Page 82 of Too Dangerous To Die

“Rhaegar,”Medea purrs in my skull, her voice all silk and rot.“Do you remember how sweet the promise was?”

I flinch. My fist curls around the hilt at my side, not to draw it—but to ground myself.

“Ignore her,” Nora says behind me. Her voice is calm. Anchored. “She’ll say anything to pull you back in.”

I nod, though I don’t look back. I can’t afford to. If I see her face, I’ll falter. And I need to be steel right now.

The tunnel opens slowly into what once was the inner sanctum—a vast antechamber now fractured by time and war. Crumbled columns. Melted sigils. Bones turned to dust. But the center still holds.

The Pact Room.

The altar is broken but not destroyed. Slabs of obsidian-veined stone lie scattered around the dais, glowing faintly with residual power. The air here is thick—oppressive. It weighs on the skin like a second body. My magic recoils. My heart begins to pound, not from fear—but recognition.

This is where I gave her my soul.

Not with ceremony. Not even with intent. It happened in a breath. In a choice. I was broken, desperate, and she was everything I needed her to be. Power. Salvation. Revenge.

And she branded me for it.

I step into the center, and the world shudders. Not around me.In me.

Flash.

I see the chamber as it was—lit in gold and crimson, runes freshly carved into stone still wet with blood.

Flash.

My knees, bruised and raw from kneeling too long. Medea’s hand cupping my chin. Her mouth curved in mockery and promise.

Flash.

“Swear to me, and I will make you a god among shadows.”

The pain surges in my chest and I nearly stagger.

Nora’s voice cuts through it like a blade. “Rhaegar.”

I breathe hard. “I remember it all.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t understand what I was giving up,” I whisper.

“No one does, until it’s too late.”

I look at her finally. Her eyes glow faintly, and in that light I see a thousand unsaid things.

This is the place where I lost myself.

This is the place where I can start taking it back.

My hand goes to the altar. It’s warm. Alive.

Still connected to her.

“I have to sever it,” I say aloud. Not just to her. To the room. To the past. “Not with magic. With choice.”

Nora’s voice is steady. “What will it cost?”

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