The days after the fire settled into an unexpected rhythm. 

I was given Miss Seraphiel’s old room, along with permission to keep her belongings. It unsettled me, slipping into her clothes and using her things. The scent of her still lingered faintly in the fabric so many years later– something floral. I wondered how it must have been for Sir Seraphiel and Cyrus to watch me move through her space, reminding them of their once beloved Liora.

Sir Seraphiel was gone most mornings, slipping out before the sun fully rose. He returned each evening with food, small fragments of news, and the same look of exhaustion in his face. Every day, he reported that he had no new information about controlling the demon, though he was beginning to piece together how possession altered the mind.

Cyrus stayed close.

Always close.

When my thoughts spiraled or my chest tightened with familiar panic, he was there, settling my mind without asking. This morning, that meant standing in front of me, trying to solve the problem that was my hair. We were trying to hide my red eye with it, without making it obvious I was hiding a monster.

He struggled at first, fingers clumsy and hesitant, tugging accidentally when he meant to smooth. I howled in pain once, and he apologized immediately, cheeks flushing. Hours passed with trial and error, until finally, something clicked.

“I think this one might work,” Cy said triumphantly, handing me the mirror. 

My silver curls spilled over my shoulders like a mop. He had parted my hair on the right, brushing a thick section forward to drape across the left side of my face. Only my gray eye showed through the curtain. It worked, technically, but I felt sweaty and suffocated underneath it all.

“It’s… different,” I answered, unable to hide the self-consciousness in my tone.

His hands returned to my scalp. This time, he stepped closer, arms gently wrapping around my head as he gathered my hair up. Cool air kissed my face, immediate relief from the heat that was trapped by my shoulders.

“You could also put it up like this,” he said quietly, his breath brushing my forehead.

Our faces were suddenly far too close.

His chin hovered level with my eyes as he tied the ribbon. I found myself staring at his jaw, at the faint shadow of stubble beginning to grow there. He swallowed, his throat moving, and the sight of it all stirred something unexpected in me. The proximity suddenly felt a little too intimate. 

“Your hair is really soft,” he said gently, his voice catching at the end.

He looked down at me then. Really looked.

His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made heat rush to my face. Slowly, carefully, his fingers lifted a few strands and brushed them back over my left eye, his gaze still fixated on mine.

My breath caught in my throat.

I pressed my hand flat against his chest and pushed him back slightly.

“Ah,” he whispered, startled. “Sorry.”

I looked quickly into the mirror, pretending to look fascinated with his handiwork in order to break the sudden tension. My hair was piled beautifully on the top of my head, curls tumbling loose, the front draping over my eye. Without the usual shield of hair, my cheeks looked rounder.

“I, uh,” I stammered, pointing. “My face is showing a little too much. Can you–”

“Right,” he said quickly, fingers already moving to untie the ribbon. My hair flopped back down. “Could you turn around? I have one more idea.”

I did, my face still warm. 

I became hyper aware of his fingers as they brushed against the back of my neck, carefully gathering sections of hair. His movements were slow and gentle. I closed my eyes, my shoulders relaxing despite myself.

Too quickly, he was finished. 

The mirror appeared in my vision as he passed it over my shoulder. 

A single loose plait rested down my back, the signature drape of curls still shielding my red eye. My lips parted at my reflection. I barely recognized myself.

Cyrus appeared in the frame behind me, smiling shyly and rubbing his ear.

“Do you like it?”

I nodded, turning around to face him. My fingers traced the gentle bumps along my scalp, committing the feeling to my memory.

“Thank you,” I responded, “I love it.”

—----

We sat in the common room quietly, the sunlight dipping lower through the window while dust sparkled in the air. Cyrus sat closely to me on the cushioned bench, telling me stories of his father’s hunting adventures as we waited for his return.

I tried to listen but my mind drifted slightly, thinking about everything that had happened. Thankfully, Cy didn’t notice because I made sure to nod every once in a while or let out a hollow chuckle.

A loud knock interrupted him mid-story, growing more persistent by the second. 

My hands flew to my sides, fingers digging into the bench cushion as my heart lurched violently in my chest. I held my breath and froze.

Have they come for me?

Cyrus stiffened beside me, his head turned sharply to the door. I turned my head, our eyes meeting for half a second, his expression matching mine.

“Cyrus,” the male voice breathlessly called from the other side. “Open the door!”

Cyrus was on his feet, rushing to the entrance in long strides. He peered out the window before letting out a sigh of relief.

His hand turned the doorknob, cracking it open just enough for a boy his height to shove his way inside. 

Del Revar.

Those unmistakable gold eyes flicked rapidly between us, wide and frantic, his chest rising and falling too fast.

“Heaven’s, Del,” Cy yelled, “you scared us out of our wits! What’s going on?”

Del dragged a hand down his face, fingers trembling as the urgency became clear in his voice.

