She stopped a few paces behind me.
I could feel her presence like a weight, a warmth I'd missed for weeks.
But something was different.
The air smelled like rain and earth, but with something sharper beneath.
I turned.
Anya stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. Her dark hair was loose, slightly damp from the mist still drifting over the meadow.
No camera.
For the first time, she wasn't trying to capture the moment. Just… standing in it.
She looked the same. And yet--
Her eyes.
They were still that deep, steady brown.
But in the fractured light, I saw it. A thin, jagged crack running through the iris of her left eye.
Pale blue. Like frost.
A Mark.
My breath caught. She saw me notice.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
The wind stirred the grass between us.
Then she smiled.
Not her usual smile. This one was smaller. Tired. Like it had cost her something just to wear it.
"Hey."
One word. And it hit harder than anything she could've said.
I stepped back.
Instinct. Reflex.
And too late, I realized what that meant.
The smile flickered. Her brave face cracked.
And then, slowly, tears welled up in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.
She'd held it together until then.
Until me.
No. This couldn't be happening.
Not now. Not ever.
The Reverie was a death sentence for ordinary people like us.
Even more so for Anya.
Anya, who got dizzy if she stood too fast.
Who once cried during a thunderstorm because she was terrified it would hit us.
Who still walked around sniffling from spring allergies.
Anya wasn't made for this.
She was too soft. Too fragile.
I realized I'd just been staring, frozen.
I took a step forward, then another, and closed the distance.
I didn't know what to say. Didn't even know what I was feeling, except that it was too much.
Too fast.
She fell into me without a word.
We held each other, arms tight.
Her coat was damp. My hoodie was soaked.
And as the light rain began again, I was glad for it.
Because it meant she couldn't see my tears.
The silence between us stretched long, but it wasn't empty.
It carried everything we couldn't say.
Then she pulled back just enough to reach into her coat pocket.
Her fingers were trembling.
"I kept this," she whispered, holding out a small, crumpled shape in her open palm.
I stared. A ring. Twisted from golden foil.
One I'd made on Valentine's Day, years ago, from a chocolate wrapper.
My throat tightened. I'd twisted the wrapper into a makeshift band and slid it onto her finger like it meant something.
Like it was enough.
She took my hand gently, turned it over, and placed the ring in my palm.
"I can't take it with me."
The rain dotted her lashes.
I pulled my hand back.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I didn't mean for it to come out angry, but it did.
"You knew. This whole time. You could've said something--"
"And what would you have done, Dio?"
I didn't answer. Because we both knew.
I would've followed.
I still would.
Her voice shook.
"Just… don't forget I was here. That we were real."
I closed my hand around the ring.
"You're not dying," I said, though my voice cracked at the edge. "You'll come back. You'll get your Vow and… and everything will be fine."
Her eyes met mine.
"You don't have to lie to me, Dio."
She tried to laugh, but it caught halfway.
"I'm scared."
I opened my mouth.
And for once, the truth spilled out before I could catch it.
"Good," I said. "Because I'm terrified. Because this isn't supposed to happen to you. Not you."
I stepped closer.
"You always said the Reverie was a fantasy. That it didn't affect people like us. That it wasn't meant for people like us. But now you're talking like you're already gone."
She paused then. Looked down. Her expression clouded… like she'd been holding something back.
"I'm not afraid to go, Dio. I'm afraid you'll follow."
She looked back up at me.
"They… they let me come back."
A pause. Her hands twisted in her sleeves.
"Just once."
Another pause.
"Just long enough."
She said it like it didn't matter.
Like it wasn't a new life waiting, but just another reason this one had to end.
"The dreams have changed since I was Marked."
Her voice had gone thinner. Uneven.
"They've gotten worse. Like something's watching. Like something's waiting on the other side."
Her fingers clenched, then released.
"I don't know if it's part of the Reverie… or something worse."
She met my eyes again.
"But if it comes for me, I need to know you'll still be out here. Still moving."
I looked at her... really looked at her.
At the way she held herself together like it hurt.
"Promise me something."
My voice was steadier than I felt.
"Anything."
"Don't… don't make this about me. Don't carry it like it's yours."
"I won't," I said, too fast.
She studied me for a long time.
Then smiled like she wanted to believe me.
Like that might be enough.
"Good," she said. "Because we both know how that ends."
Her voice didn't waver.
It was calm. Practiced.
