Page 110 of The Devil's Canvas

“You don’t get to rewrite fate. You just became a footnote in it,” I say, letting the words land.

Melanie doesn’t answer. Her hands curl into fists at her sides. Her breath stutters like she’s trying not to scream.

“I’m taking my place,” I add. “As the Weaver. And at Julian’s side.”

She jerks like she’s been slapped.

“No,” she snaps. “No—it was supposed to be me. That power… my power. He promised it to me.”

Her voice is raw now, cracking at the edges. Something in her finally breaking.

“You were never meant to have it,” I say, my tone quiet but firm. “You didn’t earn it. You stole it.”

“You don’t know what I gave up for this,” she hisses. “What I sacrificed—”

“You sacrificed me,” I whisper.

The silence afterward is deafening.

Dominic steps forward, voice strained. “Ophelia, please. Don’t leave.”

I look at him, and everything in me twists. His face is all the things he never got to say. But it’s too late for that now.

“I have to,” I say, softer this time.

“No,” Bella says, shaking her head. “No, you don’t. There’s got to be a way to stop this.”

“She’s right,” Rosalind says, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to go.”

“I’m not walking away,” I say. “I’m walking toward who I really am.”

The air rips open. Heat pulses through the clearing, a seam of pressure splitting the world in half. Julian steps through it, his coat trailing smoke, a scroll clenched in one hand.

He doesn’t speak. Not right away. Just looks at me. At them. Down at the paper like it might bite.

Cassius smiles slowly, like rot blooming in the dark. “Right on time,” he says.

Melanie narrows her eyes. “What is that?”

“The contract,” Julian says.

His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away. Like it hurts to say.

“The last clause is active,” Julian says, looking at me like it might break him.

I don’t breathe.

“Who?”

The scroll in Julian’s hand blackens at the edges. The ink bleeds with a name that sears through the page like fate can’t bear to hold it.

I look up, and my voice is barely heard. “Julian…”

His eyes meet mine.

And in them, I see it—grief. Grief like he's already lost me.

“I tried to stop it,” he says, barely louder than a breath. “But the contract has to be fulfilled.”

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