Jace sat cross-legged on the floor, shirtless, his skin still marked with faint bruises and salve stains. The flickering light from the oil lamp overhead cast sharp shadows across his body, highlighting new muscle growth—fibers strengthened by core reinforcement, raw experience, and survival.
Lena stood a few feet away, her back to him, barefoot and pacing.
"I didn't mean to kill him," she said, for the second time.
Jace's fingers twitched. He stayed quiet.
She glanced over her shoulder. Her jacket lay discarded across a carved bench. Her shoulders were bare now, a small, curved scar visible at the edge of her spine. She wore power like it was just another layer of skin—familiar, imperfect, dangerously seductive.
"It was supposed to be a steal-and-run job," she went on. "In and out. The Cult keeps small bloodfire altars scattered around the industrial district—hidden in basements, sublevels. I found one under an abandoned nightclub in Burnside."
Jace raised an eyebrow. "You infiltrated a death cult under a club?"
Lena smirked faintly. "Like I said. In and out."
She turned, slow and deliberate. Her left hand was wrapped in a black leather strap, fingers stained faintly red.
"I watched them bleed a stray. A drifter. Probably some guy who owed the wrong person. They slit his throat, poured his blood into the altar, and started chanting. The flames weren't even hot… they were alive. Writhing. Whispering."
Her voice dropped.
"And something in me… answered."
Jace tensed.
"I don't know how or why, but the flame reached for me. Like it recognized something. It broke the circle. Lashed out. Consumed their high priest. He screamed until his lungs liquefied. The rest ran."
Lena flexed her fingers.
"And it bonded to me."
Jace rose, wincing slightly as his side pulled. "So, you're saying you accidentally stole the soul of a flame god?"
She snorted. "No. I ate it."
Silence.
She walked over, slow, each step measured like a predator circling something not quite prey.
"The bloodfire's inside me now. I can summon it, control it—for the most part. But there's a cost."
Jace's gaze hardened. "What cost?"
"I haven't slept since."
That stopped him.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see him. The priest. Burning. Begging. And… worse. I see other things. Things that haven't happened yet."
She shivered, despite the warmth in the room.
"There's a war coming, Jace. I don't know when. I don't know who starts it. But the streets will burn. The sky will crack. And your name is everywhere. You change everything."
Jace met her eyes. "You think this all started when we kissed?"
"I know it did."
He let the silence hang, heavy and cold.
"So now what?" he asked.
She walked up to him—closer than comfort. Her breath tickled his lips. Her fingers brushed his.
"Now we train. Together. We prepare for whatever's coming. We find others like us—because there will be others. And when the Cult of Ash comes looking for their god's blood…"
Her eyes lit up, and for a moment, her irises glowed with liquid red.
"…we show them what happens when you piss off the wrong sinners."
A loud knock slammed against the door.
Both of them froze.
Jace reached for the blade Saela had left near the cot. Lena already had her hand at her hip, fingers glowing faintly.
The door creaked open.
And Reya stood there.
Her eyes were wide. Her skin was streaked with soot and dried blood. Her clothes were torn. One of her arms hung limply, clearly broken.
"They found us," she rasped.
Lena stepped forward. "Who?"
Reya looked at them both.
"The Cult. They're in the city. And they're not hiding anymore."