IVY'S POV
I felt it before I saw it, something pulling me out of the dark, not gently, but with pressure. Like a hand pressed against my skull, forcing me upward even while every part of me wanted to stay where it was. My eyelids twitched, heavy, reluctant, and when they finally parted, there was only white. Not light. Not warmth. Just white stretching endlessly in every direction.
For a moment, I didn't move. I didn't even think to. It didn't hurt. That was the first strange thing. No pain. No weight. No blood. Just silence in my body. My breath slowed without permission, like my lungs had forgotten what panic was supposed to feel like.
"Wow…" I whispered, almost disbelieving. A faint, foolish smile tugged at my lips. "So peaceful…"
My eyes slipped shut again before I could question it, as if my body wanted to protect me from waking fully. "Are you God?" I murmured softly into the quiet. "Can I just stay here… just a little longer?"
Nothing answered at first.
"Ivy."
The voice didn't echo. It cut.
My brow tightened before I even understood why. "Ivy, wake up." Something in it wasn't right. Familiar, but pulled too tight—like it had been dragged through distance and brought back wrong. Then another voice overlapped it.
"Strip her—"
My body reacted before my mind did.
"Hold her down—"
A sharp inhale tore out of me.
"Make her—"
"No."
The word broke out of my throat without permission, and everything shattered.
Cold hit my skin. My eyes flew open as I jerked upright violently, choking while water flooded my mouth and nose. I coughed hard, body folding inward, lungs burning as I tried to breathe through the shock. My hands scrambled instinctively against the surface beneath me, but there was no crowd, no stone, no rope—only water dripping off my skin and silence too clean, too empty.
"No—no—don't—" My voice cracked apart. "Don't strip me—please—"
The words died in the air, swallowed instantly by the absence of response. My chest rose and fell too fast, uneven, like my body didn't trust the fact that no one was finishing what it started. I blinked rapidly, water still clinging to my lashes, my vision refusing to settle.
"…Where…" My voice came out hoarse, smaller than I intended. "Where are they…?"
I turned slightly—and stopped breathing completely.
Marcus stood there.
Still.
Watching.
Not rushing toward me. Not reacting. Just observing, like he had been there the entire time. My heart didn't just drop—it misfired, like it forgot how to beat for a second.
"I…" My lips parted, dry and shaking. "I'm… alive?"
It didn't sound like a question. It sounded like refusal.
My fingers curled tightly into the soaked fabric clinging to my body. "Did you come to finish it?" I asked quietly, forcing my voice to stay level even as it cracked at the edges. "Or did I just wake up in the wrong part of dying?"
Something flickered in his expression.
He held out a cloth instead of answering. "Get changed, Ivy," he said flatly. "You're in Father's coven."
The word didn't land properly. Coven. Controlled space. Private space. Not punishment grounds. Which meant—
My mind tried to catch up and failed. Memories slipped in anyway: the crowd, the coin, Maria's name somewhere in the noise, Seraphina's face—too composed.
My breath turned shallow again, not from pain this time, but from the speed of everything colliding inside my head.
"Why…" My voice broke slightly. "Why am I here?"
"Don't start," Marcus snapped immediately, sharper than before. "Get dressed. I have to return you before anyone notices."
Before anyone notices.
That detail mattered more than the rest. My stomach tightened. So this wasn't rescue.
My hands moved without me, dragging the oversized fabric over my skin while my attention stayed fixed on him.
Marcus.
"I'm done," I whispered hoarsely once I finished, my voice thick, like something was lodged in my throat.
He stepped closer.
Bent down.
Reaching to lift me.
And that was when I moved.
My hand shot out, grabbing his tie with as much strength as I could gather, yanking him forward violently.
"I promised to kill you, Marcus," I whispered, my voice low, shaking—but certain. "And I intend to keep that."
His eyes widened in shock as he grabbed my wrists, trying to pull me off. "What are you doing, Ivy—shit—"
I tightened my grip, ignoring the weakness in my arms, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest. The fabric dug into his throat as I pulled harder, watching the veins in his neck rise, his face slowly reddening.
"Die, Marcus," I breathed, my gaze locked on his.
His grip weakened for a second, his body struggling, choking, his breaths turning sharp and broken. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye as he fought for air, his strength faltering against mine.
For a moment—
I thought I had him.
Then the doors burst open.
The sound shattered everything.
My grip slipped. Marcus dropped to his knees, coughing violently, dragging in air like he had been underwater too long.
"Marcus!"
Father's voice cut through the room in a loud tone.
His eyes snapped to me instantly. Then to Marcus. Then back to me. A pause fractionally too long.
"What did you do to him?" he asked.
In the same movement, he crossed the room and grabbed my throat with just enough pressure, not fully choking, just enough to remind me.
My body went still immediately. No struggle. No resistance. Only breath trapped halfway between panic and instinct. Marcus coughed again behind him.
"I… choked on something…" Marcus forced out, standing slowly, voice rough.
That didn't make sense. Nothing about it did.
Father didn't look at him when he released me. He looked at me like I was a question he didn't like the answer to, then let go.
I collapsed back onto the bed, inhaling sharply.
Marcus straightened fully, but didn't look at me. "Come," he said quietly. "Darling sister."
That word landed wrong. Not affectionate. Not mockery. Something in between.
I let him lift me because resisting suddenly felt unnecessary—not safe. Just unnecessary.
Father followed behind us without a word, but I felt his gaze the entire way. Not on my injuries. On my reactions. Like he was counting them.
We reached my room in silence.Marcus dropped me onto my bed once we reached my room, his stare lingering, dark and unreadable before he turned and left with Father.
Only then did I realize I was biting my lip hard enough to taste blood.
My hands trembled slightly, the movement small but impossible to control.
I had failed again.
Not just in front of them… but here too. When it mattered.
Then the door opened again.
Seraphina.
She didn't speak immediately. Just stood there watching, measuring, like she was confirming something she already suspected. Then she stepped in with a bowl of warm water.
"Wow," she said softly. "You're all healed already, Ivy."
A small smile. Perfectly placed. Too controlled to be accidental.
"You're finally awake."
Something about her voice loosened my chest before I could stop it, relief, immediate and unwanted.
"How… long was I out?" I asked carefully.
"Two months."
My hand flew to my mouth. "Two—"
A small laugh left her, light, almost real. I watched it too long.
Her laughter stopped mid-breath.
She cleared her throat, subtly stepping back into composure. "You're really uptight, stepdaughter," she said lightly. "It was a joke."
"Oh…" I blinked. "Right."
Silence settled.
She reached up slowly and brushed my hair behind my ear—not intimate, not distant, something in between again.
"You collapsed in front of the clan, Ivy," she said calmly.
My stomach tightened instantly. Her fingers didn't stop moving, smoothing my hair like it was normal.
"Was I…" I couldn't finish.
She paused just a fraction too long, then turned her gaze slightly away.
"Not yet," she said softly.
A beat.
"But soon."