The night had teeth. It bit at her skin as she slipped through the alleys of Rifthold, a shadow among shadows. The moon hung low, veiled behind clouds like a secret that dared not be spoken. Lysandra moved soundlessly, the echo of her own heartbeat louder than the whisper of her boots on the cobblestones. She had sworn she would never set foot in this place again—the house that had been her cage, her stage, her grave. And yet here she was, every instinct screaming at her to turn back even as something deeper, truer, pulled her forward.

Freedom meant nothing when you were still here.

She had thought it would be enough—Aelin’s gold, Evangeline’s laughter, the weight of chains finally gone from her wrists. But freedom without you had turned hollow, a mockery of what it should have been. Every night since she left, she dreamed of this house: the perfume-stained air, the muffled sobs behind closed doors, the sound of laughter that was never joy. And your face—gods, your face—haunting her like a melody unfinished. She could not bear the thought of you still here, still being touched, still believing you were nothing more than what they made you.

The door creaked as she slipped inside. The scent hit her first—powder, wine, and the faint sweetness of rot that clung to Cassandra’s halls. The air was thick, heavy with sin. Her fingers trembled as she pushed deeper into the house, her body remembering every corner, every scream that had once echoed here. She hated that her footsteps knew the way by heart.

Your room was at the end of the corridor, same as always. The handle was cold beneath her palm. She hesitated only for a breath before opening it.

You were there, sitting on the edge of the bed, a ghost draped in moonlight. The same nightgown. The same eyes that once dared to dream. When you looked up and saw her, something broke loose in the air between you.

“Lysandra,” you whispered, as if the name itself were a sin.

She crossed the room in two strides. “Get your cloak,” she said, voice a low rasp. “And no more. I’m getting you out.”

You flinched as if struck. “I cannot leave, Lys. She will have me bought back, dragged, beaten—”

“She won’t touch you again.” Lysandra’s voice cracked on the last word. “Do you hear me? I have the coin. Enough to buy your freedom twice over.”

You shook your head, tears glinting. “You shouldn’t have come. You’re free. If she finds you here—”

“Then she’ll find nothing but a corpse,” Lysandra hissed. “Because I will kill her before she lays a hand on you.”

Silence pulsed between you, thick and trembling. Her hands found yours—small, cold, familiar. She felt the tremor in your fingers, the disbelief. “Come with me,” she whispered.

Your breath caught. “Lys…”

“Please.” The word was broken, raw. “I can’t walk out of this city knowing you’re still chained to her. I can’t live in my freedom while you rot in hers.”

For a heartbeat, the world held still. The night beyond the window waited. And then—you moved. Slowly, silently, you reached for your cloak. The sound of fabric sliding over your shoulders was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.

Lysandra exhaled shakily, the tension melting from her bones. She wanted to fall to her knees. Instead, she reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from your cheek. “We’ll run far,” she murmured. “Somewhere no one knows our names. Evangeline loves you, I lo... I care for you.”

You smiled, faint and trembling. “And if she comes after us?”

Lysandra’s eyes turned to fire. “Then she’ll learn what monsters she made of us.”

Outside, the wind rose, carrying the faint toll of the city bells. Midnight. A new day already reaching for them.

Lysandra took your hand, lacing your fingers with hers. Together, you stepped into the hall, past the ghosts of who you once were. Each step was a rebellion, each breath a defiance. Behind you, the house seemed to shudder, as if realizing it was losing one more soul to freedom.

She did not look back. Not once.

Because tonight, at last, she would be free—and so would you.