Selene’s hands trembled as she clutched the envelope, the weight of the past pressing into her palms. She leaned against the library’s cool stone wall, her reflection blurring in a glass case crowded with porcelain masks—her own face pale, mouth slack with disbelief. She barely remembered climbing all the stairs, her mind scattered, heart thudding as she read the anonymous bank confirmation for the last time. Vyra’s sharp handwriting only confirmed what she already felt in her bones: the debt was gone. Freedom had come, carved out of sacrifice, almost too heavy to lift.

She pressed her fingertips to her lips, fighting tears. Her hair was loose tonight—dark waves spilling down the back of her simple black dress. Unmoored, she drifted between the shelves, feet silent on worn wood, as if the books themselves were holding their breath, waiting.

The library doors clicked open. Jorell entered, hair damp from the rain, shirt clinging to the line of his shoulders, suit jacket half-buttoned and askew. His eyes found her instantly, anxiety etched between his brows, posture coiled tight. He stopped, hands curling at his sides, as if he might shatter if he moved too fast.

She turned, eyes wide and wet, chest rising with shallow, desperate breaths. “It’s over. The debt—Vyra… she did it. I thought it was you.”

Jorell’s shoulders dropped, relief flickering through the tension. “I wanted to. But Vyra… she’s braver than either of us.” His voice cracked, raw and open. He crossed the space between them with slow, careful steps, gaze searching her face for lies or hope or some new, fragile truth.

Selene’s lashes fluttered, her expression aching with apology and longing. “I’m sorry for what I did. For all of it. I never—” Her voice broke, and her arms wrapped around herself, as if she could hold her shame tight enough to keep from falling apart.

He reached out, hesitating only an instant before his fingertips traced the line of her jaw. “Stop. I don’t want perfect. I don’t even know if I want forgiveness. I want you. Messy. Terrified. Real.”

She stepped into him, their bodies aligning through instinct, not thought. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her close until her breath warmed his lips. Her nails pressed crescents into his back, desperate, grounded in the present, not the ghosts of last week. The world fell away—a hush, a pulse, the soft slide of her dress beneath his palms. She kissed him, open-mouthed, the taste of salt and rain and old pain on their tongues.

He pressed her back into the shelves, books whispering against spines as they gave in. His jacket pooled at their feet. She arched into him, fingers tracing the scars on his arms, her touch forgiving things he’d never confessed aloud. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of breath and the fevered, halting way his lips learned her skin—collarbone, throat, cheeks blooming beneath his mouth.

She gasped his name, need spiraling to want, but he slowed, cupping her face. His gaze flickered with fear. “If we do this, there’s no going back.”

“You think I want back?” Her laugh was wet and broken, full of hope and surrender. “I want you. All of it.”

Their bodies collided, slow and desperate on the scattered cushions beneath the tall arched window. Moonlight traced her bare shoulder, the silk of her dress sliding away. Jorell’s hands shook as he touched her, every movement cautious, reverent, as if she might vanish. Her heartbeat thundered beneath his lips, every hesitation melting into hunger—soft moans, whispered apologies, promises never to run.

They lost themselves in each other, half clothed, half dreaming, fevered skin pressed close, rediscovering a language only they could speak. Every gasp was a confession, every kiss a new beginning, their bodies writing over old pain with something startling and fragile.

After, Selene curled against him, her cheek pressed to his chest, the slow thud of his heart grounding her. Jorell traced aimless shapes on her shoulder, his eyes damp, mouth parted in wonder, the boyish fear finally receding.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. He smiled, lashes casting shadows, and kissed the top of her head. “Me too. But I think we get to choose what comes next.”

They lay together as dawn blued the windows, the hush of the library wrapping them tight. Somewhere far below, a door closed—the faintest echo. Vyra walked away from Linvale, coat pulled tight against the morning chill, her stride steady, chin lifted, eyes burning with loss and something like hope.

Selene breathed in the scent of old paper and rain and Jorell’s skin, her fingers twined with his. For the first time in years, she felt light. The future shimmered—uncertain, unfinished, but finally, fiercely theirs.