The steady drip of water echoed in the cave, soft and irregular. Each drop landed like a metronome to the ragged rhythm of my thoughts. I didn't move. I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, a few feet from where Alistair had fallen asleep—or at least pretended to. His breathing was steady, his face composed, his dark lashes fanned over his cheekbones like shadows. He looked oddly serene.
Too serene, considering we'd just escaped a wraith and barely survived a cursed forest.
My thigh throbbed where the creature's claw had grazed me. It wasn't deep, but it had bled more than I expected, and the ache wouldn't let me forget it. I pulled the tattered cloak tighter around my shoulders, hoping the pressure might keep me from unraveling completely.
I wasn't just cold.
I was terrified.
Terrified because something was wrong.
Very wrong.
It wasn't just the magic. It wasn't just the monsters or the forest that whispered or the tree that glowed with forgotten glyphs. It was the sensation building behind my ribcage—slow and simmering, like a pot about to boil over.
I'd died.
I'd thrown myself from the rooftop of my apartment building. I still remembered the wind rushing past, the emptiness in my chest as I fell, and then… nothing.
Then I woke up in a different body. Seraphina Valeborne, the daughter of Duke Ronan Valeborne. Beautiful. Gentle. Tragic.
A name I had only ever read on a page.
My heart lurched.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't some elaborate delusion crafted by a grief-stricken mind. This world—the pain, the blood, the scent of ash still clinging to my skin—it was real.
Too real.
And I was inside the novel.
My favorite novel.
Entwined Fates.
I swallowed hard, bile rising.
The realization dropped like a stone in my gut.
I'd been reading it when I—before I—when it got too much. The story had been my escape. Seraphina was the girl everyone underestimated. A side character who died trying to protect those she loved. Her death wasn't even given a full chapter. Just a mention in passing, a tragedy that helped the main heroine—her best friend Elira—grow stronger.
Elira, the clever, warm-hearted commoner who rose to become Empress.
Elira, who fell in love with Crown Prince Caelum.
Elira, who solved the mystery of Seraphina's death and helped bring justice to the nobles who schemed behind her back.
And now… I was her.
Seraphina.
The forgotten girl whose death was only a plot device.
"No," I whispered aloud. "Not this time."
I would not be forgotten. I would not die again just so someone else could find her strength.
A rustle from Alistair's side drew my attention. His eyes blinked open slowly, golden and sharp even in the dim cave light.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
"Did you ever?"
He smirked faintly and sat up, wincing as his shoulder pulled at the bandages I'd wrapped.
"Pain's a good reminder I'm still alive."
"Charming."
He studied me, expression sobering. "You're shaking."
I hadn't even realized I was.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not." His voice wasn't mocking this time. It was quiet. Almost gentle. "You've been through more in one night than most nobles face in their entire lives."
I stared at him. "You don't know what I've been through."
"No," he agreed. "But I can see it."
Something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.
He didn't look away. "You asked why I saved you. You wanted honesty."
I stilled.
"I'll give it to you now," he said. "You were a pawn. One they wanted to remove before you could interfere with their plans. But I'd been watching you. Watching them. And the day they marked you for death, I knew I had to act."
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "You didn't even know me."
He tilted his head. "Because you weren't supposed to die."
I sucked in a breath.
The words echoed in my mind like a tolling bell. Because you weren't supposed to die.
Did he… know? About the original timeline? About what would have happened had I not intervened, had I followed the novel's plot? Or was it something else—something more instinctual?
"You keep acting like you know the future," I murmured.
He paused.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
"I know patterns," he said finally. "I know how people move when they want to hide something. And I know how it looks when someone's been marked as expendable."
His voice dropped. "And I've been expendable my whole life."
I blinked.
Right. Prince Alistair. The fifth son. The bastard. Born of a concubine and ignored by the court. Tolerated by his father only because he could wield magic powerful enough to scorch the world. In the original story, he barely appeared. A footnote. A mysterious ally who helped the heroine later.
But now… he was here.
And he'd saved me. More than once.
"You'll be targeted too," I said. "The others… the nobles, Prince Caelum's supporters. They'll try to use you. Or destroy you."
His smile turned razor-sharp. "Let them try."
I believed him.
A silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Then he rose, slowly. "We should keep moving."
I stood as well, biting back a wince. My leg had stiffened during the night.
"You'll slow us down," he said, noting my limp.
"I'm not staying here," I replied, steel in my voice.
He didn't argue.
The journey out of the Veilwood took hours. Maybe longer. The trees clawed at us, the ground shifting beneath our feet like it was alive. Whispers floated through the air—faint, seductive voices promising safety, warmth, comfort.
I almost followed one once.
Alistair yanked me back just as I reached out toward a glowing tree trunk.
"Don't listen to them," he snapped.
I stared at the place my hand had nearly touched. The bark writhed.
"Noted."
We finally reached the edge of the Veilwood by nightfall. A crumbling watchtower loomed ahead, overgrown and half-collapsed. But it was shelter.
Alistair lit a fire, low and quiet. I huddled near it, my body trembling again despite the heat.
He sat beside me, but not too close.
"You should sleep," he said.
I glanced at him. "I can't."
A pause.
"I remember dying," I said.
He looked at me sharply.
"I don't know why I remember it. Or why I'm here now. But I remember the rooftop. I remember… falling."
His jaw tightened. "You were killed in that alley, Seraphina."
I shook my head. "No. Not this Seraphina. Not this time. Before that."
He was silent.
The fire crackled between us.
"You won't believe me," I whispered. "No one would."
He studied me for a long moment. Then said quietly, "Try me."
I hesitated. The words felt like betrayal. Of the world I came from. Of the girl I had been.
"I read about you," I said. "In a book. A story. I knew what would happen. How Seraphina dies. How Elira—the real heroine—solves her death and ends up with Prince Caelum."
His expression didn't change.
"I was… someone else. And I chose to leave. And now I'm here. Living someone else's fate."
A beat.
Then Alistair exhaled. "So that's why."
"Why what?"
"Why you act like you've lived this all before. Why you knew when to run. When to hide. Why you always seem… one step ahead."
I stared. "You believe me?"
"I believe that something brought you here. And if you say you know what's to come, then I'd be a fool not to listen."
A pause.
"You're not her," he added. "Not the girl who waited to die."
My throat tightened.
"You're different. You want to live."
I swallowed hard. "Yes. I do."
"Then let's make sure you get that chance."
⋆
Later, after I'd finally fallen asleep, I dreamed of the rooftop again.
But this time, I wasn't alone.
Alistair stood beside me, his coat billowing in a wind that didn't exist.
He held out his hand.
And I took it.
In the morning, the fire had died.
But I didn't feel cold.
I felt… steady.
For the first time.
We stepped from the watchtower together.
A new path waited.
And I was ready.