The forest pressed close, suffocating in its silence. Twilight had bled into full night, and the darkness wrapped around Taryn and Lucien like a thick fog. Shadows stretched from the trees, hiding secrets in every crevice. Even the breeze seemed reluctant to move, as if the whole world was holding its breath.

Lucien cursed under his breath, adjusting the pack on his shoulders. His silver eyes narrowed as he peered into the growing dark.

"We're blind out here," he muttered. "I can't see a damn thing."

Taryn rolled her eyes. "Vampires don't have night vision?" she asked dryly.

Lucien ignored her jab, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "Light stone's in the black pouch," he grumbled, shrugging his pack. "Can you grab it?"

Taryn gave him a look, incredulous. "You can't reach it yourself?"

Lucien's only response was an impatient tilt of his head, motioning toward the bag on his back.

"You're unbelievable," she muttered, yanking the bag toward her.

The chain between them rattled softly, metal links clinking in the quiet. She tugged open the buckles and reached into the pack, her fingers brushing past a tangle of cloth, a dagger, and a half-empty flask. The monster could be anywhere by now, and here she was—rooting around in Lucien's gear while he stood there like a prince waiting for someone to hand him his crown.

Her fingers grazed something smooth—the black leather pouch holding the light stone—but as she pulled it free, something else caught her eye.

A letter. Folded, sealed, and stamped with the Midnight Coven's insignia.

Her hand stilled. A strange chill curled at the base of her spine, and the weight of the letter in her fingers felt too heavy—too deliberate. This wasn't something Lucien meant for her to find.

Her pulse quickened, and without thinking, she tugged the letter out. The paper felt like a secret waiting to be uncovered.

"Hey," she said cautiously. "What's this?"

Lucien froze, his entire body going rigid.

"Taryn," he said sharply, twisting toward her. The teasing lilt that usually threaded through his voice was gone—replaced by something raw and urgent. "Put that down."

Her heart lurched. He never spoke to her like that.

Taryn turned the letter over slowly in her hands, the edges already frayed from wear. Lucien's reaction sent her nerves into high alert, every instinct screaming at her that this letter was important—dangerous. She glanced up at him, watching the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of panic in his eyes.

"What is this?" she asked again, her voice low.

Lucien took a step forward, the chain between them pulling tighter with a soft clink.

"Taryn… I'm serious." His gaze locked onto the letter as if it were a live grenade. "Just… put it back. Now."

Her heart pounded. Lucien never fumbled. Never faltered. But right now, he looked scared. And that terrified her more than the darkness around them.

"What is this?" she whispered one more time.

Lucien took another step toward her, the chain rattling as it tightened between them. His face, always so composed, twisted with something she hadn't seen before—panic.

"Taryn," he warned, his voice raw. "Please. Don't."

She ignored him. She had to know.

The parchment unfolded with a soft crackle, and her eyes skimmed the page. The words were cold, clinical. Efficient.

Retrieve the relic. Ensure no survivors.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The sentence blurred, then sharpened, each word slicing into her like a blade. Ensure no survivors. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat more painful than the last.

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It took a moment for the meaning to register. When it did, the world tilted beneath her feet.

"No survivors…" she whispered, her voice hollow. She looked up, her chest tightening painfully. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

"That's me," she whispered, her voice splintering under the weight of the realization. The sound of it hurt—small, broken.

The betrayal hit her all at once—a storm of rage, disbelief, and something far worse: heartbreak.

Lucien went still. His lips parted, but no words came. For once, his easy charm was nowhere to be found.

"You were going to kill me." Her voice cracked, but she didn't care.

Lucien shook his head, taking another step forward. "It's not what it looks like."

Taryn stumbled back, dragging the chain tight between them. The metal links bit into her skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony twisting inside her.

"Not what it looks like?" she hissed. "It says, 'ensure no survivors,' Lucien! What part of that am I supposed to misunderstand?"

Lucien dragged a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his face. "I wasn't going to follow through."

"But you still took the job," she shot back, bitterness coating every word.

"I had to," he said, his voice hoarse. "It was the only way to get close to the relic. But I swear, killing you was never part of the plan."

Taryn's hands trembled, but she clenched the letter tighter, using the paper as an anchor. She hated how badly she wanted to believe him. Hated how easily he'd wormed his way under her skin—how close she'd let him get.

"You played me," she whispered, and this time, the words hurt. "You made me think…" Her voice faltered, the weight of everything she'd kept buried crashing over her. "When were you planning to do it, Lucien? After I trusted you? After I—" She cut herself off, biting down on the words before they could escape. "After I gave in to you?"