She leaned in and pressed her forehead to mine.
We stayed like that, hands clasped, eyes closed, pretending we could stop time.
And in that moment, I wanted to promise her everything.
I wanted to believe I could protect her. That I could bend the rules of Reverie itself if I tried hard enough.
Instead, I whispered,
"I'll find you."
She closed her eyes.
"Dio…"
Her voice wavered… gentle, but unsure.
"Not every promise is a gift."
I looked up.
Her voice was quieter now. Not sad. Just certain.
"You don't have to find me," she said.
"Just live. Enough for the both of us."
Her fingers squeezed mine once, then slipped away.
And just like that, she stepped back.
Turned.
She didn't look back. But her steps didn't sound sure either.
In my hands, she left a photo.
The two of us, side by side.
Caught in some long-gone summer.
My arm around her shoulder.
Her smile squinting against the light.
I wanted to say something. Something big. Something real.
Something that would make her stay.
Instead, I stood there holding a photo like it was a plan.
I remembered the moment.
She'd set the timer herself, dashed over and grabbed my hand just before the shutter clicked.
Like memory could save her.
I wanted to follow.
My legs didn't move.
Not out of fear.
Out of something worse.
Recognition.
That she was already walking a road I was never invited to.
My other hand clenched the gold foil.
The city stretched below, the Citadel of Mirrors pulsing faintly on the horizon.
A quiet heartbeat.
I wondered if it had been watching us all along.
And from somewhere, carried soft on the wind…
Just live. Enough for the both of us.
Then quieter still…
Not every promise is a gift.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure if I'd made a promise…
...or a mistake.
—
He said it was for her.
But he bled for both.
—
She was gone.
I sat on the rock in the rain, long after the Gate had closed with the sun.
My hands were cold. Numb.
I'd been clutching the ring too long.
I looked down.
The spot beside me… empty.
We'd sat here once. Valentine's Day.
She pulled chocolate from her bag like it was nothing.
Rare after the war. A luxury only for the richest.
I never asked how she got it.
We split it. Let it melt slow.
Didn't speak. Just watched the city as the wind combed the grass.
I kept the wrapper.
Folded it into a ring. Slipped it onto her finger like it meant something.
It didn't fit.
I thought she'd throw it away.
But she didn't.
I never said the words aloud… but that was the moment I decided.
To stay.
No matter what.
That vow clung to me.
Still does.
I told myself she was fine. That she couldn't be Marked.
But maybe I'd known.
Maybe she left the second the Gate flared.
I just didn't want to see it.
My phone buzzed.
I'm at the car.
I blinked.
The world came back in pieces.
Right. The car. Lyra.
I stood. Legs stiff. Hoodie soaked.
Behind me, a breeze stirred the forget-me-nots.
One petal spun upward in a perfect spiral.
And for just a second,
I could've sworn the world was laughing.
Not out loud.
Just underneath.
—
Lyra gave me a long stare as I slid into the driver's seat, water still dripping from my sleeves.
"You okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. Got caught in the rain."
She arched a brow. "That's more than rain. That's like... drowned."
"I'm fine."
She didn't push it. I just drove.
I watched the city blur past, lights streaking across the windshield.
For now, I didn't tell her about Anya.
Didn't tell her she was Marked.
Didn't tell her that I might never see her again.
I just needed the night.
To feel it. To hold onto the last few pieces before they slipped away.
—
Back home, I peeled off my soaked clothes.
The foil ring sat heavy in my palm.
I placed it gently on the bathroom counter, where the light caught it.
Next to it, I set the old photo.
The two of us, side by side.
Smiling like we didn't know what was coming.
I removed the photo of just her from my wallet.
Replaced it with this one.
The last moment before everything changed.
And I took the ring. Crumpled now, from where I'd clenched it too hard.
I began to retwist it. Slowly. Carefully.
Fidgeting it back into a circle.
Then I stepped into the shower.
The hot water hit me like a wave, scalding the cold from my skin.
But it didn't wash away the ache.
Not the memory of her voice.
Not the look in her eye.
Not the feeling that something in me had cracked, too.
And then, like an echo, Cayos's voice returned to me.
"They say the Reverie chooses the worthy.
I say it chooses the interesting."
Worthy or not, it had chosen her.
And I couldn't stand by and do nothing.
Even if I wasn't chosen.
Even if I had no right.
I would find a way.