Colson

The Time I Stole From You

Amaris POV

Time did not forgive.

It did not forget.

And it did not yield easily to those who tried to bend it.

Even now, standing in the quiet stillness of my study, surrounded by the low, flickering glow of candlelight and the ancient, protective wards carved into the very bones of these walls, I could feel its resistance pressing against me like an unseen force. It lingered in the air, heavy and watchful, aware of what I had done, aware of what I had dared to repair.

The pocket watch rested open before me, its delicate mechanisms exposed like the inner workings of something far more alive than metal had any right to be. Its surface gleamed faintly beneath the candlelight, the once-fractured glass now seamless, smooth, and whole.

But I knew better than to believe it had truly healed.

Nothing that held time itself could ever truly heal.

It could only endure.

My fingers hovered above it, trembling faintly despite my efforts to steady them, and I hated that weakness. I hated the uncertainty creeping into my thoughts, the doubt that whispered quietly in the back of my mind, reminding me that even I could not predict every consequence of what I had done.

Slowly, carefully, I lowered my hand.

The moment my fingertips brushed against the cool surface of the watch, the magic within it stirred.

It was subtle.

A pulse.

A recognition.

A quiet acknowledgment that I was the one who had bound it, the one who had forced it back into stability when it had threatened to collapse entirely.

And beneath that pulse—

Him.

Colson.

I froze.

My breath caught, though I did not need air.

He was still here.

Still anchored.

Still alive.

Relief surged through me so suddenly it nearly unraveled the control I had spent centuries perfecting. It filled my chest, sharp and fragile, like the first breath after drowning.

He had not been lost.

The fracture had not destroyed him.

The spell had held.

But relief did not come alone.

Because beneath it—

There was something else.

Something colder.

Something heavier.

Understanding.

The magic within the watch had changed.

It no longer flowed freely, bending and adjusting the way it had before. It had settled into something firmer. Something more rigid. Something that refused to release its hold easily.

My fingers pressed more firmly against the casing, my eyes narrowing as I focused on the spell’s structure, tracing the threads of magic woven into its core.

And then—

I felt it.

Not as a sound.

Not as a vision.

As truth.

The spell had compensated.

It had stabilized itself in the only way it could.

By anchoring him here longer.

My hand stilled completely.

“No…” I whispered softly.

But the word carried no denial.

Only acceptance.

Repairing the watch had not restored the original path.

It had rewritten it.

Time had chosen preservation over flexibility.

It had chosen stability over freedom.

Which meant—

He could not return yet.

The realization settled into me slowly, like ice spreading through my veins.

He was bound here now.

Bound to this moment.

Bound to this version of the world.

Bound to stand beside Ezra longer than either of us had intended.

My fingers curled slightly against the metal surface.

“I did this to you,” I murmured.

The guilt was immediate.

Sharp.

Unavoidable.

Not because repairing the watch had been wrong.

Because it had been necessary.

Without repair, he would have been torn apart completely. His consciousness scattered across moments, his existence reduced to fragments that could never reform.

This was survival.

But survival came at a cost.

And he was paying it.

My eyes closed briefly as I focused on the connection between us.

It was still there.

Strong.

Unbroken.

I could feel him.

Not his thoughts.

Not his mind.

His presence.

Cold.

Controlled.

Guarded.

And beneath all of it—

Strain.

He was fighting.

Not physically.

Internally.

Fighting himself.

Fighting who he had been.

Fighting the monster he was being forced to become again.

Ezra would be testing him.

Watching him.

Pushing him.

Ezra never trusted anything completely.

And Colson…

Colson had already begun to change things.

Already begun to shift the future.

Which meant Ezra would notice.

Which meant Ezra would push harder.

Fear tightened in my chest.

Not fear for myself.

Fear for him.

He could survive violence.

He could survive pain.

But Ezra’s true weapon was not force.

It was corruption.

Ezra broke creatures by making them believe they were still the monsters they had tried to stop being.

My hand tightened against the watch.

“I won’t let him take you from yourself,” I whispered.

Not aloud.

To him.

To the connection between us.

He needed to come here.

Not later.

Now.

He needed to know what had happened.

Needed to know he was not trapped forever.

Needed to know he was not alone.

I reached for the summoning bowl beside the watch, placing it carefully in the center of the table. Its surface shimmered faintly beneath my touch, ancient runes etched along its inner rim responding instantly to my presence.

This would not pull him through time.

It would call him across distance.

It would guide him safely here.

I lit the candles surrounding it, their flames rising steadily as magic gathered between them.

The air thickened.

Charged.

Alive.

My fingers rested against the rim of the bowl, my eyes closing as I focused entirely on him.

On the thread connecting us.

On the truth I could feel deep within my soul.

“Intervallum nexus,” I whispered.

Connection between moments.

The watch ticked.

The magic awakened.

And I reached for him.

Carefully.

Gently.

Desperately.

“Colson,” I whispered into the connection.

Not a command.

A call.

A promise.

A sanctuary.

He would feel it.

He would come.

Because whether he knew it yet or not—

He was no longer alone in this time.

Not while I lived.

Not while I breathed.

Not while I loved him.

And I would wait.

However long it took.