Chapter Seventy-three

Cassiopeia Nyx.

The ceiling above my bed was the same ceiling it had always been—dark wooden beams, a single golden chandelier that swayed whenever the wind howled outside.

Tonight it felt like a lid closing over a coffin.

I lay on top of the covers still fully dressed, boots included, because sleep felt like betrayal. My eyes burned from staring too long at nothing. The bond was a low, constant thrum of pain in my chest, like a second heart beating only grief.

I didn't know what time it was, but it was night already, and most times, he would lie on the rug beside the door.

I wanted to open it.

I wanted to crawl into his lap, bury my face in his neck and breathe until the world stopped spinning.

I wanted to scream at him until my throat bled.

I wanted to beg him to never leave me again.

But I shouldn’t. I didn’t even know if I was angry anymore, the hurt was slowly fading, only to be replaced with the crushing pain of being apart, of building my walls so high that I didn't know how to