53.

The dream came again.

Same silk robes. Same wide palace corridors. Same garden lined with cherry blossoms that never seemed to lose their petals.

And him.

Always him.

Caelan in that youthful form—eyes unguarded, lips curved in a boyish smirk, chasing her through an ancient world that didn’t belong to them but felt right. Felt real. Their fingers brushed. Their laughter echoed through marble halls. And every time, just before the dream faded, he whispered something she never managed to catch.

You — mine.

And she would wake with tears on her cheeks and her chest too tight to breathe.

She hadn’t told anyone.

Not Hazel.

Not Jace.

Not even herself.

The pressure had been building for days—the dreams, the long hours at work, the impossible deadlines Ms. Davenport shoved at her, the constant scrutiny of the office CEO looming over her shoulders like a weight she couldn’t escape.

And today… today she had to attend a meeting with both of them.

Why was she even invited?

She wasn’t anyone important. Just an overworked assistant with mismatched eyes and a voice that never seemed to come out right in boardrooms. Ms. Davenport had made sure to remind her of that all week.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to. Fix your posture. Keep your eyes down. You’re here to pass papers, not to share opinions.”

She tried.

She really tried.

But as she sat at the long polished conference table, the overhead lights dizzying and the air far too thin, her vision began to blur.

The conversation swam around her in sharp jabs.

“We need that contract filed tonight—”

“She missed a correction in last week’s brief—”

“—frankly, sir, she’s not cut out for high-pressure environments.”

A distant hum rose in her ears. The room tilted. Caelan sat at the head of the table, focused, unreadable. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t even seem to see her.

And for a terrifying moment, Alina felt like she wasn’t even real.

The words of her manager sliced through the air like a blade.

“She’s just a commoner. She doesn’t belong here, sir. I warned you.”

Her breath caught.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

She tried to stand, to excuse herself with whatever dignity she could hold onto—but her knees buckled.

Everything went white.

\---

A dull thud echoed in the conference room.

“Alina!”

It was Hope’s voice, sharp and immediate.

Caelan rose to his feet before anyone else could even react. The papers on the table scattered in his wake as he rushed toward her crumpled figure.

She was unconscious.

Pale.

Her forehead beaded with sweat, her breaths shallow. Caelan knelt beside her and gently touched her wrist, checking her pulse with hands that trembled just slightly.

“Will,” he barked. “Get a doctor. Now.”

Will was already on his phone.

Hope crouched beside them, worry knitting her brows. “She’s been overworking herself. I’ve seen her here at midnight this whole week.”

Caelan looked up slowly. His gaze fell on Ms. Davenport, who stood smugly at the other end of the room, arms folded.

“She’s just not strong enough for this position,” she said with a shrug. “Frankly, I told you bringing her in was a mistake.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Until Caelan stood.

When he spoke, his voice was so low it made the room still.

“Repeat what you just said.”

Ms. Davenport blinked. “She’s a common—”

“I wasn’t asking for clarification.” His eyes glinted steel. “I was offering you a chance to walk out with whatever dignity you have left.”

She laughed—nervously. “Mr. Caelan, with all due respect—”

“You have none.”

The words dropped like stone.

He turned to Will and Hope. “She’s fired. Effective immediately.”

Ms. Davenport’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!”

“I don’t waste time pretending to be. Will, escort her out. Hope—find a replacement. Someone with compassion this time.”

Without a flicker of emotion, Hope nodded.

Ms. Davenport sputtered, but Will had already opened the door, his expression unreadable. “Let’s not make this more embarrassing than it already is,” he said coolly.

When they were gone, Caelan knelt once more beside Alina, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. She was still unconscious, but the color was returning to her face.

He whispered her name, softer than he’d ever allowed himself to speak it.

“Alina…”

Something cracked open in his chest.

She was not just a fleeting presence.

She was the storm he couldn’t outrun.

And this time, he had no intention of letting her wake up alone.