 “Look, Cy, I told her it wasn’t going to help– but Ramah insisted I come for you. It’s my cousin.”

I was already standing, my body moving quickly to follow them.

“Nyx?” Cy asked, dreadfully. “What am I supposed to do for him?”

Del swallowed, hard. “It’s more about what you could do for Ramah,” he confessed. “She’s hysterical.”

We quickly grabbed our coats by the door and raced to the Revar home. 

Cool air filled my lungs in our hurry. The streets were filled with Mongrels walking around, some of the children playing outside, unaware of the nearby tragedy. 

As we passed the edge of the district, my gaze fell on the blackened wreckage of my father’s home. Charred beams jutted from the collapsed rubble. Kingsguards moved through it, slowly sifting through the ash as though they were looking for something.

The sharp wail reached us before the house did. 

The hair on my arms stood up as Del tore the door open, cries suddenly echoing louder in the streets. We panted loudly as we entered, Cyrus shutting the door behind us.

Ramah was bent over Nyx, who lay flat on his back across the floor, his small body trembling violently. She clutched his hand, sobbing as she whispered frantic reassurances to her son. Tears streaked down her face, clouding the angelic brand that she bore on her cheek.

Her husband, Gaybe, stood behind her, one hand gripping her shoulder as though he was trying to anchor himself. His eyes were hollow, lines etched deep in his brow, and tears threatening him but restrained. The demonic mark on his cheek stood out against his dark skin.

It was another Lament death.

Ramah’s head snapped up, her raven hair wild from distress. Her eyes found Cyrus instantly, the usual gold in them now dull and wretched from her desperation. They widened in hope as she spotted her son’s savior.

“Help him,” she screamed to Cyrus. “HELP HIM, PLEASE!”

We stared at her silently, her screams forever burned into our minds. 

My stomach churned as I looked at Nyx. It seemed his abilities had developed earlier than expected. His skin burned red with fever, sweat soaking his dark hair. His eyes were squeezed shut in agony and his body jerked weakly with each labored breath. 

Nothing Cyrus did would save that child. 

Ramah knew it too.

I moved toward Ramah, my legs shaking beneath me as I lowered myself to the floor, taking her trembling hand in both of mine.

“Ramah,” I whispered, my voice cracking. She turned to me, searching my face with wild hope, lips quivering.

She was a young mother– early twenties. I remember the day she invited us to celebrate Nyx, in the weeks after he was born. Her eyes were filled with love … so much love… and the regret of knowing what was bound to happen. 

“Help h-him,” she begged between sobs. “Please!”

My voice failed me, the words lodged in my throat as a lump formed. I attempted them again, but nothing escaped me, save a small grunt. All I could manage to do was shake my head.

Her scream tore through the room, hoarse and feral. Her fingernails dug sharply into my skin, pain erupting in the space between my fingers.

“This is what evil is,” Kako whispered. 

My spine straightened and my body went tense, attempting to control myself again.

Ramah released my hand and collapsed forward, Gaybe barely catching her in his embrace as she wailed. She clawed at his shirt, then shoved him away as she reached desperately for Nyx’s body. She pulled him gently into her lap, staring into her boy’s face.

My heart stopped.

I quickly turned to Cyrus, ready to run to him in fear of losing control again, but he was standing frozen with his face drained of color. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, fingers twitching as though his body still believed there was something he could do. 

But, the light from his ability remained just as absent as the soul behind his eyes. He swallowed hard, throat moving. His lips parted before sealing shut again.

Whispers came from my left as Gaybe tried to soothe Ramah, but she kept pushing him away. 

Del stood in the corner of the room watching helplessly, his shoulders tense as he watched the scene before him. He ran his fingers through his black hair, roughly, and began to pace back and forth.

Ramah turned her screams back to Cyrus, clutching Nyx tightly in her arms. “Why are you still standing there? Help him!”

Cyrus broke from his trance and took a step forward.

Then he stopped.

Nyx’s body jerked weakly, a whimper escaping his lips. 

Ramah surged forward, pressing her forehead to his and rocking back and forth as she murmured prayers that had already gone unanswered. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered frantically, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “Mama’s here. Mama’s right here. I love you, Nyx. I love you.”

My lips trembled. My heart fractured in my chest.

Stay in control.

Then, Nyx exhaled one final, shuddering breath.

The silence following was deafening. Ramah clutched her son’s body to her chest, her eyes wide, listening intently in hope he would draw breath again. 

He didn’t take another.

A gut-wrenching wail ripped from her throat. 

She cried his name again and again, her body trembling. Gaybe collapsed beside her, his face buried in her hair, his shoulders shaking as the tears finally fell from his eyes.

I couldn’t look away.

Nyx’s still body stared back at me like a reflection.

The fate that should have been mine.

The sound of the entrance door ripping open broke me from my trance. I turned my head to see Cyrus running home, not daring to look back.