Page 93 of Too Dangerous To Die

But it doesn’t.

Her breath, warm against my chest.

Her hand, always reaching for mine.

That’s what brings me back each time.

Not spells.

Not swords.

Her.

Today, the sun doesn’t rise golden.

It risessilver.

Cloud-filtered. Cool and ethereal. The kind of morning that feels like it doesn’t belong to time, but to magic.

She stands near the edge of the cliff, cloak billowing around her in the breeze, eyes closed, face tilted to the wind like it carries answers to questions she hasn’t asked aloud. I watch her from the doorway of our home, arms crossed, heart aching with something I can’t name.

She turns before I speak.

She always knows when I’m near.

Her smile is quiet. Fierce.

“Is it time?” she asks.

I nod.

Because it is.

There are no witnesses.

No priests. No scrolls. No gilded altar.

Only us.

And the mountain.

And the magic that still hums beneath the stone like a heart that refuses to die.

We walk together to the grove just beyond the cliffside—where the trees twist in perfect spirals, and the rocks form a natural ring as if carved by the gods for this purpose alone. In the center, the earth pulses faintly. Ancient. Alive.

The place she chose.

The place I said yes.

We stand across from each other, hands empty, eyes full.

I take her in—this woman who once stood at the edge of ruin and chose me anyway.

Her dark hair tangles in the wind. Her eyes are steady, even as they shimmer with emotion she doesn’t try to hide.

And when she speaks, her voice is not loud.

But it iseverything.

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