There was a knock at the door.
Not a magical chime. Not Arbor whispering in the walls. A knock. Dull. Solid. Mortal. The first time I didn't hear it. The second, I thought I imagined it. The third made me lift my head. I dragged myself upright. My feet scraped against the floorboards. My hands hung useless. I opened the door. The world stopped. My knees wobbled. She stood there.
Barefoot. Wrapped in nothing but a white sheet sliding off her bruised shoulders. Her hair tangled. Makeup streaked like war paint down her cheeks. One eye swollen. Her lip split. Bruises flowering along her collarbone, her thighs. Blood trailing down her leg. My mouth opened. Nothing came out. She didn't speak. Just raised a trembling hand. A note gripped tight between white knuckles. I took it. Instinct. She walked past me. No glance. No word. Straight down the hall to the guest room. The room she'd first slept in. The room she hadn't touched since the first night she chose me. She shut the door. Soft. Final. I stared. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just stood there like a fool holding paper.
Aerion's handwriting. Elegant. Precise. Vile.
You always liked broken things. So I broke your favorite toy.
The note burned in my hand until it disintegrated. Rage. Sorrow. Pain. Beneath it, nothing. No pull. No hum of her emotions in the back of my mind. No thread binding us.
The bond was gone. Severed. Silenced. Or worse, shut. My chest locked."Annie?" I rasped, turning toward her door. My hand touched the handle. Froze. I reached. Hard. Down the tether. Poured everything into it, terror, longing, rage, her name shouted a thousand ways. Memories of her laugh. The taste of her morning coffee. The warmth of her pressed against me. Every part of me that was still mine, I shoved down the bond like a man trying to breathe through water. Nothing came back. Not even the echo.
I stepped back. Sank down, my back to her door, knees bent, arms limp. The house dimmed around me. Arbor hid in its bones, holding its breath. Even the walls seemed to mourn. I pressed my palm flat against the wood. Hoping. Pretending. But all I felt was absence. Phantom pain where she used to be. Time crawled jagged. Seconds dragged into eternities. I whispered her name once. Twice. Stopped. Afraid the sound would shatter what little was left. I thought of Aerion. Of that note. Of the way she'd stood there, bloodied, silent, broken. I dug my nails into my scalp, shaking, chaos writhing under my skin, begging to be loosed. I didn't. Not near her. Never near her.
So I stayed curled against her door. Silent. Empty. I prayed. Not as a god. As a man.
Feel me. Please. Feel me.
I sent it down the bond like a lifeline. I sent everything. My grief. My guilt. My fury. My love. My stupid pet names. My memories of her hands, her voice, her lips whispering my name like she meant it. I filled the silence with me. She didn't answer. Let her be okay. Let her come back. Let her scream. Let her hate me. Just let her feel something again. Nothing. Not a rustle of sheets. Not even the sound of her breathing.
The night dragged. The next morning bled into nothing. I hadn't moved. My body numb. My head pounding. The sun dared to shine through the windows, warm and golden, as if the world hadn't ended. She was behind that door. And the sun had the audacity to rise? Blood welled in my palms where my nails cut crescents. It pattered to the floor. Unnoticed. Images tore through me. Her laugh. Her eye roll at my pet names. Coffee stains on her shirt. The way she once looked at me like maybe, just maybe, I could be good.
Her face on the doorstep. Vacant. Bruised. Gone. I pressed my forehead hard against the wood. Harder. Wishing pain might erase hers. You failed her.
I clenched my teeth. The rage wasn't hot anymore. It was cold. Bitter as frostbite. Aerion's smirk filled my mind. I shoved vengeance down the bond, too, promises of blood, of ruin, of Aerion begging for mercy he'd never get. If she couldn't hear me, fine. But I'd flood the silence until she did. Arbor flickered. The walls bowed with me. Every hallway bent itself toward her room, every window reflecting that door. The house mourned. But it never intruded. It gave her silence, too. That was worse, because it meant Arbor agreed with her.
Another night passed. I drifted in and out, dreaming of her screams. Woke to silence. Reached for the handle. Never opened it. She had every right to shut me out. Still, I kept reaching. Always reaching. Shoving my apologies, my love, my chaos, every memory of us into the bond until I was wrung dry. It never answered. The second morning came like a curse. Not with clarity. Not with peace. With silence. The bond wasn't muted. Wasn't aching. Wasn't numb. It was gone. The living tether that had burned in my skull since the moment she stepped into my realm, gone. I hissed when I tried to move. Blood flooded back into my legs, pins and needles flaying me alive. The price of two nights spent on stone outside her door. My back screamed. My joints groaned. Even my magic twitched like a wounded animal, begging to lash out. But she hadn't come out. Not once. Not even to breathe where I could hear it.
