Liam noticed immediately at breakfast.
"You look terrible," he said bluntly. "When's the last time you actually slept?"
"I slept fine," Rhys lied, poking at the toast that had appeared on the dining table (Pryce's doing—food materialized every morning).
"You have shadows under your eyes that weren't there yesterday. And you're moving like you're sore."
"I'm fine."
"Rhys." Liam set down his coffee. "I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest. Is Pryce hurting you? Physically?"
"No." That was true. Pryce wasn't hurting him. Not in any way Rhys consciously knew about.
"Then what?"
Rhys hesitated. How did he explain the dreams? The way he woke feeling like he'd been touched, used, possessed—but with no memory of it actually happening?
"I have vivid dreams," he finally said. "About Elara and Valerian. Sometimes they're so real it's like I'm actually there. And I wake up exhausted."
"Dreams don't make you sore."
"These do." Rhys met his eyes. "I don't know how to explain it, but the curse... it's not just about my waking life. My sleep isn't safe either."
Liam's expression darkened. "You think he's doing something to you while you sleep."
"I don't know. Maybe. I can't prove it."
"Then tonight, I'm staying in your room." Liam's voice was firm. "On the floor, door locked, and if that ghost tries anything—"
"He'll kill you."
"Then let him try." Liam leaned forward. "I failed Elara. I'm not failing you."
Pryce appeared that evening during dinner, expression thunderous.
"No," he said simply.
"I didn't ask permission," Liam shot back.
"Cassian, I will END you—"
"It's not your decision!" Rhys interrupted. "Liam is staying in my room tonight. You can accept it or you can prove you're still the jealous monster who can't handle anyone else being near me."
Pryce's eyes flickered black. "You're testing me."
"I'm setting boundaries."
They stared at each other—ghost and man, captor and captive.
"Fine," Pryce said coldly. "He can stay. But Rhys?" His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Eventually, he'll leave. He always does. And when it's just us again... we'll discuss this betrayal."
He vanished.
That night, Liam made good on his promise. He lay on the floor beside Rhys's bed, armed with... well, nothing that could actually hurt a ghost, but the intent was there.
"This is ridiculous," Rhys said. "You're going to be miserable on the floor."
"I've slept in worse places." Liam adjusted the pillow. "Just try to sleep. I'll keep watch."
Rhys tried. But knowing Liam was there, knowing Pryce was furious, knowing something was happening to him at night that he couldn't remember—
Sleep was a long time coming.
When it finally did, at 2 AM, Pryce appeared.
He stood in the doorway, staring at Liam's sleeping form with pure hatred.
So Cassian thinks he can protect you, Pryce thought. Thinks his presence will stop me.
He moved to Rhys's bed silently.
But he can't stay awake forever. And my claim on you is stronger than any protection he can offer.
Pryce reached for Rhys—
And stopped.
Because Rhys, in his sleep, had rolled toward Liam. As if unconsciously seeking the warmth and safety of another living person.
Something in Pryce's chest—in the space where his heart used to be—twisted painfully.
You'd rather be near him. Even in sleep.
For the first time in three hundred years, Pryce felt something besides possessive rage.
He felt rejection.
Real, genuine rejection of his touch, his presence, his love.
I'm losing you, he realized. Not to death. Not to time. But to your own choice. You're choosing Cassian over me. Again.
The curse roared inside him. Demanded he kill Liam now. Eliminate the threat. Reclaim what was his.
But Rhys's words echoed: If you kill him, I'll never forgive you.
Pryce stood frozen, torn between the curse's compulsion and Rhys's boundary.
Finally, with monumental effort, he stepped back.
Not tonight, he told himself. Tonight, I'll let you have your illusion of safety.
But as he vanished, one thought burned clear:
Liam Blackwood couldn't stay forever.
And when he left—and he would leave—Rhys would be alone with Pryce again.
And then... then there would be no more pretending.
Just the curse, claiming what it was owed.