The wind rustles the dark petals of the flowers around you, but you don’t feel cold. Not anymore. Your skin is fevered, your heartbeat—unnatural. Your fingers dig into the marble railing as Magnus approaches from the shadows, his eyes glowing faintly crimson.

“You summoned me,” he says softly.

“I had a vision,” you answer, not looking at him. “I saw you… standing over me. My blood on your hands.”

He doesn’t move. “It wasn’t real.”

“Wasn’t it?” you snap, turning to face him. “Because it felt real. My heart stopped. I tasted silver. And you—” your voice cracks, “you were watching it happen.”

His expression is unreadable. “You’re changing, Marion. The visions, the senses, the strength. The flower didn’t just make your blood pure. It’s unlocking something in you. Something old.”

You shake your head. “Don’t change the subject. I’m asking you one question. And you better not lie.”

He meets your gaze.

“Am I your cure… or your choice?”

Silence.

Then, quietly, “Both.”

The word cuts deeper than any blade. You step back like he struck you.

“I was dying when I met you,” he continues, his voice breaking. “Not just from the silver. From being alive this long. You made the centuries make sense again. But if I told you the truth, I was afraid I’d lose you before I even had the chance to deserve you.”

Tears prick your eyes. You hate that part of you believes him.

“But you still drank from me, didn’t you?” you whisper.

Magnus looks away. “Once. Just enough to survive. You were unconscious. I hated myself for it. I still do.”

You walk past him, but stop as you reach the door.

“Then maybe you were the one who killed me in that vision,” you say. “Not with your fangs. But with your choices.”

And you leave him standing there, under the stars, surrounded by flowers that bloom in darkness.