For a heartbeat, there was only the rush of air tearing past Trey’s ears.

  The cliff face blurred upward, stone and sky trading places too fast to follow. His stomach dropped, not from the fall—but from the certainty settling in his bones.

  So this is it.

  No clever angle. No last-second save. Just gravity, cold and impartial.

  He’d had time to think, strangely. Time to notice how quiet his thoughts went. Time to register the stupidest things—like how he never finished writing Hector’s letter. Like how he never did get around to asking Luna—

  Then movement cut across his vision.

  A shadow broke free from the ledge above.

  His heart slammed so hard it hurt.

  No.

  No, she didn’t—

  Luna.

  She was diving after him.

  Hair ripped loose by the wind, cloak snapping like it wanted to tear itself apart, eyes locked on him with an expression he hadn’t seen in months—

  Absolute fear.

  Not panic. Not shock.

  That same hollow, desperate terror she’d worn the day they met.

  That look.

  The one that said don’t take this from me.

  Something twisted hard in his chest. Fear tangled with something else—something hot and fierce that made his throat burn.

  Impossible warmth that drowned out the terror.

  She’s afraid of losing me.

  The realization hit harder than the fall.

  “Luna—!” His voice ripped uselessly into the wind. “What are you—”

  And then—he felt it.

  The air changed.

  Not stopped.

  Not saved.

  Just… wrong.

  It pressed back against him, thickening around his ribs and limbs like invisible hands shoving through water. His speed didn’t vanish, but it bled away in jolts, his bones rattling as if the sky itself had turned dense.

  He felt her Quanta flare—raw, uneven, desperate.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then it broke.

  The air slipped out from under him and the fall came roaring back, sudden and absolute. His body dropped like the world had yanked the floor away.

  Her shout tore through the wind.

  “Air—resistance!”

  The world lurched.

  The air buckled beneath his back, swelling, pushing upward just enough to drag death sideways into pain. Enough that survival became possible—barely.

  And then she was there.

  Luna slammed into him mid-fall, arms locking around him on instinct.

  One arm hooked behind his head, fingers cradling his skull. The other wrapped tight around his neck, shielding his throat without thought or hesitation.

  The pressure shifted again as she forced the air beneath his body, bracing him from below, dragging against the fall with everything she had left.

  Her veins burned where they pressed against him.

  Luna felt the ache spike—sharp, familiar, climbing fast.

  She knew that pain.

  She knew what came after it.

  And she was running out of time.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, breath breaking against his ear, as she tore the last of her Quanta free.

  Then the trees came up fast.

  Branches shattered around them, bark ripping skin, leaves exploding into deepening dusk.

  The ground hit like fire.

  Trey hit first.

  Hard.

  The world went white.

  His ribs screamed. His legs detonated. Something in his side gave with a wet, awful snap. His breath vanished entirely, knocked out so hard he thought his lungs might never remember how to work again.

  Weight crushed down on him.

  Luna.

  He faintly registered the sound—a sharp, cracking break where her forearms had locked around him.

  She did not let go.

  Her cry cut through him harder than the pain.

  For a moment, he thought he was shaking.

  Then he realized—

  It wasn’t him.

  It was her.

  She was sobbing.

  Not loud. Not pretty.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Her whole body trembled violently against his, like she was holding herself together by refusing to let go. Her pulse hammered against him, frantic and terrified, head pressed into his shoulder as the fear finally spilled out.

  The pain flooded back in waves.

  But they were alive.

  She saved me.

  Warmth spread through his chest—hot, sharp, painful in a way that had nothing to do with broken bones.

  His ribs burned with every breath, but slowly, painfully, he shifted his good arm around her. Drew her in, held her there, pressing his cheek to her forehead.

  Because as much as she was shaking, the warmth of her—alive, real, stubborn—steadied him more than anything.

  “...Luna,” he rasped. “What… were you thinking?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Her grip tightened instead.

  “…You okay?” he asked softly, voice wrecked.

  She nodded. Barely.

  He huffed out something between a laugh and a groan. “So what—you made sure to land on me on purpose?”

  A weak snort escaped her.

  “Figured,” he muttered. “Real tactical.”

  Silence settled in after that—heavy, broken only by their breathing and the distant rustle of leaves.

  Above the trees, the sky dimmed, gold bleeding into gray. Night wasn’t far off.

  Trey swallowed, wincing as it pulled at his ribs.

  “…You know,” he said conversationally, “even if we survive the fall, we could still die down here.”

  She stiffened slightly.

  “Wolves,” he continued weakly. “Or bears. Or whatever lives in cliffs that hate people.” He sighed. “And I’ve got absolutely no energy to fight anything.”

  She lifted her head just enough to look at him. Still wide-eyed. Still shaken.

  “So let’s really hope Creek gets here soon.” He offered a crooked smile. “…Because I am not outrunning anything,”

  She huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.

  And Trey closed his eyes, holding her there, pain, relief, and fear tangled together, letting the realization sink deep and permanent.

  She hadn’t hesitated.

  She hadn’t calculated.

  She had jumped because losing him wasn’t an option.

  And he was never, ever going to forget that.

