Inherited power

The Fall

I didn’t sleep.

Even if I’d wanted to, my mind refused.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that voice again.

Welcome home.

I had checked the room twice after that.

Under the bed. Behind the curtains. Inside the bathroom. In the wardrobe large enough to hide three bodies and a secret society.

Nothing.

No hidden doors. No mysterious intruder. No explanation.

Which meant one of two things:

Either I was losing my mind—

or he was enjoying this.

I hated that the second option felt more likely.

Morning came slowly, pale sunlight bleeding through the curtains while I sat curled in one of the armchairs, still wearing yesterday’s clothes and clutching my suspicion like a personality trait.

At some point, someone had left fresh clothes folded on a chair beside the bed.

Dark trousers. Soft cream blouse. Boots.

No note.

No permission asked.

I glared at them for a full minute before changing anyway.

If I was being held prisoner, I refused to be an unfashionable prisoner.

The door was unlocked.

That alone made me nervous.

I opened it cautiously.

No guards.

The corridor beyond stretched long and silent, lined with identical stone doors and tall narrow windows. No movement. No voices.

Either security here was terrible—

or they wanted me to run.

I stepped into the hallway.

Cold stone beneath my borrowed boots.

Quiet all around me.

I turned left first.

Then right.

Then left again after realizing every corridor looked exactly the same and I had the survival instincts of a decorative candle.

After several turns, I found a staircase spiraling upward through a tower wall.

Higher meant windows.

Windows meant options.

I climbed.

By the time I reached the top, my lungs burned and my legs reminded me I’d recently been drugged and kidn*pped.

Rude timing.

A narrow landing opened into a circular chamber crowned with arched glass doors leading onto a small balcony.

I crossed toward them fast, pulse rising.

Freedom waited beyond.

Or at least fresh air and dramatic symbolism.

The doors opened easily.

Outside, the wind struck my face at once—cool, sharp, real.

I stepped onto the balcony and froze.

The view was breathtaking.

The castle grounds sprawled beneath me in layers of gardens, walls, towers, courtyards, and distant forests. Morning mist clung to the lower valleys beyond the walls like something alive.

For one dangerous second, I forgot to be terrified.

Then I noticed the drop.

Straight down.

Far enough that my stomach lurched.

I backed away from the railing immediately.

“Nope.”

I turned, scanning the outer walls.

The tower curved around to the adjacent wing. Stone ledges connected sections of the structure, narrow and uneven. Farther along, another balcony jutted from the neighboring tower.

Close enough to reach if someone was reckless.

Close enough if someone was desperate.

Close enough if someone made consistently poor decisions under stress.

I stared at it.

Then at the distance below.

Then back again.

“This is a terrible idea,” I told myself.

I moved toward the ledge anyway.

The stone path along the wall was barely wide enough for both feet side by side. Wind tugged at my blouse as I pressed one hand to the cold tower wall and edged sideways.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Killed not by enemies, but by architecture.”

I kept moving.

The neighboring balcony drew closer.

Almost there.

One more stretch.

My boot slipped.

I gasped and slammed myself against the wall, fingers scraping stone.

Pebbles scattered into the air and vanished below.

My pulse hammered in my throat.

“Okay,” I whispered. “No sudden movements. No panic. No dying.”

I forced another careful step.

Then another.

At last I reached the final gap between the ledge and the balcony.

Two feet.

Maybe less.

An easy jump on solid ground.

A suicidal leap over empty air.

I bent my knees.

My breath came shallow.

One jump.

That was all.

I launched myself forward—

The wind shifted violently.

My foot struck the edge wrong.

Pain shot through my ankle.

I hit the balcony hard, hands slamming against stone—

Then momentum dragged me sideways.

My body slid.

My fingers clawed uselessly for grip.

And suddenly there was nothing beneath me.

The world dropped.

Sky.

Stone.

Air tearing past me.

A scream ripped from my throat.

Then something caught my wrist.

Hard.

My shoulder jolted so sharply tears sprang to my eyes.

I swung violently against the wall, suspended over open air.

Above me, framed against the pale sky, stood a man.

Dark clothes.

One hand braced on the railing.

The other locked around my wrist.

Him.

Even upside down in mortal terror, I recognized the silhouette.

“You,” I gasped.

His grip tightened.

“You continue to make strange choices.”

“Pull me up!”

He looked mildly thoughtful.

“Reasonable request.”

I could have murdered him.

With effortless strength, he hauled me upward as though I weighed nothing. One moment I was dangling over death, the next I was dragged across the stone and into solid, furious life.

I collapsed onto the balcony floor, coughing, shaking, trying to remember how lungs worked.

He stood over me untouched by panic, coat moving lightly in the wind.

Still calm.

Still unreadable.

Still insufferable.

I pushed myself upright.

“You absolute psychopath!”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

“I saved your life.”

“You watched me fall first!”

“You had already committed to the experience.”

I stared at him.

Then, against all logic, I laughed once in disbelief.

He looked faintly surprised.

Good.

I rose too quickly and swayed.

His hand caught my waist instantly.

Warm. Firm. Certain.

The world stilled.

My breath snagged.

For the first time, I was close enough to see him properly.

Dark hair swept carelessly back from a face carved in elegant, severe lines. High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Mouth made for saying dangerous things quietly.

But it was his eyes that held me.

Grey.

Not soft grey.

Storm-grey.

The kind of eyes that looked like they remembered wars.

He was younger than I’d imagined. Older than me, but not by much.

And devastatingly unfair to look at.

“You’re dizzy,” he said.

His voice had changed at this distance.

Lower.

Rougher.

More human.

“I’m furious,” I corrected.

“Both can be true.”

Neither of us moved.

His hand remained at my waist.

Mine had somehow gripped the front of his coat.

I let go first.

Then stepped back too fast and nearly stumbled again.

Humiliating.

He steadied me once more, fingers brushing my arm this time.

Less intimate.

Far more dangerous somehow.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly.

A pause.

Wind curled between us.

Then he said, “Someone trying to keep you alive.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only one you’re getting.”

I clenched my jaw.

“You kidn*pped me.”

“No.”

“You drugged me.”

“No.”

“You imprisoned me.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward the castle below.

“That depends on whether you insist on climbing off it.”

I hated how attractive he was when being impossible.

Voices echoed from somewhere inside the tower.

Approaching.

He heard them first.

His expression sharpened instantly.

“They can’t find you here,” he said.

“Who?”

But he was already stepping back.

“No—wait.”

“Stay inside today.”

“Not happening.”

For the first time, the corner of his mouth almost moved.

Almost.

Then he said softly, “You will make this difficult, won’t you?”

“I already am.”

Something unreadable passed through his gaze.

Approval?

Regret?

Recognition?

Then he vaulted onto the railing.

I lunged forward instinctively.

“Are you insane—?”

He dropped from sight.

I ran to the edge.

Nothing below.

No body.

No movement.

No impossible man broken on stone.

Just empty air and distant gardens.

My heart pounded.

A door burst open behind me.

“Are you trying to die before breakfast?”

I turned sharply.

A beautiful blonde woman stood in the doorway, hands on hips, looking from me to the railing and back again.

She sighed dramatically.

“Oh good,” she said. “You’ve already met him.”