. But her voice wouldn’t come. The tears wouldn’t stop.

She slid off the bed, onto the floor beside him. Her shoulder touched his. He didn’t move away.

They sat in silence for a long time.

The room was dark. The window showed a sliver of moon, pale and distant. Somewhere in the Keep, a clock struck two.

Cora’s breathing slowed. The tears dried on her cheeks. But the weight in her chest didn’t lift.

"I was betrayed," she said. "In my past life. Someone I loved. Someone I trusted with everything."

Lucian didn’t say anything. He just listened.

"He pushed me into a void. A tear in reality. I fell for what felt like hours. Days. I could feel my magic draining. My memories. My self." She swallowed. "I died alone in the dark."

"You’re not alone now."

She looked at him. His face was calm, unreadable, but his eyes were soft.

"I’m terrified of trusting people again," she admitted. "Every time I let someone in, I think about his smile. I think about falling."

"I know the feeling."

"You do?"

He nodded. "My father left before I was born. My mother hid me away for eighteen years. My sister hated me for existing." He paused. "The only people who’ve ever stayed are the ones I met this year."

Cora looked at the floor. "How do you do it? Trust them?"

"I don’t," he said. "Not completely. Not yet. But I want to. And I think wanting to is the first step."

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

He didn’t pull away.

They stayed like that for a while—Cora’s tears drying, Lucian’s breathing steady, the silence between them comfortable instead of awkward.

"I’m tired," she said.

"Sleep."

"Here?"

"Here."

She closed her eyes.

Lucian shifted, leaning his head back against the bed frame. He didn’t sleep—his mind was too alert for that—but he let his body rest. Let his breathing slow. Let the quiet of the room settle over them like a blanket.

The clock struck three.

Then four.

The moon set.

The sky lightened, grey and soft, the first hint of dawn.

Cora’s head was still on his shoulder. His hand, at some point, had found hers. Their fingers were intertwined.

She stirred, blinked, looked up at him.

"Morning," he said.

"You stayed."

"I said I wasn’t going anywhere."

She looked at their hands. Then at his face.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening. For staying. For not saying it’s okay when it’s not."

He squeezed her hand. "You don’t have to thank me."

She squeezed back.

The morning light grew brighter. Somewhere in the Keep, someone was making coffee. The training yard would be waiting in an hour.

But for now, they sat on the floor of her room, hands together, letting the silence say everything words couldn’t.

The nightmare wasn’t gone.

But it was quieter now.

And she wasn’t alone.