POV: Sable
Something woke me up at three in the morning.
Not a sound. Not a voice. It was a feeling — sharp and sudden, like a hand grabbing the back of my neck and squeezing. My eyes flew open and I sat up in bed, breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs so fast it hurt.
The room was dark. Silent. Nothing was there.
But the feeling did not go away.
I pressed my hand against my chest. Two heartbeats. I could feel two heartbeats — mine, fast and scared, and another one, deeper and steadier, like a drum beating somewhere far beneath my bones. I had felt it before, that first night at dinner, when the fury rose up inside me like a wave. But this was stronger. This was louder.
Something inside me was awake. And it was restless.
I did not go back to sleep after that.
By morning, I had made a decision. Three days I had spent sitting in that room like a prisoner, following every rule Garrick set without question. Do not speak. Do not move. Do not exist too loudly. And every single day, that second heartbeat inside me grew louder, like it was knocking on a door, demanding to be let out.
I was done sitting still.
The side door at the back of the mansion was unlocked. No one watched it — the guards only covered the front gate and the main entrances. I slipped out just after breakfast while Garrick was in his study and Thalia was somewhere else in the house. The morning air hit my face, and the moment I stepped into the woods, everything sharpened.
It was like someone had turned up the volume on the entire world.
I could hear the birds — not just their song, but the flutter of their wings, the tiny scratching of their feet on branches. I could smell the earth beneath my feet, wet and rich, and something else underneath it — something warm and alive that made the second heartbeat inside me beat faster. The trees closed around me, and I walked deeper, following a path that did not exist, guided by something I could not explain.
That was when I first noticed the footsteps.
Not my own.
They were behind me — soft, careful, matching my pace exactly. When I stopped, they stopped. When I walked, they walked. I did not turn around. If I turned around, whoever it was would know I had heard them, and I wanted to know something first: how long had they been following me?
I kept walking. The footsteps kept following.
Five minutes. Ten. I turned a corner around a massive tree, and the footsteps paused — just for a second — before they continued. Closer now. I could feel eyes on the back of my neck, burning like a brand.
I found the stream by accident. A small clearing where the trees opened up just enough to let a thin line of grey light through. Water ran over smooth rocks, quiet and cold. I knelt down at the edge and splashed water on my face, keeping my head low, keeping my breathing calm.
The footsteps stopped.
I could feel them. Not just hear them — feel them. Like the air itself had changed. Like the space behind me had become heavier, charged with something electric and invisible. The second heartbeat inside my chest started pounding so hard I was afraid whoever was watching could hear it.
I turned around slowly.
He was standing at the edge of the trees, half-hidden in shadow, watching me with an expression that made my breath catch. Not friendly. Not threatening. Something in between — like he was seeing something he did not want to see but could not look away from.
He was tall. Auburn hair, slightly messy, like he had been running. And his eyes — they were golden-brown, but not normal golden-brown. They were bright. Too bright. They caught the grey light and held it, glowing almost, the way an animal's eyes glow at night.
We stared at each other. The air between us felt alive — buzzing, pulling, like an invisible rope connecting my chest to his.
"You are not supposed to be out here," he said. His voice was low and rough, like the words cost him something to say.
I stood up slowly. My legs felt strange — shaky but strong at the same time, like my body was fighting itself. "Who are you?"
He did not smile. He did not move. But something flickered in those glowing eyes — fast and raw, there and gone before I could read it.
"I am Caspian," he said. "And you are my father's wife."
The way he said wife — like the word itself burned his mouth.
I opened my lips to say something. Anything. But before I could, his eyes dropped — not to my face. Lower. To my chest. Right where the second heartbeat was pounding.
His face went completely white.
"No," he whispered. It was barely a sound. More like air leaving his body. His hands dropped to his sides, and for just one second, his eyes turned pure gold — bright, blinding, impossible gold — before he blinked and it was gone.
He turned and disappeared into the trees without another word.
I stood alone by the stream, one hand pressed against my chest, feeling that second heartbeat race like it was trying to break free.
He had seen something. Something that scared him.
And whatever it was, it was inside me.