Page 12 of Revert
Footsteps suddenly echoed behind me, sharp and certain, cutting through the silence like a blade. I froze. The sound transported me back to the night I died—those same deliberate steps, the quiet certainty of a predator who had already chosen his kill.
Heart hammering, I slowly turned to face my killer, my eyes darting down to the dagger at his hip. Prince Castiel stood in the threshold of the chamber, his figure half-shielded by shadow, as if the darkness had followed him in. His gaze swept over the room, then settled on me.
“What are you doing here?”
Fear surged at that all-too-familiar voice, edged with steel. For one terrible heartbeat, the chamber around me vanished, leaving behind an icy chill of dread. In its place was the now-sealed dungeon corridor, the gleam of his blade catching the torchlight, the breath that never made it past my lips beforeeverything went black. I remembered the cold of the stone beneath my knees, the burn of betrayal, and the echo of his final words as they followed me into death.
I stumbled back, the wall catching me like it had once before, my spine pressing against rough stone as if it might absorb me.
His eyes narrowed, one brow lifted in silent question. I scrambled to locate the voice terror had lodged in my throat. The rehearsed excuses I kept in reserve for any situation had fled, as if they too were terrified of his presence.
“I—” I faltered.
The silence between us stretched taut, and in it bloomed the horrible, familiar realization: this had been a trap, despite my foolish hope otherwise. His carefully worded comment at tea—innocuous on the surface—had been bait, and I had taken it, allowing it to lure me straight into the very depths I was never meant to return.
My second chance had emboldened me, making me falsely believe I had been beyond the risks. I had thought myself clever, slipping away beneath moonlight to reclaim what I’d lost…but he had trailed me as a phantom in the night, causing me to once again deliver myself straight into his hands.
Exactly as I had done before. One week—that was all it had taken to fail again.
Panic rose, acidic and bitter. My hands trembled at my sides, but I had no weapon. No allies, no way out. Only the unbearable knowledge that the fate I had tried so desperately to rewrite had found me again…and this time, I likely wouldn’t be granted another chance.
I flinched as he stepped forward, instinctively recoiling—but he only stared at me. Not cold or cruel, just as stoic and unreadable as he always was. “I thought I might find you here,” he eventually said.
I blinked, stunned by the absence of accusation in his voice. This wasn’t how it had gone before—no instant, sharp-edged judgment, no blade drawn with chilling finality.
I braced for the inevitable blow, but he didn’t move to strike, didn’t even draw his sword. Instead, he stepped farther into the chamber with the caution of someone walking across cracked ice. His gaze drifted past me, drawn to the mural still faintly aglow from my touch. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, tempered not by the detached ruthlessness I remembered in the moments before my death, but something quieter, almost uncertain.
“I didn’t think anyone else knew this room existed,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “I knew you were clever, but this exceeds my expectations.” The words might have been mistaken for praise if his expression didn’t look so troubled.
The compliment—such a contrast to the condemnation I expected—jarred against the tension choking the air. Nothing about this encounter was unfolding the way I’d feared. He still made no move for his sword, giving me hope that my death hadn’t arrived…at least not yet. With the delay, some of my rigid tension gradually eased, but I remained on my guard.
A beat of silence passed, then another, before I managed to find my trembling voice. “You followed me.” It wasn’t an accusation so much as stunned acknowledgement. Not the bravest of final words, but fear and failure had frayed me at the seams.
His eyes flicked back to mine. “I had a suspicion. You’re rather predictable.” There was no sharpness in the words, just quiet confirmation, as if I had proven a theory rather than sprung a trap.
My voice cracked. “Now that you’ve caught me, are you going to end it…or are you merely toying with me again?”
“Again?” His eyebrow lifted and he appeared genuinely startled. “I have no intention of harming you.” His calm tone was so matter-of-fact it almost sounded like truth.
But I had felt the weight of his judgment, felt the burn of his blade, watched the man I was meant to marry choose death for me over mercy.
You already have.
For a moment something flickered in his eyes, an emotion I couldn’t name—guilt, regret?—but it vanished before I could be sure.
“If that’s true, then why did you follow me?” I asked.
He hesitated so long, I wondered if he’d answer at all. “To make sure you were safe,” he said at last.
I stared at him, stunned. The man who had once ended my life with ruthless precision now claimed to beprotectingit? Lies. They had to be, carefully woven into another web meant to ensnare me.
“I don’t need your protection,” I snapped, my voice sharp with fear and disbelief.
He made no response, but his eyes searched mine again, slower this time, as if he was studying the secrets I didn’t even know myself. Unnerved by his perusal, I forced myself to speak through the rising storm inside me in a futile effort to regain some measure of control.
“What is this place?” I asked cautiously, breaking eye contact to look around the chamber once more.
He studied the mural a moment longer. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here. Someone else might find you.”
