Kage’s POV

  I didn’t think. I scooped her into my arms and ran.

  The streets blurred around me, a smear of light and movement, but none of it mattered. My focus tunneled to the limp weight in my arms, to the warmth of her blood soaking into my shirt, to the shallow rise and fall of her breath that was growing weaker by the second.

  She was slipping away.

  I wasn’t fast enough.

  I had to be faster.

  A deep, primal instinct tore through me, screaming that I couldn’t lose her. Not her.

  I reached for the shadows.

  They answered.

  Darkness erupted beneath my feet, swallowing me whole. The world around us fractured, warped, and suddenly, I wasn’t running anymore—I was falling through the void.

  It was like diving into water, weightless yet rushing forward at impossible speeds. The city’s lights flickered in the distance, distorted through the lens of the shadows. The alleys, the streets, the buildings—I phased through them all, slipping between the spaces where light dared not touch.

  I held Zara tighter, my heart hammering against my ribs.

  The hospital was miles away.

  I reached out, willing the shadows to stretch, to bridge the distance. The void bent to my will, the tendrils of darkness pulling me forward, faster, faster—

  And then—

  Light.

  I burst through the shadows, my feet hitting solid ground inside the hospital’s emergency bay. The fluorescent glow burned against my vision, too bright, too sudden.

  The moment I reappeared, alarms went off. Nurses and doctors whipped their heads toward me, startled by the man who had just materialized out of thin air.

  “Help her!” My voice was hoarse, desperate.

  A team rushed toward us, gurneys wheeling across the floor, voices calling orders over the commotion.

  Zara’s weight was pulled from my arms, her body transferred onto a stretcher. Hands replaced mine over her wound, pressing down hard to stem the bleeding. Someone shouted for a surgeon.

  “Kage,” a familiar voice broke through the chaos—Naja.

  I turned, barely recognizing her through the haze of fear. She was weak, barely standing, but her silver-glowing hands were already outstretched.

  “Put her down,” she commanded, her voice strained but firm. “I can help her.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to let go. If I let go, it would mean admitting just how close I was to losing her.

  “Kage!” Naja’s voice cracked. “She doesn’t have time!”

  I forced myself to move, to lay Zara on the stretcher, to step back even though every instinct screamed against it.

  Naja swayed, nearly collapsing, but she pushed forward. Her silver glow intensified, her hands trembling as she hovered them over Zara’s wound.

  “Come on, Zara,” Naja whispered, her voice laced with desperation. “Stay with me.”

  I stood there, useless, helpless, watching as Naja poured everything she had into saving her. I had never been this afraid in my entire life.

  “Don’t you dare leave me,” I murmured, my fists clenching. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”

  The hospital room was too quiet. Too still.

  I stood near the door, my hands clenched into tight fists, watching as Naja worked.

  She sat at Zara’s bedside, her silver-glowing hands hovering over her, her face tight with concentration. Sweat beaded at her temple, her breathing sharp and measured. Zara lay motionless, her skin too pale, her chest rising and falling with a fragile rhythm that made my own breath feel shaky in response.

  Her blood still stained my clothes, a dark reminder of how close I had come to losing her.

  I couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even breathe properly as I watched Naja pour everything she had into saving her.

  A tremor ran through Naja’s body. Her hands faltered.

  Something was wrong.

  Her silver glow flickered—just for a second—but then it came back, burning too brightly.

  And then, she collapsed.

  Her body crumpled forward, the glow snuffing out like a candle in the wind.

  I lunged forward, catching her before she hit the floor.

  “Naja!” My heart hammered as I carefully lifted her into my arms, her weight unnervingly light. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her breath shallow.

  A nurse rushed in, eyes widening at the scene.

  “Put her in the bed next to Zara,” she ordered, already calling for a doctor.

  I didn’t hesitate. I moved fast, gently settling Naja down, pulling the blanket over her as the medical team swarmed around both women.

  The longest ten minutes of my life followed.

  I stood off to the side, arms crossed so I wouldn’t tear the entire damn room apart with frustration. The doctors checked them over, speaking in hushed voices. I could barely make out the words, but I forced myself to listen.

  “…both severely drained…”

  “…bodies need time to recover…”

  “…they’ll be okay, but they need rest.”

  The tightness in my chest didn’t ease.

  Not yet.

