Serenity's POV
His voice hits me like a strike—What have you done?
As if I haven’t been asking myself that very question in the quiet moments between breaths.
As if I haven’t already chosen.
I pull my wrist back, but Darian’s grip lingers in the ghost of warmth on my skin. His face is pale, eyes locked on the barely visible band fused into my finger, the gold long melted under my skin like it belongs there.
Maybe it does.
“I told you,” I say quietly, steadying my breath. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he whispers. “Gods, Serenity—this isn’t a game. That ring isn’t meant to be worn this long. It’s consuming you.”
A small, humorless smile tugs at my mouth. “Good. Let it.”
His breath stutters. “Why would you say that?”
Because the ring stopped being an accessory the moment it recognized
