Page 84 of Broken Star

Does he think I love him?

Does he still love me?

Am I even capable of loving him anymore? Or was my ability to love him destroyed when Eros’s arrow pierced my heart?

The version of me in the vision lingers over Riven’s body, her expression unreadable. Then, she slowly lifts her dagger, blood dripping from its edges. She studies it with a detached fascination, turning it in her grasp like she’s memorizing its weight and balance—like it’s an extension of her.

Then, she smiles.

Not a wicked grin. Not a cruel smirk.

Just a small, knowing smile.

A strangled breath catches in my throat, and my magic surges outward in a wild, desperate burst. Wind whips into a frenzy and water rises from the cosmic void, swirling like a violent storm, mirroring the chaos clawing at my insides.

But Riven holds on, unmoving, a steady presence against the fear inside me.

“I can’t lose you,” I say to him through the tears, the words torn from a place so deep I didn’t know it existed. “Not after everything. Not like this. Not because ofme.”

“You won’t,” he promises, his arms tightening around me again. Not to restrain, or to control, but tohold.

His heartbeat thunders under my ear, strong and steady, a reminder that he’s here and notthere.And when I eventually pull back, his silver eyes burn into mine, fierce and alive.

“How can you be so sure?” I ask, searching his face, needing him to tell me something—anything—that will make me believe it.

“Because you’re still you,” he says, his voice low, desperate for me to trust him. “You’re still the girl who gets flustered when I put my arms around her while we’re training, who projects herself through the universe, and who looks at me like I’m something worth saving—even when you have every reason to throw me away.”

I inhale sharply. Because here, with his hands on me and his frost curling around my skin, my heart aches for something I lost before I had a chance to hold onto it. Something that tugs at me to remember, if I could justthinkhard enough to bring it back.

“Plus, there were the other visions,” he continues, his voice steadier now, sharper, as if he just realized something. “The one with my father. And the one where I was king.”

“What about them?” I ask, although my focus drifts to the terrifying vision still playing out before us, where I’m wiping Riven and Zoey’s blood off the dagger with a sickening intensity.

My Riven turns me slightly, forcing me to look at him instead. “In the empty throne room, I was wearing the frost ring,” he says, lifting my chin so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “The Winter King’s ring. The one my father wears. The one that passes from king to king.”

I nod slowly, remembering the ring on older Riven’s finger as he pressed his palm against the window and created the delicate frost patterns that were nearly as beautiful as he is.

“Now, look at this,” he continues, motioning toward the vision of himself lying dead at my feet. “Look at my hand.”

I swallow hard. Force myself to look.

The Riven in the vision’s hand is splayed in the dirt, pale and still.

His fingers are bare.

“No frost ring,” I breathe, the understanding hitting like a rush of cold water.

“Exactly,” he says, and this time, there’s triumph in his voice. “These futures can’t both be true. I can’t be dead at your feet and alive as the Winter King at the same time. Which means you were right—the currents can be changed. We’re not seeing fixed destinies. We’re seeingpossibilities.”

The panic recedes, replaced by something I can hold onto.

“Branches of the same river,” I say slowly, gripping onto my Riven’s solid—living—form.

“Yes,” he agrees, his voice edged with something desperate and fierce. “And if there are branches?—”

“Then there are choices,” I finish, the words coming out stronger this time, more confident. “We can choose a different path.”

His fingers trail down my arms, slow and deliberate. It’s not just a touch. It’s an anchor. A silent plea that lingers, like he’s memorizing the feel of me, afraid I’ll slip through his grasp if he lets go, even for a second.

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