I had always believed Cairon was the villain in my story. The man who had stolen my life without hesitation. The one who, with a single stroke, had severed my existence from the world. That belief had kept me grounded, had made it easier to move forward with the bitter resolve of someone who wanted nothing more than to see her executioner fall.
But now?
Now, after everything—after the journey, the battles, the nights spent unraveling the Codex—I wasn't sure anymore.
I wasn't sure of anything.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the remnants of rain clinging to the leaves overhead, dripping in steady beats that only heightened the silence stretching between us. We had left the city behind, its walls a distant memory, and stepped into the wilderness where the stars were unfiltered by torchlight, where the darkness felt vast and consuming.
But I was suffocating in something else entirely.