  I ran a hand down my face, stepping back, forcing myself out of their way.

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  And then I waited.

  I paced the length of the room.

  Then I paced again.

  Then again.

  Minutes dragged into hours, and my mind wouldn’t shut up.

  She almost died because of me.

  I should have been faster.

  I should have stopped him before he could throw that knife.

  I should have been stronger.

  I’d held Zara in my arms, felt her life slipping away, and I hadn’t been strong enough to stop it.

  And what if next time, I wasn’t enough?

  I clenched my fists, the shadows at my feet twisting violently, restless, angry, just like me.

  She deserved someone better than this—better than me.

  Someone who wasn’t constantly drowning in his own darkness.

  Someone who wouldn’t hesitate, who wouldn’t let her get hurt.

  The thought twisted in my chest, sharp and painful, because it wasn’t just doubt—it was fear. Fear that I was too much of a curse, that everyone I got close to would end up broken or dead.

  I ran a hand over my face, exhaling sharply. Maybe I should let her go.

  The thought was barely formed before a weak cough made me turn sharply.

  Naja.

  Her fingers twitched against the sheets, her body shifting slightly as her eyes fluttered open.

  A sharp inhale left her lips, and then her gaze landed on me.

  She blinked.

  Then blinked again.

  Then, after an awkward beat of silence, her brows shot up.

  “Kage?” Her voice was hoarse but steady.

  I exhaled a shaky breath, relief rushing through me so fast it made my knees weak. “Yeah.”

  She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Why do you look like you haven’t slept in a year?”

  I let out a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through my hair. “Because I haven’t.”

  Her eyes softened slightly as she shifted, trying to sit up.

  I quickly stepped forward, steadying her. “Take it easy. The doctors said you drained yourself completely.”

  She rolled her shoulders, wincing. “Yeah, feels like it.” Then, her gaze drifted past me, landing on the shadows still writhing around my feet like living tendrils.

  I followed her eyes and stilled.

  I’d forgotten—Naja had never seen my shadows before.

  She studied them for a moment, her expression unreadable before she finally said, “Huh.”

  I arched a brow. “That’s all you’ve got? ‘Huh’?”

  She smirked. “What, did you want me to freak out? Scream about demons?”

  I huffed. “Most people do.”

  Naja shrugged. “I’m not most people.”

  The room was silent for a beat, and then she gave me a knowing look.

  “You’re beating yourself up, aren’t you?”

  I tensed, jaw clenching. “If I had been faster—”

  “Stop.”

  Her tone was firm, sharper than I expected.

  She shifted again, propping herself up on her elbows, eyes locking onto mine with clear intent. “You saved her, Kage. If it wasn’t for you, she’d be dead.”

  I looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

  “She deserves better.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  Naja blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  I swallowed hard. “She deserves someone who doesn’t bring death with him. Someone who’s not cursed with shadows and nightmares. Someone who—”

  “Stop being an idiot,” Naja cut in, her voice sharp. “She doesn’t need someone else, Kage. She needs you.”

  I looked at her, and for the first time since stepping into this room, the weight in my chest eased—just a little.

  Then she poked a finger toward my chest, her expression darkening. “But if you ever hurt her, Kage, I will personally find a way to make your life hell.”

  I blinked at her, caught off guard by the sharpness in her tone. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Naja exhaled, her fingers brushing against one of my shadows. The tendrils twitched at her touch, reacting to her in a way that made her lips curl in mild fascination. “These things really do have a life of their own, huh?”

  I didn’t respond. I was still caught between exhaustion and the ever-present worry gnawing at my insides.

  She sighed and glanced at me again, this time softer. “You need to clean yourself up. She won’t want to wake up to see you covered in her blood.”

  I stiffened, shaking my head. “I can’t leave her.”

  “You can and you will,” Naja countered, pushing herself up slightly. “I’ll watch over her while you’re gone.”

  I hesitated, torn between the need to be here when Zara woke up and the realization that Naja was right. Finally, I nodded. “Don’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Like I’d ever let that happen,” she murmured, rolling her eyes. “Now go.”

  Naja’s POV

  I wasn’t asleep.

  I should have been—I needed to be—but exhaustion wasn’t enough to pull me under, not when the weight of everything still sat heavy in my chest.

