"I didn't… mean to lie," I said at last. My voice cracked and frayed, but not in a way that shattered. More like stone splitting along old lines. I spoke the words into the dark of our room. "I just… put on a version of me that I thought could survive. Annie was good. She was kind. Controlled. She was… enough for you."
"I never wanted enough," Malvor said, turning toward me completely. "I wanted you."
My breath caught, sharp and uneven. "You don't know how much it hurt to be her in the end. To smile like everything was fine. To keep pretending I wasn't screaming inside. I thought… if I could just fake being whole long enough, maybe I could become it."
He reached out then, just a hand, resting lightly on mine. I didn't pull away.
"Then Luxor…" My throat closed. My voice dropped, hoarse, hollow. Stripped bare. "I didn't only sleep with him to get the rune. I wanted to feel nothing. I thought… if I gave it away, it wouldn't feel like it was ever taken."
His chest tightened. Not in jealousy. Not in rage. Just quiet. Just ache. "I wasn't trying to hurt you," I said, finally looking at him. "I was trying to hurt me."
He exhaled, his fingers curling gently around mine. "I know."
That was it. He didn't scold me. Didn't beg me not to do it again. He just held my hand like an anchor in the dark. I don't remember falling asleep. One moment I was staring at his hand covering mine, the next, darkness. Heavy. Still. The deepest sleep I'd let myself slip into in weeks.
But peace never lasts. Somewhere in the hours before dawn, my body betrayed me. A sharp breath. A twitch. Sheets tangling as my mind clawed free of a dream that wasn't memory, but wasn't fantasy either. Voices. Darkness. A hand I didn't want, dragging me under.
Malvor was awake instantly. His palm pressed warm and steady over my heart. My breathing slowed. My body softened. By the time I stirred, sunlight was slipping through the room in soft golden ribbons. He wasn't in bed. I sat up slowly, disoriented by the luxury of rest. My bones felt like they'd remembered how to breathe again. The shirt I wore still smelled like him.
Then I heard it, the hiss and hum of espresso brewing. And beneath it, someone humming a tune that definitely wasn't real, but sounded aggressively proud of itself. I padded into the kitchen then stopped. On the counter sat a steaming cup of mocha. My mocha. Sweet, chocolatey, cream swirled just right. And floating in the foam? His face. Smirking. Smug. Cartoonish. He turned on cue, flour-dusted, why flour? and wearing an apron that read: Chaos, but make it caffeinated. "Good morning, sunshine," he said, far too pleased with himself. "I made you coffee. And a portrait. Selfless act, really, considering how long I stared at myself to get it right."
I blinked. "You… made latte art. Of your own face."
"I'm an artist, Asha. I suffer for my craft."
I picked up the cup, took a sip. My lips curved despite everything. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet—" he pointed at the cup, "—you're drinking me. That's love."
I snorted. Gods help me, it was love. For the first time in forever, it didn't feel like something I had to perform. It just was. I took another sip, let the warmth settle in my hands, and spoke before I could stop myself. "I dream that people are screaming in my head." He didn't laugh. Didn't interrupt. Just leaned back against the counter, waiting. "The other gods," I said softly. "Some of them are angry. Some are just… loud. Their voices, their power, it leaks into everything. I can't always tell which thoughts are mine anymore. I am at my weakest at night. The barrier around the bonds weakest." I looked up, my chest heavy, my eyes clouded with something older than exhaustion. "Sometimes I wake up and I don't know if I'm still me. Or if I've just become a collection of pieces they left behind."
Malvor's smile vanished. He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, and took the mug from my hands before I could drop it. He didn't touch me. Just stood there. Steady. A shield I hadn't asked for, but maybe needed. "I've been in your mind," he said softly. "Even then, I don't think I've seen all of it. But I know this—" his voice didn't waver. "You're still in there. I see you, not them."
My throat tightened. "You always sound so sure," I whispered.
"That's because I am. I know who you are, Asha."
I blinked at him. "Who am I?"
He ran a hand through his hair, muttering, "Gods, I'm probably saying this wrong." A pause. "This would be easier if I could just seduce you into forgetting the world again." He looked at me, really looked, and sighed. "But that's not what you need. That's not what we are." Then, steadier: "You're the girl who took a god's chaos and made it feel like home. You're the woman with fire in her veins who still chooses gentleness, when she could burn the world down. Before you were anyone else, you were mine. You are not a collection of their voices. You're a symphony they'll never understand."
My lip trembled. "You always say the right thing."
"Only with you," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "The rest of the Pantheon can choke."
Something shifted in me then, small but sharp. A decision. A choice.
My fingers curled around his wrist. Not tight. Not desperate. Just… present. Anchored. Real.