Page 154 of Severed Heir

When it was over, he held me close, our breathing slowly syncing, bodies pressed into the hush that followed. I saggedagainst him, limp and trembling, as he eased me back onto the cot.

He lay beside me, pulling me close until my head rested on his chest. His fingers brushed the damp strands from my forehead, slow and gentle, as if he didn’t want to break whatever fragile peace had found its way between us.

Today may have been one of the worst days of my life, but Archer wasstill my light.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The smell of ash was thick in the air.

I woke to an intense heat pressing against the walls of the hostel, radiating through the floor and rising fast. Smoke slipped in beneath the door, thick and suffocating.

“Archer,” I rasped, panic catching hard in my throat. “There’s a fire.”

He stirred with a groggy groan, dragging a hand across his bare chest. “A fire?”

I was already on my feet, heart pounding hard against my ribs. I grabbed his shirt from the floor and shoved it over my head, then threw his pants at him.

“Get dressed. We need to move.”

The room pulsed with fractured light, streaks of crimson, gold, and violet bleeding through the stained glass. This wasn’t sunrise. It was a fire.

“Shit,” Archer muttered, grabbing my hand.

He yanked open the door, but the hallway was already lost. Flames leapt toward us, wild and unrelenting.

“We need another way out,” he said.

I turned toward the window, lifted my elbow, and slammed it into the glass. Nothing.

Archer didn’t hesitate. He drew his dagger and struck the pane once. Then twice. On the third blow, the glass exploded, shards crashing to the ground in a rain of jagged light.

“Go,” he said, gripping my waist and lifting me through the opening.

I hit the ground hard, skidding across stone as glass scraped down my arms. Smoke poured from the window above, choking the air around me. I coughed, lungs burning, but I was out.

I spun back just in time to see him still inside.

“I can’t fit,” Archer called, his voice hoarse and nearly swallowed by the roar of flame. “Severyn, go!”

“Archer!” I crawled toward the ledge, throat burning. “Just run! Use the door! Please!”

He lifted his arm to shield his mouth, eyes red and watering from the smoke. “You’ll burn if you stay. Run.”

“No.” I reached for him, fingers curled tightly over the edge of the frame. “I’m not leaving you!”

He dropped to his knees, coughing violently until his whole body pitched forward. Above him, the ceiling groaned with a deep, fractured sound, like a bone about to snap.

Then the beam gave way.

“Archer!” I screamed, my voice tearing raw from my throat. I lunged for him, but the fire surged between us, devouring the space where he had been. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t even see him.

Then, all at once, the flames recoiled.

A wall of water burst through the hostel, slamming into the blaze with a roar and a searing hiss. Steam exploded around me, blinding and suffocating. I staggered backward, soaked and coughing, my vision spinning in the thick fog.

Through the haze, a figure stepped forward—arm raised, focus sharp, every line of his body coiled inconcentration.

Victor.

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