Page 123 of Ashen Souls

I had even felt a pang for the Sunday family dinner I’d skipped. I’d fed my parents lies about a spontaneous spring break trip. Thankfully, my siblings kept my mother’s panic in check. Had I been an only child, she would have dispatched a search party to the coast by Tuesday.

But as I crossed the river, squinting against the late-afternoon glare, the opposing urge hit me hard. I wanted to turn the car around. To disappear forever into that nameless ocean town, where my heaviest burdens were choosing a walking trail and picking a place for lunch.

Vesbridge remained perfectly intact. A good sign. It meant Daeren hadn’t torn a rift through the city limits and spilled his hell across the threshold yet.

When I turned onto my street, my left wrist woke up, pulsing against my skin. I wanted to take a knife to the brand, carve the unseen chain right out of my flesh, and write it off as a fever dream.

I once craved the life of a romantasy heroine. I wanted that devastating, obsessive passion—the kind of man who would gladly burn entire kingdoms to ash just for me. Gods, be careful what you wish for. The universe took my fantasy, gave me precisely what I asked for, and locked me inside a cage with it.

Daeren kept reminding me that no other man would ever pull the same depth of feeling from me. Of course he knew why. He had been right. No one ever had. My soul, or Avelia’s, to be exact, would always reject anyone else. It was cursed to belong to a monster who didn't even have a soul to give in return.

I pulled into a spot outside my building and cut the engine.

If the binding was truly flawless, my mind should have belonged solely to him. Yet, staring at the familiar, crumbling steps of my apartment, my thoughts bypassed Daeren altogether. They went straight to Ethan.

I hadn't anticipated the raw ache of missing him. If Avelia’s enchantment demanded total, uncompromising loyalty, it had a massive flaw. Because with every passing day, the relentless undertow dragging me toward Ethan only intensified.

The stairwell was heavy with vanilla, warm yeast, and burnt sugar.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open. The apartment hadn’t breathed since I left. Stepping inside was like trespassing into a museum exhibit of my own life. The textbooks abandoned on the coffee table belonged to a girl who actually cared about finals. The throw blanket lay draped over the arm of the couch exactly as I had left it before I fled.

I lugged my bag into the bedroom and started emptying it. Burying sweaters in drawers offered a brief illusion of control. Once the suitcase lay empty on the floor, I picked up my phone and ordered takeout.

I wrenched the balcony door open, letting the stagnant air disperse. Spring had finally settled over the courtyard, the scent of wet earth and damp brick cutting through the bakery’s sugar. The balcony was barely a ledge: two rusted iron chairs and a table only wide enough for a coffee cup. I walked to the edge, grasped the cold metal of the railing, and let the evening air hit my face.

When the delivery arrived, I brought the carton straight out to the balcony. I ate with the cardboard wedged between my knees, letting the warmth soak into my jeans. I concentrated on the sting of the spices and the night air turning sharp against my neck.

I stayed outside until the sky went black, waiting for Harper.

She arrived at eight on the dot. The knock was brisk, confident, and already irritated.

I opened the door, but before it was even fully open, she surged forward. She locked her arms around me, squeezing the breath out of my lungs.

“Don’t,” I rasped.

“Too late,” she said into my hair. “I’m hugging you. You don’t get to vanish for days and come back expecting me to behave like a sane person.”

She pulled back just enough to inspect my face, gripping my shoulders to ensure I wouldn't evaporate.

“You look like you’ve been living off saltwater and spite,” she declared. “Which, for the record, is on brand. But also… what the hell, Aveline?”

I attempted a weak smile.

“You left me alone over spring break,” she went on, marching into the apartment and dropping her bag on the couch like she paid the rent. “Do you understand what that does to a person? I had to entertain myself. I had to talk to strangers. I had to drink without you there to stop me from texting men who deserve to be hit with a chair.”

“Harper…”

“No.” She held up a single finger. “I’m not done. You sent me one message that sounded like it was written by a hostage. I’m safe. I need to get away for a bit. Who writes that? Serial killers write that. Cult members write that. People who have joined some kind of coastal sea-witch commune write that.”

I closed the door and leaned back against the wood. With Harper standing in my living room, I didn't have to keep the panic swallowed down anymore.

“Come here,” she said. She drew me in for a second hug, less punishing this time. “I’m furious with you. But I’m also not letting go until I’m absolutely sure you’re real.”

“I’m real,” I whispered.

“Good. Because I didn’t survive midterms just to have my best friend disappear into the woods and become a tragic rumor.”

She released me, blowing out a harsh breath. “Now. You promised pajamas and alcohol. I brought both. I also brought the emotional range of a raccoon trapped in a dumpster, so if you cry, I will make it weird.”