Rain knifed down the lantern windows, runnels of water warping the salt-streaked glass and casting Vael’s silhouette in flickering shadow. He stood at the heart of the spiral chamber, stripped of his usual poise: jacket gone, shirt clinging wetly to his chest, collar loose, dark hair curled wild around his bleak eyes. As Selis climbed the stone steps, her boots leaving damp prints, her breath trembled. She didn’t pause, not even when her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the battered leather journal pressed to her chest.

Vael saw her coming. For the first time, he didn’t smile, didn’t reach for her. His knuckles whitened around the cold banister. “You read it,” he said, voice rough, a faint quiver betraying everything he tried to hide. The wind shrieked. Selis’s jaw set, stubborn and beautiful. She wore a navy sweater too big for her shoulders, hair loose, blue eyes rimmed red from sleepless grief. She held out the journal, her fingers trembling with the force of her self-control.

“Tell them,” she said, voice low and breaking. “Tell me all of it, or I do.”

Vael’s lips parted. For a moment, he looked so young—then something inside him snapped. He stepped forward into the spill of lantern light, shivering, eyes burning. “It was my call,” he forced out. “The night the storm hit. I thought I could keep the light burning on my own. I sent him out—he never came back.” His voice fractured. “I lied. Covered it up. If you hate me now, I deserve it.”

Selis’s breath rattled. She pressed the journal to his chest, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Why couldn’t you just trust me?” Her voice ached with devastation and longing, her fingers digging into the book as if she could bury her pain in his heartbeat.

He caught her wrist, gentle and desperate, but she pulled away. Lightning split the sky, illuminating her as she turned, spine rigid, refusing to collapse in front of him again. She hesitated at the threshold, barely breathing, then fled into dark rain, leaving him choking on her absence.

Down the spiral stairs, Kavi’s laughter cut through the storm. She stood on the threshold below, soaked through, dress plastered to her skin, her eyes shining with reckless relief. Drevik was beside her, taller, broader, his hands steady at her waist, thumbs tracing circles through wet fabric. He kissed her, slow and hungry, as if trying to anchor them both against the world’s violence. Kavi melted, her arms around his neck, her shuddering exhale heavy with gratitude—she’d never been chosen before, but now she was, and she let her body say so.

Their lips broke apart; she beamed, biting her lip, the edge of shame finally gone. Drevik brushed a rain-slick strand of hair from her brow, eyes soft, gaze unwavering. “I’m not leaving,” he whispered, as if promising the storm itself.

Footsteps echoed—Mirael, umbrella blooming overhead, red lipstick unbroken despite the downpour. Her smile was knife-sharp, eyes glinting. “This isn’t over,” she told Vael as she passed, brushing his shoulder purposely. He didn’t flinch. She vanished down the path, her threat trailing behind with the scent of crushed salt and rain.

Selis lingered outside the lantern room, her breath fogging the glass as she watched Vael. He stood alone, forehead pressed to the window, watching the darkness wrestle the dawn. Below, laughter and passion curled into the new morning—a different kind of light. Selis squeezed her eyes shut, uncertain if forgiveness was strength or surrender.

She placed her palm softly to the cold glass, heart beating wild, uncertain, alive. Vael, sensing her there, turned. His eyes found hers through the dripping pane—hope and fear tangled in the space between.

Neither moved, rain and sunrise mingling on their faces, as the storm faded and the world waited for someone to cross the threshold—into forgiveness, or into the dark.