5. Amber

Damien hangs up,and a text buzzes through.

Morgan.

I got what we need. Heading to the airport now—will be back tomorrow.

"What?" Cassandra asks, and I relay the message to her.

"Good," she says when I'm done. "We can't afford for you to keep being a liability."

I flinch back and inhale sharply, her words stinging my lungs.

But when I look at her, all I see is pain in her eyes.

She blames me for Yannick's death. She won't say it, but I can see it. And really, she's right. Being a shadow soul beacon makes me a liability to the entire clan. The sooner this potion is out of my body, the better.

Especially since I'm more than ready to have the full force of my magic back. And then, once I do, I'll never feel weak, helpless, or like a liability ever again.

The token hums in my pocket, and an urge to reach for it for reassurance flows through me.

I almost do.

But I stop myself.

Because I refuse to rely on a gift from the Shadow Lord.

From Astrophel.

His name is like starless silk, wrapping around my mind and snaking its way to my heart. And despite knowing it'll be for the best, I don't want to cut it into pieces and tear it to shreds.

I don't want to throw his token into the river—into the cold, dark depths where it belongs.

Cassandra stares out at the water, not saying a word. She's normally so strong and focused, and this far-off version of her makes me feel uneasy, to say the least.

She's never going to be the same again.

After tonight, I'm not sure any of us will be the same again. Not her, not Abigail, not Damien, and certainly not me.

I don't know what to say to her, so I remain silent, gazing out at the city lights in the distance. It's strange how beautiful the skyline looks when you're standing at the edge of it. Especially knowing that the moment you're in back the thick of it, everything will return to chaos and danger.

Which has been the definition of my life recently.

The scariest part is that I don't think it'll ever stop. But, for this short moment, I'm frozen in time, knowing that every decision I make has the power to change the world as we know it.

It's a lot of pressure to put on a single person.

Too much.

Then, I hear it. The sound of footsteps, fast and decisive, approaching from the entrance of Little Island.

Cassandra tenses, reaching for her sword. But when Damien comes into view, she relaxes. Slightly.

I don't.

Because he moves with a stiffness that's unnatural for him, his usual grace replaced with something sharper, more rigid. He's a calculating predator of the night, more dangerous than even the Shadow Lord.

Astrophel, my heart reminds me.

I say nothing as Damien approaches, every nerve in my body on edge as I take in the sight of him. His blond hair is tousled, and his suit is wrinkled, with a few smudges on it.

Dark red smudges.

Blood.

But, most disturbingly, his eyes are stone cold. Like ice that's never going to thaw.

This is not the same Damien who said goodbye to me earlier tonight at the Fairmont.

Needing to understand what he's feeling, I open the duskberry bond between us.

If he senses my emotions, he doesn't show it. And, unsurprisingly given his current demeanor, he doesn't open his connection to me.

Taking the hint, I close my side of the bond.

"Amber," he says my name like a command, and my body straightens instinctively.

The way he's looking at me now… it's empty. As if he's looking at a stranger.

Ice runs through me at the hollowness of his gaze.

"I'm sorry for leaving," I say quickly, even though such a simple apology is far from enough.

His jaw tightens, and I can tell he agrees.

Then, his gaze flickers to the pile of ash in the center of the garden.

"Lucas," I tell him, motioning to his remains. "He…"

I swallow, unsure how to say it.

He was brutally murdered by the shadow souls, minutes before the Shadow Lord kissed me and gifted me with a token of his affection.

I might not know what Damien's feeling, but I'm positive that wouldn't go over well right now.

Or ever.

"The shadow souls took care of him," Cassandra fills in.

"I see." Damien nods, and the air chills, the silence between the three of us growing so oppressive that it becomes hard to breathe.

"What happened with Viktor?" I ask, unable to avoid the question for a second longer.

"It's done," he says, and there's no anger or satisfaction in his voice. Just coldness. Unfeeling, inhuman coldness.

I watch him, waiting for something more, but there's nothing. It's like I'm looking at a shell of who Damien used to be.

I don't know nearly enough about his past as I'd like. But I'm sure that killing Viktor must have been one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.

"Damien," I say, my voice soft, searching for a trace of humanity inside him. "Are you okay?"

The second after saying it, I want to take it back. Because clearly, he's not okay. I don't need the duskberry bond open to tell me that.

"Viktor had this on him," he says instead, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the Astral Compass.

Its metallic frame gleams in the night, and the amethyst in its center pulses slightly, like a heartbeat. There's a certain magic to it that calls me to it, urging me to move closer.

The token in my pocket hums as well, as if drawn to the compass's force. It's almost like the compass is whispering to me, reaching out to me, and promising me safety.

I don't realize how close I am to touching it until Damien steps back and shoves it into his pocket.

Its pull on me lessens, until it's gone completely.

Cassandra's watching me carefully, with the same suspicious look in her eyes that she had when I was lying about what happened with the Shadow Lord.

"Morgan's coming back," I tell Damien, getting it out before Cassandra can say whatever's on her mind. "She said she has what we need, and she'll be here tomorrow. I'm assuming it has to do with getting the potion out of me and into the compass."

"Interesting." Damien stares out at the World Trade Center, its tall spire like a lighthouse at the tip of the Manhattan skyline, before turning his emotionless eyes back to me. "Now, let's get you out of here and back to the Fairmont."

None of us speak as we make our way down the bridge that leads out of Little Island, stop at the side of the highway, and hail a cab.

Cassandra's quick to take the middle seat.

Damien tells the driver where to go, and then he closes the plastic divider so Cassandra and I can fill him in on what happened on Little Island.

He's unnervingly quiet as he takes it in. It's like he's processing it like a robot, and not like someone who cares about anyone who was there.

I can't imagine what he's going through right now.

The elevator ride to our floors is uncomfortably silent. Damien stands rigid, his gaze fixed up on the digital numbers ticking upward.

The doors to Cassandra's floor slide open, and she exits swiftly, her stride purposeful and fast.

I say nothing as they close again, taking a deep breath and gathering the courage to say something to Damien.

"I'm sorry for leaving," I tell him again. "I just couldn't leave Abigail there to die because of me. Yannick, either."

Yannick's name catches in my throat as I remember the moment his body turned to ash.

I failed. Yes, I saved Abigail, but I failed Yannick and Cassandra.

A clan member died because of Lucas's sick fascination with me. And I don't think I'm ever going to stop wishing I'd simply said yes and let Lucas drink from me when he first asked.

Damien's eyes flicker to mine, a glint of something unreadable passing through them.

I want to say something—anything. But before I can, he refocuses on the numbers ticking up on the screen, counting down the time until we're forced to part again.

"What's done is done," he says simply, bitterness lacing his tone. "There's no changing the past."

I want to reach for his hand, to break through the ice surrounding him. To be here for him. To comfort him in this moment of darkness. To give him as much warmth and light as I can, even though mine is more drained than ever.

Even though I can barely feel my magic at all.

Instead, I tug at the duskberry bond, desperate for a hint of his emotions.

It's like slamming into a brick wall. The pain of it reverberates through me, making it hard to breathe.

Even more hurtful is that if he feels me reaching for him, he doesn't show it.

Eventually, the elevator dings, announcing our arrival at my floor, and the doors slowly open.

I hesitate, not ready to leave the confined space that keeps me physically close to Damien. If I walk away, I might lose the connection I have to him entirely. It's not a logical thought to have—he likely just needs time to process what happened with Viktor—but what I'm seeing from him looks like more than pain, grief, or regret.

It's like he's shut himself down entirely.

Like the human part of him is gone, and all that remains is the predator I've always known lurks deep in his soul.