Seraphine sat beside Valen, her pulse thrumming in her ears. He was barely conscious, body trembling, breaths shallow—as though the weight of eternity had finally caught up to him. His veins had darkened beneath his pale skin, like ink bleeding beneath the surface. He looked like a god unraveling, a fallen star teetering on the edge of nothingness.
And yet...
To her, he looked human.
Fragile. Mortal. Real.
"I can't," he whispered, the words catching in his throat. "Serenyth, don't offer yourself. I'll lose control."
His voice was a breath of smoke, barely audible. A warning. A plea. The kind of honesty that came from sheer desperation.
"I'll wait outside," Corven said quietly. His raven eyes lingered on Seraphine, then on Valen, unreadable. With a soft rustle of feathers and fabric,