And I, I couldn't sit there forever. Not if I wanted to be strong enough to face her. If she ever let me. If she ever wanted me again. So I stood. Slow. Careful. Like the hallway had turned holy and I was trespassing. One step. Then another. Down the corridor. Toward the kitchen. The kitchen felt obscene. Ordinary. Mortal. Wrong. I reached for her mug, the chipped one, the one she refused to fix. Character, she used to call it, curling her fingers around it like it was sacred. I didn't touch mine. Couldn't. I just stared at hers until my chest ached. Then I moved like I was drowning, going through motions I didn't believe in. Half coffee. Half cream. Chocolate. Cinnamon. Sweet enough to rot mortal teeth. The smell filled the room, rich and familiar. It turned my stomach. Still, I poured two mugs. Still, I cradled hers between my hands like it was alive. Not about taste. Not about ritual. About hope. About memory. About a stupid lie that maybe, maybe if I set it down for her, she'd come back. I carried it down the hall, each step scraping my ribs raw with prayer. I set the mug outside her door. Didn't spill a drop. Steam curled into nothing.
I reached down the bond again. Poured the smell, the warmth, the memory of mornings into it. Here. It's yours. It's always yours. Silence. I knelt. Pressed my palm flat to the stone.
"Please," I whispered. "Please just open the door."
Then I stood. And backed away. Not crowding. Not forcing. Just waiting. Always waiting. The library mocked me. Stories lined the walls. Tales of chaos, trickery, laughter, all things that once made me grin, once sparked fire in my veins. Now the words tasted like ash. I tried to read. The pages blurred. My eyes kept drifting back to the doorway. The one that led to her. The coffee went cold beside me. Untouched. I tried music. Three notes on the piano echoed hollow, wrong. I slammed the lid until the sound cracked like thunder. Still no door opened.
The garden. The moons. The memory of her kiss, her whisper of my name like it was something she wished for. I stood there until rage burned my vision, not at her, at me. Room after room. I conjured distractions. None worked. So I stopped pretending. I rearranged the house with magic until every window faced the hallway. So no matter where I sat, no matter what I did, I could see her door. The bond was a grave. Silent. Cold.
Eventually, I gave up even that. I sat in the nearest chair. Mug cold in my hands. Eyes locked on the door. I didn't eat. Didn't move. Didn't breathe without thinking of her. Her laugh. Her sigh. Her glare when I was insufferable. The way she pressed close when she forgot to be careful. Gone. Not stolen in battle. Not taken in fire and fury. No, lost in silence.
I bowed my head into my hands. Shook. Not from rage. From emptiness. I'd fought wars. Outlived civilizations. Burned kings from thrones. Nothing had ever broken me like this. I deserved it. But gods, how I still begged. One more chance. One word. One breath. Even if she hated me forever. Even if she never forgave me. I would sit here. Always. Because the alternative, the silence where she used to be, was so much worse.
By the fourth day, time had lost its meaning. Arbor didn't keep clocks. The house shifted by mood, not hours. Light dimmed, returned, dimmed again, but there was no rhythm, just the dragging weight of silence. I sat slouched in the sunroom, legs pulled up, mug long cold in my hands, eyes fixed on the same door. Always the door. Then… sound. Faint. Muffled.
My body reacted before my mind caught up. The mug slipped, shattered against the floor. I was at her door in a blink, pressed flat to the wood, every muscle trembling. Water. Running water. The shower. My knees nearly gave. Relief tore through me like a wave, fierce and merciless. She was alive. Moving. Still here. I didn't dare knock. Didn't dare breathe too loud. Just pressed my ear to the door, eyes shut, listening like the sound alone might stitch me back together. Water pattered. Pipes groaned. The most beautiful music I'd ever heard.
I stayed there, silent, reverent. Sending gratitude down the bond. Love. Hope. Begging her to feel any piece of it. Time slipped. Minutes, hours, eternity, it didn't matter. The latch clicked. The door opened. I stumbled back a step, my breath gone. She emerged.
