1870 LONDON

For five long years, Will Herondale carried a curse no one could see — but one that weighed on him like iron.

At twelve years old, he truly believed he had doomed the world. A demon he accidentally released cursed him with a single, cruel sentence: “Anyone who loves you… will die.”

And he believed it.

From that day on, every act of kindness was poison. Every soft glance, a threat. He pushed away his family. He held Jem at arm’s length, even though he loved him like a brother. And when Tessa came — with her brilliant mind, her quiet strength, her soul stitched from poetry and pain — Will did what he always did: He built walls. High ones. Cold ones. Walls that suffocated him, all in the name of keeping her safe.

But he loved her. He loved her when she smiled without knowing. He loved her when she held Jem’s hand with tenderness he longed for. He loved her when it hurt to look at her. And he stayed silent, drowning in the love he thought would destroy her.

Then the truth struck — sudden and cruel. There was no curse. There never had been. The demon had lied. And all the years of distance, all the broken pieces of himself — were for nothing.

For the first time, Will cried not out of fear… But out of the relief of finally being free. Free to run to her. Free to speak her name. Free to love her without bringing death in his wake.

“Tessa,” he whispered, eyes shining. “I have loved you every day since you walked into my life, and I’ve hated myself for every moment I pushed you away. I thought I was protecting you from me… but all I did was tear myself apart.”

She didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him, and in that gaze, time paused.

“There is no curse,” he said, voice trembling. “Only love. And if you’ll let me… I want to spend every day proving that to you.”

And in that moment, Tessa didn’t see the armor. She didn’t see the sharp words or sarcasm. She saw a boy who had learned too young how to lose— And a man who, despite everything, still chose to love.