Kira's POV
The golden thread connecting me to Lucian burns like fire.
Not painful fire—something worse. It feels like my soul is being pulled out of my body and tangled with his. I can feel his heartbeat as clearly as my own. Feel his shock and horror matching mine.
"Break it!" I scream at him. "Whatever this is, break it now!"
"I don't know how!" Lucian grabs at the thread, but his hands pass right through it. "This shouldn't be possible. Shadow and light can't bond—they destroy each other!"
But the thread keeps glowing, getting brighter. And through it, I feel something that terrifies me more than any curse.
I feel him.
His grief over his dead brother. His rage at the world. His desperate, aching loneliness that he hides behind cold eyes and colder words. It pours into me like water, and I can't stop it.
And worse—he's feeling me too.
"No," I gasp, trying to block him out. Trying to hide my pain, my fear, my guilt over all the people I've killed as an assassin. But it's useless. He feels everything.
Through the bond, I sense his shock as he realizes the truth: I really didn't kill his brother. He can feel my innocence like a solid thing, undeniable and clear.
"You—" he starts, but the ground splits open before he can finish.
Reality tears like paper.
A crack appears in the middle of the alley, growing wider with each second. And from that crack pours darkness—but not shadow magic. This is something older. Hungrier. Wrong.
The Void.
It looks like oil mixed with smoke, writhing and reaching with fingers that aren't quite fingers. Where it touches the ground, stone simply disappears. Not destroyed—erased. Like it never existed at all.
Maven screams. The sound is high and terrified, nothing like the cold assassin who was trying to kill me seconds ago. She scrambles backward, but the Void is faster.
A tendril wraps around her ankle.
"Help me!" she shrieks, clawing at the ground. "Kira, please—"
I move without thinking. My shadow magic responds, creating a blade of darkness that slices through the Void's tendril. Maven jerks free, and Razor drags her away from the spreading crack.
The remaining Light Court soldiers aren't so lucky. Three of them get too close, and the Void swallows them whole. They don't even have time to scream. One second they're there, the next—nothing. Not even bodies. Just empty space where people used to be.
"Run!" Lucian shouts. His light magic blazes, trying to hold back the Void. But his power just makes it worse. The Void drinks his light, growing larger, spreading faster.
Everyone runs. Shadow assassins and Light soldiers scatter in every direction, their fight forgotten. When reality itself is trying to eat you, old enemies don't matter anymore.
But I can't run. The curse attack has left me too weak. My legs won't hold me.
"Nightshade!" Lucian grabs my arm, pulling me up. His touch should burn—light touching shadow. Instead, warmth flows through the golden thread between us. Strength. Not much, but enough.
"The Void is real," I gasp as we stumble away from the spreading crack. "You weren't lying."
"I never lie about the end of the world." He half-carries, half-drags me down the alley. Behind us, the Void consumes everything. Buildings. Carts. The bodies of fallen soldiers. All of it just—gone.
We turn a corner and collapse against a wall. Both of us are breathing hard, covered in blood and sweat.
"How long?" I ask. "How long until it swallows everything?"
"Two weeks. Maybe less." Through our bond, I feel his despair. He's been fighting this alone for months, watching it spread, knowing he can't stop it. "The Light Court tried everything. Our strongest mages attacked it, and the Void just ate their magic and grew stronger."
"So why do you think I can help?" I'm nobody now. Just a dying assassin with a curse eating her alive.
"Because shadow magic doesn't feed the Void—it can contain it." He looks at me with those cold blue eyes. But now, through the bond, I feel the warmth hidden underneath. The hope he's afraid to feel. "There's an ancient ritual. Shadow and light working together to seal the Void permanently."
"Shadow and light can't work together. You said so yourself."
He gestures at the golden thread still connecting us. "Apparently, we can."
I stare at the bond, at this impossible thing that shouldn't exist. Through it, I feel Lucian's emotions as clearly as my own. He's not the monster I thought he was. He's just a man who lost his brother and blamed the wrong person.
A man who's been dying inside for three years, drowning in grief and rage.
"The ritual," I say slowly. "What does it require?"
Lucian's face goes dark. Through the bond, I feel him trying to hide something. Trying to keep a secret from me.
But the bond won't let him.
The truth slams into me like a fist: the ritual requires a sacrifice. Someone with shadow magic has to give their life to seal the Void.
"You want me to die," I whisper.
"No! I—" He runs a hand through his hair. "There might be another way. I need to research more, find—"
"I'm already dying," I cut him off. "The curse will kill me in twenty-five days anyway."
"Then we have twenty-five days to break your curse and find a different solution." His jaw sets with determination I can feel through our bond. "I'm not asking you to sacrifice yourself, Nightshade. I'm asking you to help me save the world. And in return, I'll help you live."
"Why should I trust you? You've hunted me for three years."
"Because of this." He touches the golden thread. "Soulbonds can't form between enemies. Only between—"
He stops, his face going red.
"Between what?" I demand.
Through the bond, I feel his answer before he says it: Between people meant to be together.
We stare at each other. The golden thread pulses between us, warm and alive and terrifyingly real.
Then Maven's voice shatters the moment: "There you are, traitor!"
I spin around. Maven stands at the alley entrance with Razor and the three remaining Shadow assassins. But they're not alone.
Behind them stands a man in dark robes that seem to drink the light. His face is hidden, but power radiates from him like heat from a fire. Ancient, terrible power.
"Well, well," the man says, his voice smooth as silk and cold as death. "The famous soulbond. How very unexpected." He steps forward, and reality seems to bend around him. "But I'm afraid I can't let you two live long enough to stop what's coming."
Through our bond, Lucian and I both feel the same thing:
This man—whoever he is—is the one who killed the Shadow King.
The one who framed me.
The one who started all of this.
And now he's going to finish it.