Amir Vastelino

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Midnight clung to the sky like a secret, silent and suffocating. The bridge stood quiet beneath Amir’s boots, just as it had all those years ago when he’d first seen you—disguised in enemy armor, a dagger at your hip, defiance in your eyes. He had been ready to kill you.

But you hadn’t drawn your blade.

You’d smiled instead.

And somehow, in that moment, the war that had shaped him faded into a single, terrifying truth—he didn’t want to fight you. He wanted to know you. Touch you. Love you.

And he had. God, he had loved you.

In hidden gardens and candlelit rooms, in hushed whispers beneath starlit sheets, in letters burned after reading. Every moment he could steal from duty, he had given to you. You were the one place he felt human.

And now he was about to destroy you.

He saw you waiting on the bridge, your silhouette bathed in silver moonlight. You looked at him with soft eyes, like you always had, like all the nights you’d fallen asleep in his arms had meant something. Like your heart was still his.

He smiled.

It felt like lying.

He walked to you slowly, each step heavy with the weight of what was to come. His hand hovered near the dagger hidden beneath his cloak—his father’s orders echoing in his mind, the threat of ruin if he disobeyed.

But you made it harder, like always.

You stepped toward him with no fear. You opened your arms like he was still yours.

And he let himself fall into your warmth one last time.

His hands wrapped around your back. Your scent filled his lungs. You fit against him like you were made to be there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your ear, his voice cracking.

And then—

He pushed the blade in.

Your body jerked, soft against his chest. Your hands clutched his shoulders, not in anger, not in rejection—but in shock. In pain.

In trust.

He felt it as your blood began to seep into his tunic, hot and thick and horrifyingly real. His arms held you tighter, as if he could stop it. As if he could pretend this was just another embrace under the stars.

“I never lied,” he choked. “I loved you. I still love you.”

Your eyes met his, wide and full of disbelief—and something crueler.

Understanding.

You knew. You had always known the danger. But you had still chosen him.

And now, he had chosen the world over you.

Your legs gave out, and he sank to the ground with you, the bridge cradling you both like it did at the start. He held you in his lap, his fingers trembling against your cheek.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” he said, voice barely audible. “But I’ll remember every moment. Every laugh. Every kiss.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, tears falling freely.

“I just couldn’t save you. Not from this. Not from them. Not from me.”

And still, in the last light in your eyes, he swore he saw love.