Therrin's POV
There was no more cold.
Not in this place, not within her mind. Just warmth, velvet shadows, and a voice that curled into her like silk ribbons and serpents.
"You feel it now, don't you?" Ciaran's voice whispered through the mental haze. "The way the dark can hold you… cradle you… free you."
She stood somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming. The stream outside Dion's cabin was faintly audible beyond the walls of her mind, but here, in this cloaked interior, it was just the two of them. Her and the shadow. Her and Ciaran.
Ari was gone—walled off behind the barrier Therrin had erected in a flare of instinct and exhaustion. She could feel her on the other side, pounding like a heart, like a fist on a locked door. But for now, she was silent. Contained.
"Why do you keep coming?" Therrin asked, turning within her own mind. Her voice sounded steadier than she expected. But there was no bravado behind it—just resignation.
"Because I've always been here, mo duinne. In every scream you swallowed. In every time you chose silence over fire. I am what you hid from… and what you were made of."
Therrin hesitated. "Stop calling me that."
"Why? You liked it once. You melted for it once."
She wanted to shove him out, to rip his presence from her soul. But he didn't press like Ari did. He didn't demand. He offered. Like a soft palm extended in the dark.
"Then why don't I remember you?" she whispered.
Ciaran laughed softly, low and rich. "You do. Somewhere in there, you remember the pain. The betrayal. The ache of being abandoned by the one who swore himself to us. You just haven't called it memory yet."
Therrin blinked in the silence that followed.
"Us?" she repeated. "You're saying we were…"
"Lovers. Bound by pact. By magic and soul. In a time when power ran like blood and you—we—were feared. Worshipped. Hunted."
It didn't feel real. But it did feel true. The subtle difference was terrifying.
"I don't believe you."
Ciaran's voice darkened to a purr. "And yet your soul leans toward mine like ivy toward stone. You dream in the shape of my name, even if you don't speak it aloud."
She turned away from the voice, but the darkness moved with her—folding, reshaping, shifting to keep him near.
"I don't need your belief to exist, Therrin. I only need your choice."
She flinched at how softly he said it. Like it didn't matter at all—and like it meant everything.
In the waking world, her body stirred beneath the blanket. Dion sat across from her, silently watching. She didn't meet his gaze.
"Therrin," he said, his voice gentle but edged. "You've been quiet since last night. Tell me what's going on."
She shook her head without looking at him.
"I'm tired."
"That's not what I asked."
He moved closer, the mattress dipping with his weight. His presence wrapped around her like heat.
"I can feel you pulling away," he said. "You think I don't notice, but I do."
Still, she didn't answer.
"I'm not trying to corner you," he added, softer now. "I just want to understand. You don't have to hide from me."
But she did. She was. Because the hiding wasn't for him—it was for her. For the parts of her that were finally uncoiling. The parts that felt alive when Ciaran whispered through her ribs.
Dion reached out, brushing his fingers along her arm. "Therrin…"
"He doesn't understand you," Ciaran murmured. "Not the way I do. Not the pieces you've kept buried. He loves what he sees. I love what you are."
Her throat tightened.
"Do you want to talk to Ari?" Dion asked suddenly, as if it were a lifeline. "I know something happened."
She finally turned her head.
"No," she said flatly. "Not right now."
Dion recoiled slightly, the hurt flickering in his eyes before he masked it.
"You're building walls," he whispered.
Therrin turned away again.
"You're pushing. I'm breathing," she replied.
"Beautiful," Ciaran purred in the hollow of her skull. "So much fire, even when the world tries to smother you. You're starting to see it, aren't you? The part of yourself that isn't made to be saved."
She curled in on herself, clutching her knees. "Why me? Why are you still here?"
"Because I never left. Because even when death claimed us, my soul clawed through the void to find yours again. You are mine, and I… am yours."
"No," she whispered. "You're using me."
A pause.
"Not yet," he said. "But I will. And you'll let me. Because what I offer isn't chains, Therrin. It's freedom from them."
The words landed like weights in her stomach.
"I don't want to be this."
"You don't want to be what?"
She didn't answer. Didn't know how.
Ciaran's presence thickened like fog.
"Tell me, mo duinne… when you close your eyes at night, is it Ari's voice that soothes you? Is it Dion's touch you crave when your skin burns? No. It's the dark. The power. Me."
He sounded like velvet and venom.
"I can teach you. All the things they're too afraid to offer. The truths they'd rather keep buried. I know your secrets. I've lived them."
Therrin tried to shut him out, to retreat into silence. But silence was his territory.
Later that night, when Dion returned from outside and slid into bed beside her, she pretended to sleep.
He reached toward her—tentative, as if waiting for permission that never came. His hand hovered above her spine, then dropped to the blanket instead.
"I miss you," he murmured, voice low and ragged.
"He's weak," Ciaran whispered.
Therrin flinched, eyes still closed.
"Too careful. Too gentle. He touches you like you'll shatter. But I know better. You don't break—you burn."
She didn't respond.
And slowly, Dion's breathing evened out behind her, falling into sleep.
But Therrin remained awake, staring into the shadows. Where the voice lingered.
Where the darkness curled in closer, wrapping tendrils around the edges of her soul.