Soft footfalls broke the silence. Selene stepped forward, veiled in silk that shimmered like moonlight poured into water. Always quiet. Always deliberate. Reverence was stitched into her bones. In her hand was a pendant, obsidian carved into the shape of a teardrop. She knelt beside Annie, touched her arm gently, too gently, and placed the stone in her palm. "For when you need to come back," she whispered. "This will always guide you here."
Annie blinked, dazed, lips parting like she almost recognized something in Selene. Something familiar. I hated it. That quiet fire in Selene's eyes was too knowing. Too close. Calavera said nothing, of course. But when Selene rose, she didn't step back to the shadow of the throne like a servant. No, she stood just ahead of it. Like she belonged there. I noticed. Calavera noticed me noticing. Neither of us spoke. Some truths aren't said aloud. They hang in the air like smoke.
The throne room dimmed. Annie sagged against me, limp but breathing steady now. I gathered her into my arms, her head tucked beneath my chin, her fingers curling into my coat like she knew I'd never let go. Calavera drifted back to her throne. Shadows parted for her. Even death bowed. I didn't thank her. I never do. Selene appeared again, her voice as soft as her step. "I will walk you out."
We left in silence, footsteps echoing against bone-white marble. The skeletal dancers were gone. The candlelight guttered low. The air itself felt thin. At the great obsidian doors, Selene turned. Her eyes fell to Annie. Still clinging, but holding herself a little straighter with each breath.
"There is someone else you may want to meet," she said. "Someone who can explain… more of the beginning."
Annie's eyes cracked open. "...Who?"
Selene's veil caught the twilight like spilled ink. "My mother," she said softly. "Leyla."
I froze. It hit like a knife between my ribs. Of course. Of course it was her. Annie nodded, like she already knew. Calavera's silence earlier. The reverence when Selene touched her rune. The way the shadows bent around her, not away. It all made sense. Too much sense.
"You're-" I started, but Selene nodded before I could finish.
"Daughter to Death," she said. "And Shadow."
My jaw locked. My stomach turned over. "I should have known. That calm voice. That walking library of grief. It reeks of Leyla."
Selene actually smiled. Faint. Real. "She would be delighted to hear you say that."
Delighted. Gods. I wanted to laugh, but the sound would've broken something in me. Annie's voice, steady even through exhaustion, cut the silence. "Take us to her."
"Not yet," Selene said. "When you are ready."
The doors opened. Twilight spilled through, endless and waiting. We stepped out. Still bound. Still burning. But not broken.
Arbor breathed when we returned. Literally sighed in relief. The air warmed, lights flared bright, cinnamon and vanilla swept the halls like a tide. Home missed her. I could feel it. Annie collapsed into bed without protest. I brushed her hair back, kissed her temple, watched her chest rise and fall until I was sure. Until I believed she was still here. I slipped out. I needed air. The house gave me silence, wrapping around me like an old coat. I stood at the window, arms crossed, staring at the night sky as Arbor stitched velvet with too-close stars.
My thoughts spiraled. How did I miss this?
Calavera and Leyla had a child. Selene. A daughter born of death and shadow. Power layered so deep the walls bent around her. And I, god of chaos, cleverest bastard in every room, hadn't seen it. I'd smiled, I'd quipped, I'd dismissed her as background. Harmless. The quiet one. How blind could I be?
My fingers drummed hard against the frame. I thought myself the trickster, the one who knows all the secrets before anyone else. I was the knife behind the joke, the smirk that always saw two moves ahead. But Selene had been right there, carrying truths I never even suspected. Watching me, maybe even pitying me. I never noticed. I laughed once, low and ugly. Bitter. "Chaos incarnate, and I didn't see it coming."
The sound twisted in my chest. Because this wasn't the first time. I thought of Ravina. Ravina with her velvet laughter, her gardens of illusions, her vines that always reached too far. I'd told myself it was affection. Companionship. The closest thing to love I'd known. But it was rot. It had always been rot. I just refused to see it. I told myself I was clever, I could taste her poison and not swallow. All the while she was carving her mark into Annie. My Annie. And I hadn't seen it. I clenched my fists until my nails split skin. Blood smeared the glass.
I wasn't clever. I wasn't in control. I was blind. Blind to Ravina's betrayal. Blind to Selene's truth. Blind to my own arrogance. It took Annie, bloody, scarred, furious Annie, walking into my life for me to see what was real. To see how hollow my games had been. To feel what actual love is. Not Ravina's rot. Not my own illusions. Something stronger. Something terrifying in its simplicity. A woman who laughed at my chaos and called me hers anyway. Gods help me, the thought clawed at my throat: if I could miss all of this, Selene's parentage, Ravina's betrayal, my own heart, what else have I missed? What else is already written in shadows I never cared to read?
Another thought gutted me worse than all the rest. She'd been loving me longer than I ever realized. I thought I was clever, thought I was coaxing her open, winning her inch by inch with charm and chaos. But no, she had been waiting. Letting me stumble, letting me catch up at my own pitiful pace. Every eye roll, every laugh she let slip, every time she stayed when I expected her to run, it had been love already. I was the fool dragging my feet, and she had been patient enough to let me think I was leading. Gods, she'd been loving me while I was still deciding if I deserved to breathe the same air as her. That wasn't weakness. That was strength I couldn't fathom. And it made me hate myself even more, because she had given me grace I never earned.
For the first time in centuries, I wasn't laughing at fate. I wasn't mocking destiny. I was afraid of it. I pressed my forehead to the glass, shaking, whispering to no one. "You fool. You arrogant fool. You thought you were clever. You thought you were in control. But it took her to show you the truth."
The stars pulsed too close, too bright. And I hated that for once, I didn't feel like the master of chaos. I felt like its prey.