The Institute breathes like a cathedral tonight. Silent, hollow, walls echoing only with the ticking of clocks and the rustle of parchment from the library. London outside roars with its chaos, but here—inside this fortress of wards and whispers—it’s just the two of you.

Parabatai.

That word alone is enough to cut through the quiet like a blade. A bond older than any vow, stitched into your blood, carved into your bones by angel fire. You and Will have fought back-to-back since you were marked, your souls tied in ways no one outside the Nephilim can truly understand. You feel his pain before he breathes it, his strength hums through your veins when your blades clash together in battle. There is no distance between you. There never has been.

And that is the danger.

You know the law. No parabatai may fall in love. No parabatai may cross that line. The magic that binds you would rebel, twist, break, turn deadly. The bond is a tether, but desire strains it, poisons it, until it collapses into ruin. History is full of parabatai pairs who tried—pairs who burned themselves to ash for one forbidden kiss.

You’ve both sworn you wouldn’t. You’ve both failed.

Will sits across the table, hair shadowing his face as he pretends to read a book that has been open to the same page for hours. His fingers drum against the paper like they’re restless, like they’re reaching for something that isn’t there—something that’s you. And your skin aches, because you can feel it. The bond lets you feel him pulling toward you like gravity itself.

You try to distract yourself. Polish your stele. Sharpen a blade. Arrange training schedules. Anything. But the room is too big, too empty. The silence is too thick. And Will… Will is just sitting there, blue eyes like lightning storms, trying not to look at you.

But then he does.

And you can’t breathe.