Aravin pulled levers and pressed buttons. Fire, smoke, thunder, flashes of light—the weapon spewed everything it had. None of it stopped the massive claws that slammed into his shoulders and threw him backward.

His firearm clattered to the ground.

He reached for it, but his fingers just brushed the metal before a grotesque creature planted one heavy paw on his chest, pinning him in place. A scream died on his lips as the twin skulls hovered inches from his face. The teeth were sharp—filed, almost. The eye sockets hollow, yet filled with a darkness that moved.

Aravin didn’t dare move—couldn’t move.

But nothing happened. No teeth tore into his throat, no claws ripped open his gut. Against his better judgment, he turned his head sideways, away from the twin skulls.

Mart was still standing, Pulverizer in hand. He blew one creature after another apart, but there were too many of them. More poured into the clearing by the second.

“Behind you!” Aravin shouted as one leapt at Mart’s back.

Too late. The creature slammed him into the ground.

Aravin looked back at the beast that held him down. Why wasn’t it doing anything? Not that he wanted to die, but this was… bizarre. The thing seemed frozen.

He moved his shoulders slightly. The pressure immediately increased.

Ah. So I’m not supposed to move. But why? Was it waiting for orders?

He glanced sideways again. Mart was pinned down by a creature just as big. No sign of Fantoom. He looked the other way; a tree blocked his view.

“Fantoom!” he shouted.

No answer.

A sick feeling coiled in his gut, and the weight on his chest seemed to double until he could barely breathe. Had those things torn him apart? Images of Fantoom’s shredded body flashed before his eyes. No, no, no…

Still silence.

Aravin clenched his fists. He drove them both upward, slamming them into the bone above him. Nothing. Not even a crack. The creature stared back at him, unfazed, as if it hadn’t even noticed his resistance. Defeat washed over him like a wave.

Then, suddenly, the pressure vanished. The beast stepped back and bolted. Dazed, Aravin sat up, rubbing at his chest where the pawprint still burned.

They were all running now, as if obeying some silent command only they could hear. Mart got up too, unharmed, watching the stampede of bones disappear into the woods.

The usual rush of relief after a narrow escape didn’t come.

“Where’s Fantoom?”

Mart kept staring after the fleeing horde. “They took him.”

Aravin grabbed the nearest tree for support. “What?”

“Two of them dragged him off,” Mart said without looking at him.

Aravin’s stomach clenched. “So he’s the one they wanted.”

Why, though? He ran a hand through his damp hair, staring in the direction the monsters had gone. “We have to get him back.”

Mart didn’t answer. He picked up the weapon he’d dropped and studied it.

Aravin decided to do the same. At first glance, his gun still seemed intact—though clearly, it hadn’t done nearly enough against those creatures.

He fastened the weapon to his belt again and walked over to Mart. It bothered him how easily the other brushed him off.

“We have to get him back,” he pressed.

Mart shot him a sidelong look. “And how exactly do you plan to find him?”

“With a contact tincture. We can reach him that way.”

“Oh, a contact tincture,” Mart said flatly. “Like the one you used to try and find Alyss back in Koperhaven.”

Aravin nodded. He couldn’t quite read the dark flicker in Mart’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you give one to me when I was imprisoned?” Mart asked quietly. “You could’ve sent it with the food.”

Aravin had thought about it—very briefly. “I didn’t dare. You could’ve reached out to anyone while the rest of the world thought you were dead. You would’ve put yourself in danger. Me, too. Then everything would’ve been for nothing.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I could say that a hundred times, and it still wouldn’t change what happened.”

Mart shot him a look sharp enough to cut and said nothing more.

There wasn’t much left to say.

“What if we do find him?” Mart asked after a moment. “There were at least twenty of those things.”

“Then we improvise,” Aravin said. “I’ve got a whole pouch full of tinctures that might help. We just need to study them first—figure out how they work.”

His tincture for invisibility could be useful, though not if those creatures couldn’t see in the first place. And unless those pits of darkness served as eyes, they were blind.

“We could also assume he’ll take care of himself,” Mart said. “Or head back and let his friends deal with it.”

Aravin frowned. That didn’t sound like Mart at all.

“What?” Mart went on. “I’m supposedly vital to this whole save-the-world mission, right? Would be pretty stupid to throw myself at a pack of bone beasts.”

His logic was painfully sound. And yet… the thought of never seeing Fantoom again made Aravin’s stomach twist. “I’ve already done enough things I can’t forgive myself for,” he muttered.

Mart snorted. “So you’re just going to abandon me again?”

“What? No.”

Was Mart seriously making him choose between him and Fantoom? What kind of twisted test was this? Beneath the irritation and anger, Aravin caught something else—a spark of teasing. “Is this your way of figuring out if I’m still the same selfish bastard?”