  Instead, I lay there in the dim hospital room, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady beeping of monitors and the hushed murmurs of nurses outside the door. The soft rustle of blankets from Zara’s bed told me she was still out cold, but at least her breathing was even. That was enough—for now.

  The door creaked open.

  I turned my head just enough to see Kage slip back inside, his movements careful, almost hesitant. He looked… different. His bloody clothes had been replaced with a clean shirt, though his jacket was still darkened in places where Zara’s blood had stained it. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the smell of soap and something sharp—maybe aftershave—lingered as he moved.

  His shadows still curled at his feet, restless but subdued.

  For a moment, he just stood there, staring at Zara like he was trying to convince himself she was really still breathing. Then, with a quiet sigh, he sank back into the chair beside her bed.

  “Didn’t think you’d actually leave,” I muttered, my voice scratchy from sleep deprivation.

  Kage glanced at me but didn’t respond right away. His focus lingered on Zara’s face, his fingers twitching slightly like he was resisting the urge to reach for her hand again.

  “…I almost didn’t,” he admitted.

  I hummed, rolling onto my side so I could watch him properly. “You look better, at least. Less ‘brooding storm cloud,’ more ‘overworked magical officer.’”

  He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I smirked, but the amusement didn’t last long.

  Silence settled between us, thick and heavy with unspoken things.

  I wasn’t great at silence. Especially not this kind.

  With a sigh, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. Kage’s eyes flicked toward me, brows furrowing, but he didn’t say anything.

  I stretched, rolling my shoulders before nodding toward Zara. “You should try to get some sleep, y’know. You’re not doing her any good if you collapse from exhaustion.”

  His jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”

  I scoffed. “Right. Because not sleeping and running on pure stress is totally healthy.”

  Kage exhaled through his nose but didn’t argue. Instead, his gaze drifted back to Zara, something unreadable flickering across his face.

  “…What was she like?” he asked suddenly.

  I blinked, caught off guard. “Before all this?”

  He nodded, his fingers flexing against his knee. “Yeah.”

  I studied him for a moment, taking in the way his shoulders stayed tense, how his eyes never left her. He needed to hear this. Maybe to understand her better. Maybe to understand himself.

  Either way, I wasn’t about to deny him.

  “She once got into an argument with one of our professors because the guy had the nerve to call necromancy a barbaric, unnatural perversion of magic.’”

  Kage frowned, his shadows stirring at his feet. “What happened?”

  I grinned. “She raised his dead cat in the middle of class.”

  His head snapped toward me, eyes widening slightly. “She what?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said, laughing at the memory. “She made sure it could purr and everything. Damn thing jumped right into his lap, rubbing up against him like it had never been dead. I swear, I have never seen a man look so pale.”

  Kage shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I can’t tell if that was brilliant or insane.”

  “Both. Absolutely both.” I sighed, my smirk fading slightly. “She’s always been like that—proving people wrong, refusing to let anyone dictate what she can or can’t do. It’s why she’s so damn good at what she does: teaching and solving murders.”

  Kage was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, he said, “She doesn’t talk about herself much.”

  “No,” I agreed. “She doesn’t.”

  He hesitated, then turned to me. “But she let you in.”

  Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten.

  I shrugged, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. She did.”

  Another beat of silence.

  Then Kage let out a slow breath. “She deserves better.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  His shadows curled a little tighter around him, dark tendrils twitching like they could feel the weight of his thoughts. He didn’t look at me when he spoke.

  “She deserves someone who isn’t—” He gestured vaguely at himself. “This. Someone who isn’t tangled up in shadows and death. Someone who—”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Kage blinked, startled by my interruption.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You’re being a complete idiot right now, you know that?”

  He scowled. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” I said, crossing my arms. “You think you’re some big, bad, untouchable force of darkness or whatever, but you wanna know the truth?”

  He said nothing.

  I leaned forward, holding his gaze. “She doesn’t need some perfect, shining hero. She needs you.”

  Kage’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his jaw clenching.

  “She trusts you,” I continued. “Do you have any idea how rare that is for her? How many people she’s actually let in?”

  His hands curled into fists.

  I sighed, shaking my head. “You don’t have to be some perfect version of yourself, Kage. She’s not looking for that. She’s looking for someone who sees her for who she is and doesn’t run.”

  His expression softened slightly at that, his eyes flicking back to her sleeping form. He didn’t argue.

  And maybe—just maybe—that meant he was finally starting to get it.