Her stomach churned, a nauseating twist that left her breathless. It was the kind of betrayal that stole the ground from under her feet, leaving her weightless and dizzy, like falling with no end in sight.

Lucien took another step closer, and the chain between them rattled again. She hated the sound of it, hated the way it tied them together, inescapable even now.

"Taryn—" His voice faltered, a rare hesitation slipping through the cracks. "I didn't… I wasn't going to—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair like he could claw the words into something that made sense. "I just needed time to figure something else out."

"Don't!" she snapped, and this time, the fury exploded out of her. Her fist shot out before she even knew what she was doing.

She swung at him, aiming for his jaw, but Lucien caught her wrist mid-strike. The impact reverberated through the chain, sending a sharp jolt through both of them.

"Damn it, Taryn!" Lucien snarled, twisting her arm just enough to stop her without hurting her.

She yanked her arm free, but the chain snapped her back into him. "Let me go!" she hissed, shoving against his chest with both hands. The force made him stumble forward, dragging the chain tight. The more she pushed, the closer they were pulled together, until every breath felt stolen and wrong.

"Listen to me!" He pleaded, but Taryn wouldn't —couldn't— hear it.

"No! You don't get to do that!" she whispered, her voice low and fierce. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Not in front of him. Not now. "I trusted you!" she shouted this time, her voice ragged with emotion. She yanked her arm free, and Lucien let her go, though his eyes were dark with frustration.

Her chest heaved as she glared at him, tears stinging the corners of her eyes—tears she refused to let fall.

Lucien's expression shifted, his frustration cracking under the weight of something deeper. Regret.

The silence between them was heavy—thick with the weight of everything broken. Every moment they'd shared, every fleeting glance, every unspoken promise—it all lay in ruins at their feet.

"I wasn't going to do it," he said softly. For once, there was no teasing grin—just a man standing on the edge of something fragile.

Taryn shook her head, the pain in her chest twisting tighter. "How am I supposed to believe that?" she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

Lucien looked at her, and for the first time, he looked almost helpless. "I was going to find another way," he said, desperation bleeding into his voice. "I swear, Taryn. I just needed time."

Her heart ached, but anger burned hotter than sorrow. She wanted to scream, to hit him again, to tear him apart the way he'd torn through her.

"You had fun with me," she whispered bitterly, the words like poison. "You got close. You played me. Was it all just a game to you, Lucien?"

His hands clenched at his sides, tension radiating from every line of his body. "No," he said, his voice low and broken. "It wasn't."

She wanted to believe him. Gods, she wanted to believe him. But she couldn't—not with the letter crumpled in her fist, a damning reminder of the truth.

"All this time…" Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "You were just waiting for the right moment."

Lucien's jaw tightened. "Taryn—"

"Don't," she snapped, cutting him off. Her hands shook with the force of holding herself together. "Just… don't."

Her hands were ice, but her face burned. The metal links bit into her wrist, as if they knew she was trying to tear away from him—not just physically, but emotionally too. She could feel her pulse thundering in her throat, sharp and uneven, like her heart wasn't sure if it should race or stop all together.

The silence that followed was unbearable—thick with everything they couldn't say.

Taryn shoved the letter against his chest, her expression cold and unreadable. "We kill the beast, get your relic and then this is over," she said flatly.

His fingers curled tightly around the letter, his knuckles white as if it could somehow hold together everything that had just shattered between them.

But it didn't matter. She told herself she had already let him go.

They stood frozen, breaths heavy, as if the air between them had thickened into something solid—something unbreakable and unbearable all at once. For a brief, excruciating moment, neither of them moved.

Then, from the darkness, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the trees.

Both of them stilled, instincts kicking in. The chain between them pulled taut as they shifted closer without thinking. The monster roared again, a guttural sound that mirrored the chaos churning in her chest. It was fitting, she thought bitterly—of course the beast would come now, when everything inside her already felt broken beyond repair.

Taryn gripped her weapon tightly, every muscle coiled with tension. Her heart still pounded from the fight with Lucien, but now she had to bury it—survival came first.

Lucien's hand drifted to the hilt of his blade. For once, he didn't say anything clever.

"Stay close," he murmured, his voice low and resigned.

Taryn gave a sharp nod, but the cold knot of betrayal in her chest refused to loosen. The monster could kill them both, but part of her still ached more from Lucien's betrayal than from the looming threat.

The creature burst through the trees with a deafening roar, and they moved together. The chain rattled between them, pulling them closer with every step, and Taryn bit back the urge to scream. Fighting beside Lucien—moving in sync despite everything—felt like another betrayal, but the monster didn't care about her broken heart. Neither did the night closing in around them. For now, she had no choice but to stay close. Even if it killed her.