“Then we’ll make it work.”

“Then why save me?”

Kaelen opened his eyes. He felt different. Heavier, but also lighter. A silver thread now connected his chest to Morwen’s. Not a chain. A tether. One that led in two directions.

They say the Wychwood estate is still haunted. Travelers whisper of a silver-haired elf and a one-eyed witch who walk the overgrown gardens at dusk. They say the witch’s curse was never lifted—only shared . And that if you listen closely, you can hear them arguing over the proper way to prune a rose bush.

For a long moment, Morwen stared at him. Then she said, very softly, “Do you understand what you’re offering? To be bound to me? Not as a slave. Not as a lover. As an equal . Two broken things nailed together into one whole.”