  Francis was a man of control.

  Everything in his life had been built around it—measured doses, precise timing, steady hands.

  He liked knowing exactly where things stood.

  He always made sure they stayed that way.

  Today, his world slipped its grip.

  His fingers closed on empty air.

  For half a second, he didn’t understand what that meant. His hand twitched, reaching again, instinctive, searching for weight, for fabric, for anything to anchor to.

  Nothing.

  The space where Trey had been was gone. The space where Luna had followed him was gone.

  His heart dropped so violently it felt physical, like something tearing loose inside his chest.

  No—

  No, that wasn’t right.

  He leaned forward, too far, peering down into the darkening drop as if sight alone could undo what had happened. As if he could still see them, catch something, feel something—

  At this height—

  His breath hitched, sharp and broken.

  At this height, there was nothing he could do.

  He was an excellent healer.

  One of the best in the kingdom.

  He knew bodies. Knew trauma. Knew exactly how much damage a person could survive.

  And he knew—damn well he knew—that he could not cure death.

  If only he’d trained harder.

  If only he’d taken footwork seriously instead of trusting that instinct would always be enough.

  If only he’d been faster—then Trey wouldn’t have had to save him.

  If only.

  His thoughts spiraled, sharp and merciless.

  He’d lost them.

  Both of them.

  “They’re gone, Francis.”

  Reid’s voice reached him like it had traveled a great distance to get there. Her hands were on him—he realized that only dimly—wrapped around his chest, her grip shaking as she tried to hold him in place.

  “They’re gone,” she said again, quieter this time.

  He didn’t understand the words.

  They didn’t fit.

  “No,” he said, the sound raw and unfamiliar. “No. That’s—no.”

  He strained forward, and this time Reid yanked him back hard, slamming him into the stone beside the chamber entrance. Her body blocked his path, arms braced, eyes bright with tears and fury.

  “You’re not jumping,” she snapped. “You’re not—”

  “I have to see,” he said, voice breaking apart. “I have to—Reid, I have to know.”

  Because if he saw it—

  If he saw proof—

  Then maybe his hands would stop shaking.

  Would they?

  Footsteps echoed from inside the chamber.

  Light spilled outward as Bridget emerged, lantern held high, her expression bright and sharp with discovery.

  “Lancaster! You are not going to believe what’s in—”

  She stopped.

  Her gaze flicked from Reid’s face to Francis’s expression, wild and hollow. Then lower.

  Two packs lay on the ground where they’d been dropped in the chaos. Luna’s spear rested against the stone, exactly where it had fallen.

  Bridget’s mouth opened.

  Closed.

  “…Reid,” she said slowly. Carefully. “Where are Trey and Luna?”

  Reid didn’t look away.

  “They fell,” she said. Her voice wavered but held. “Off the cliff, Brid.”

  Something in Bridget’s face collapsed inward.

  For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

  Then Francis moved.

  Reid barely caught him this time, both of them stumbling as he lunged for the edge again, breath coming apart in sharp, broken pulls.

  “Francis—!” Bridget snapped, grabbing his other arm. “Stop—!”

  “Let go!” he shouted, the sound tearing out of him. “I have to go down—I have to—”

  “To what?” Reid demanded. “Die with them?”

  “Yes!”

  The word burst out of him, raw and unfiltered.

  “Because they’re not dead,” he said desperately. “They can’t be. Trey—Luna’s Quanta—she wouldn’t—they couldn’t—”

  His voice cracked completely.

  Bridget stared at him for a long, hard second.

  “Francis,” she said sharply, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. “There are stairs inside.”

  The words hit him like a physical blow.

  “A staircase,” she said. “Built into the chamber. It goes down. That might be the way.”

  “Might,” he snapped, fury flaring through the grief. “You said might. Do you know how much time—”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Bridget shot back, voice rising. “Because standing here screaming at the sky isn’t getting us to them any faster.”

  Silence slammed down between them.

  Francis’s breath shuddered.

  His hands clenched, then loosened.

  “…Right,” he said hoarsely.

  He looked at the edge one last time.

  “Take everything,” he said, already moving. “Now.”

  They didn’t waste another second.

  They grabbed the packs, Luna’s spear, the lantern. Bridget bolted back into the chamber with Reid and Francis on her heels, boots pounding against stone as they took the stairs two at a time, then three, spiraling downward into cold darkness.

  The stairs ended at a sealed door.

  Bridget didn’t slow. She found the mechanism, twisted it, and the stone slid aside with a grinding groan.

  Night air rushed in.

  They burst out onto a forested slope, the cliff looming somewhere above and behind them, indistinct in the dark.

  “…Are we even in the right place?” Reid demanded, spinning, breathless.

  Francis didn’t answer.

  Reid lifted both hands, summoning fire into her palms. Twin flames bloomed, bright and steady, casting long shadows across the trees.

  Francis narrowed his eyes.

  He looked around, searched—not blindly, but precisely, following the thin, familiar signature.

  The brightest Quanta he’d ever seen.

  Luna’s.

  “This way,” he said, already running.

  And this time—

  This time, he didn’t hesitate.