For a moment, the corners of Mart’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I can feel that well enough. But it’s kind of fascinating, really—that you’d risk your life for a man who robbed you.”

Aravin shrugged. “Everyone does things they regret.”

The words carried far more weight than his casual tone suggested.

Mart looked at him, then exhaled slowly and started walking in the direction the creatures had fled. “What would you have done,” he asked, “if you discovered my powers now—if this whole dying-light mess hadn’t been happening?”

“Not the same thing,” Aravin mumbled, falling into step beside him after a pause. “But that’s easy to say now. I was fifteen, one of our friends had just died, and you were trying to bring him back while I knew it would kill you. I still don’t know what I should have done differently, except that I should never have left you there alone for five years. But I was scared, uncertain…” He let out a long breath. “I hated myself, and I knew you hated me, too. The only thing I could think to do was make it right by finding you a place where you’d be safe. Not a rust heap like Koperhaven—something better.” He looked down. “Something that probably doesn’t even exist. It was a childish fantasy to believe there was some hidden community of Soultakers still out there.”

Something stirred inside him. The razor-sharp resentment dulled a little, replaced by something warmer, fragile, and uncertain.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing all these years?” Mart asked.

“Yeah,” Aravin said quietly. “First, I went through all the Archives—nothing. Then I started saving up for a plane so I could search all of Faux. I went to Koperhaven, to Spit, to Vergane Glorie —anywhere there were people, I followed rumors. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.” A crooked smile crossed his lips. “And then that rusted Fantoom crashes down here and just stumbles onto one.”

Mart’s mouth twitched into a faint smile, though he kept his gaze ahead.

In the silence that followed, Aravin wrestled with his emotions, unsure what to say—he didn't even know what feelings belonged to himself. Something tightened his throat.

“I missed you,” he said softly. “I still do.”

Mart drew in a long breath.

Aravin braced for a sneer, for a cutting remark telling him to stop whining—that Mart didn’t care how he felt. And he’d be right. But Aravin needed to say it anyway. Maybe they were both about to die. And whatever Mart had told himself over the years, however deep the lies went, Aravin wanted him to know he’d never meant to hurt him—that no one meant more to him.

After all, he’d once been the center of Mart’s world too. Otherwise, their souls never would’ve fused. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

“I know,” Mart murmured finally. “That you care. You even killed two people trying to protect me. But I…” His voice faltered. “I feel this emptiness inside me, and every time I manage to feel something good, it eats it away again until I’m hollow. So hollow that I stop wanting to feel at all. Without even realizing it.”

Aravin understood that fear of trusting again—he could literally feel it. But this openness between them, this moment, it healed something in both of them. It was a step forward.

“You’ll have to learn how to deal with it again,” Aravin said quietly. “Your feelings. Hold on to them instead of letting that black hole swallow you whole.” He glanced around the forest, still no sign of the monsters. “And I’ll have to learn to let go. My guilt.” He thought of Fantoom. “And my mistrust. Toward… certain people.”

Mart looked sideways at him, the hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. “Fantoom?”

Aravin lifted a shoulder. “Once a thief, always a thief?”

“Of your heart?” Mart’s grin turned teasing.

Before Aravin could stop himself, he bumped Mart’s shoulder with his own. This—this kind of talk—was what he’d missed. “There’s not much left of me,” he said with a wry laugh. “My first love stole my soul, the next one my heart…”

“Don’t forget your toe.”

“My love for this forest needs some serious growth first."

Mart chuckled softly, then went quiet for a while. “Speaking of your soul,” he said, “I hope the Soultaker has a solution. A way to undo it.”

The thought made Aravin uneasy. After all these years, their souls had become one—could you really tear them apart again without consequences?

“I don’t mind,” he said quietly. “I just wish we had a little more control. That we could shield ourselves from each other’s emotions when we needed to.”

“I forced that bond on you.”

“No,” Aravin said. “Your soul invited mine, and mine accepted.” That’s how he’d always seen it.

“Well, mine was forced. If I ever do this again, I want to make that choice myself. With someone I trust completely. Someone I—” He clenched his jaw.

Someone I love, Aravin finished in silence.

Someone like Alyss. Someone he wants to share his life with. His own Golden Heart.

“I get it,” Aravin murmured. From the start, their bond had felt unbalanced—his emotions stronger, fiercer. “Whatever you decide, I’ll stand by it. I just hope it doesn’t break us beyond repair.”

“It already has,” Mart said, venom in his voice.

It saved you, Aravin thought but didn’t say. He looked down at his arm, then raised it. With a quick motion, he pressed his nail between the copper wolf’s eyes and felt the sharp sting as the tincture entered his bloodstream.

He closed his eyes and focused on Fantoom’s face—his ruby-red eyes, his gleaming mask, that ever-defiant smirk.

Please be conscious. Please be able to use your tincture too.