A towel clung to her frame, steam curling around her like a veil. Hair tangled, dripping. Her lip split. One eye swollen. Bruises blooming across skin that should never have been touched like that. She didn't look at me. Didn't say a word. Just walked past. Into our room. Something cracked in my chest at that small, ordinary act. Not a reunion. Not salvation. Just retrieving clothes. But gods, it was her. Moving. Real. A sob escaped me, sharp and small. She didn't stop. She returned, arms full of clothes, her face was blank. Unreachable.
That's when I saw it. Her leg. Aerion's rune. It ran her entire leg, thigh to foot, but only the bottom half glowed in the dim light, cruel lines burning faint along her shin and calf. My breath caught. My chest locked. Not dormant. Active. I knew what that meant. I knew how mine had flared to life. Sex. Power bound to flesh through that connection. No. Gods, no.
My eyes dragged upward, frantic, desperate, hunting. And then I saw it. Navir's mark. Cold geometry etched across the back of her neck, running ear to ear, curving down toward her spine. Precise. Brutal. Unmistakable. My breath stopped. No. No, no, no.
I reached for the bond, frantic, desperate, shoving everything into it, comfort, fury, defiance, love. I am here. I will kill them for you. You are mine. You are safe.
The bond didn't just stay silent. It recoiled. Like she had walled me out on purpose. Like even my voice in her head was too much. My body froze, but my mind screamed.
The truth hit me like a train. My Annie. Used. Branded. Raped. I staggered, choking on nothing. My hand half-raised, shaking, reaching for her like I could erase it, like I could burn the proof off her skin. My mind screamed, but my mouth could barely form her name.
"Annie—"
The door shut. The silence afterward was worse than any scream. I collapsed, knees buckling, clutching the frame like it was the only thing holding me upright. My chest twisted until I thought it would cave in. Aerion had taken her. Navir had marked her. They had done what I swore I never would. What I swore I would protect her from. Chaos cracked at my fingertips, spilling light across the floor. My voice came low, jagged, torn from the bottom of me.
"I will kill them," I whispered. "I will tear their names from the bones of this world. Aerion. Navir. Every one who touched her. I'll burn their realms. I'll bury them in her screams."
The power flared, blinding, violent, begging to be unleashed. I let it shake the walls, let it taste my rage, but not here. Not near her door. Never near her.
So I knelt in the silence, trembling, whispering the only truth left. "They hurt my Annie. And I will not stop until every one of them is forgotten."
"My Annie." The words burned as they left me. "They hurt my Annie."
I knelt at her door again, trembling. My magic writhed beneath my skin, violent, begging to be loosed, but I wouldn't, not near her. Not again. So I resumed my vigil. The house shifted around me, slow and reverent, as if mourning with me. Arbor bent every hallway toward hers. Every window reflected the corridor I guarded. The entire realm bowed to her silence. I sat. I shook. I didn't blink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the glow of those runes. Every time I breathed, I tasted ash and failure. Not theirs. Mine. I touched the door with trembling fingers, not knocking, just grounding. "I am here," I whispered. "I am still here."
No answer. She didn't have to. I stayed. Because she was alive. Until she opened that door again, I wouldn't move. Not even to kill the ones who deserved it. Vengeance could wait. She couldn't.
I don't know how long passed before I started speaking. Softly. Like a prayer through confessional walls.
"Annie," I breathed. "You don't have to open it. I just… I need you to hear me."
Nothing.
"I do not blame you," I whispered, my hand tracing the wood grain. "For anything. Whatever they did… whatever they took… it wasn't yours to protect. It was mine. And I failed."
My voice cracked. "I should have been there."
I pressed my forehead against the door. "I let you go. I let you be alone. I knew better. And still…"
The tears wouldn't come anymore. I'd spent them all.
"I don't care what they did. Not about the marks. Not about the glow. I don't care if you never touch me again, if you never say my name. You can hate me. Please just... I just need you to know… you are still you. You are still my Annie. You are enough. You always have been."
The silence swallowed it. I shut my eyes, imagining her curled inside, crying into the same sheets she'd once felt safe in. Safe with me. I clenched my fists until my knuckles split, blood smearing the wood. Aerion's smirk. Navir's blank stare. That machine's voice. They had taken her. Torn her open. Left her broken on my doorstep. I had danced. I had smiled. I had kissed someone else. "I will not be forgiven for this," I rasped.
My voice broke. "But he won't survive it either." Still, I didn't leave. Because if that door opened, just once, I would be there.