Three days passed like fever dreams.
Saela came and went in silence, always just before the pain peaked. Her hands soothed, her words cut, and every visit left Jace feeling more exposed than before. Not physically—soul-deep. She read him like scripture, and he hadn't decided if that terrified him or turned him on.
Probably both.
By the third night, he could walk again. Barely. The salves she used smelled like citrus and ash. His ribs had mended into something stronger than bone. And something beneath his skin now hummed—a rhythm, steady and sharp, like a pulse that didn't belong to his heart.
Reya didn't return.
Not once.
But Lena did.
She came at dusk.
No knock. No warning.
Just the sound of the wind kicking up outside Saela's sanctuary… and a figure stepping through the open door like she owned the world beyond it.
She was dressed in all black—tight leather pants, combat boots, and a cropped jacket that hugged her curves and left her midriff bare. Her hair was still raven-dark, tied high in a messy twist. But her eyes… they were different.
Still honey-brown, still gleaming with mischief, but there was a weight behind them now. Something colder. Something dangerous.
Jace was standing when she entered, leaning against the wall for support. He didn't speak. Neither did she.
She walked straight up to him, stopped inches from his chest, tilted her head, and stared.
"I saw the fight," she said, her voice softer than he remembered. "You were reckless."
"You always this affectionate when you visit someone on their deathbed?"
"Only the ones who make me sweat."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. And then—without warning—she slapped him.
Hard.
His face whipped sideways. Heat bloomed across his cheek.
He looked back at her, stunned.
"What the hell—"
"You could've died." Her voice cracked. "You almost did. And you didn't call. You didn't warn me. You didn't even ask for backup."
Jace stared at her. "We're not a team."
Lena's jaw clenched.
"No," she said. "We're not."
And then she kissed him.
Not soft. Not gentle.
It was a bruising, desperate crash of lips. Teeth. Tongue. She shoved him against the wall, hands on his chest, gripping like she wanted to tear something loose.
He kissed her back—because of course he did.
She was fire and silk and raw heat. She moaned into his mouth and bit his lower lip just enough to draw blood, dragging her nails down his sides. His ribs flared with pain, but he didn't stop. He gripped her waist, pulled her tighter, tasted her breath.
And then she pulled away.
Just far enough to meet his eyes.
"I've changed," she whispered.
"Clearly."
"No. I mean really changed."
She stepped back and raised her hand.
A flicker of light sparked at her fingertips—red, liquid, almost alive. It slithered across her palm, dancing like flame, but heavier. More viscous. Jace could feel it from across the room. It pulsed with energy. With hunger.
"This," she said, "is bloodfire. I stole it from a Cult of Ash sorcerer last night."
Jace blinked. "You what?"
"I've been leveling," she said. "Faster than I should. Faster than anyone should. Because I knew I needed to catch up to you."
His chest tightened. "Why?"
"Because we're connected, Jace. You don't see it yet, but I do. That night on the roof wasn't random. It was a trigger. Something chose us. And now it's watching."
He remembered the voice. The one that whispered when he kissed her. The one that hadn't spoken since.
"You think it's a god?" he asked.
"I don't know. But I know it gave you something. And maybe… maybe it gave me something too. I've been hearing things. Seeing things. Dreams that bleed into waking."
She took a deep breath, then stepped forward and pressed her forehead to his.
"You're in the middle of something, Jace. And I'm not walking away. So next time you plan on nearly dying in a pit of monsters…"
Her hand slid down to his belt.
"Take me with you."
He grabbed her wrist. Held it tight.
Their eyes locked.
"Next time," he said. "You will be the monster."
Lena grinned.
"I already am."