"But she hasn't taken my blood again… so that means she didn't use it to open the door?" Liam asked, his voice brittle with the hope of a loophole.
"Yes—practically," Hector replied, his tone sharp, like iron grinding on stone. "But in a way, she did use your blood. Not from your veins… from him. Did you forget what I said? She cloned you. And it was *his* blood she bled to pry that door open. Believe me, that thing is nothing like you. He's an empty husk, a golem carved from your likeness, existing only to obey his master."
Liam's gaze darted to me, before snapping back to Hector. "Then why don't you just kill it? Kill the clone."
"I cannot," Hector said flatly. "I don't know where she hides him. I've only glimpsed him once, and he leaves no trace for me to follow. No fear. No nightmares. That is how I track prey—and he has neither. But I do know one truth about clones: if you wish to kill one, you strike at the source. The original. As I told you before, I will not kill you. Grace forbids it. And so long as you exist here, his body rots as if already dead."
Liam swallowed, trying to piece it together. "That… makes sense. But then, why Robin?"
Hector's mouth curled into something between mockery and pride. "I never wanted her. I *used* her. A witch was needed to crack the gate from the outside. If I had tried to drag you here by force, you never would have come. You had to come on your own. Robin was the key. Without her, only Samantha could open the Dark Valley—and she would never raise a hand to aid you." His smile lingered, gleaming with self-satisfaction.
"I would sooner burn than beg that wicked woman," Liam spat. His jaw clenched. "But what if I find the clone myself? What if I kill it with my own hands?"
"As I told you before, the only way to end a clone is to end the original. Now make your choice—I cannot hold this door open forever. Look for yourself." Hector's hand cut through the air toward the portal.
Through the shimmering frame, Liam saw the gray emptiness of a car park, a world tethered to safety. He realized there was no other option; if it stayed open for too long, this may expose supernatural world to the world.
Something ignited inside him, a fierce and trembling surge of will. He stepped forward, shoulders trembling, and caught my hands in his. His grip was unsteady, but desperate, as though holding me was the only anchor left to him. When his eyes lifted to mine, I saw it: the gold of his irises drowned beneath a flood of tears.
"I need to tell you something," he whispered, his voice shaking, fragile as glass.
I shook my head, terrified of the words waiting to be spoken, terrified they might shatter the last pieces of us. But his hands tightened around mine, leaving no room for argument.
"Please… let me say it, or I'll lose my mind." His plea fractured against the air, fragile and raw.
His chest heaved, his jaw clenched, but when the words came, they spilled out raw and unpolished. "I hate that I left you alone, Zinnia. I hate myself for it. Because…" His voice faltered, his breath catching. "Because life without you wasn't life. It was a slow death. They stole your memories, but I lived with mine. Every beating, every scream, every dark night—I reached for you. Not for anyone else. Just you."
Tears streaked his face, unstoppable now, his body shaking with the weight of confession. "Do you know what terrified me most while I was imprisoned? Not the pain. Not dying. It was the thought that I'd find you again… and you wouldn't remember me. That I'd fade out of your story like I never existed."
His hands rose, trembling, to cradle my face as his voice broke into a ragged whisper. "The thought that you might need me and I couldn't come. That's what tore me apart. You, Zinnia—you are the reason I survived. My sister. You are the most important person in my life. And I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. And I love you!"
"I love you too, brother," I whispered, my hands moving instinctively to wipe his tears, as though that small gesture could hold him together.
He pulled me into him, arms wrapped tight, and for a moment it was as if time had folded, carrying us back to childhood, when nothing could tear us apart. I pressed my face into his shoulder and let the tears fall.
But before grief could drown us both, I felt it—the sharp, merciless shove. He hadn't asked, because he knew I would stop him. He pushed me with all the strength he had left, tearing away from me, not just in body but in essence. My heart lurched as though ripped clean from my chest.
I hit the ground hard, air leaving my lungs in a cry, and when I looked up, it was too late.
I was on the ground in the parking lot.
He had pushed me out of the portal.
My arm stretched toward him, my voice shattering into a scream. "No!" But he was already gone. His gloves fell away as his hands struck the ground, and the earth obeyed him—vines writhed upward, sealing the portal in an instant. Through that narrowing space, I saw his face one last time, smiling at me with an unbearable gentleness, love burning in his eyes.
His final words lingered, thin as a dying breath: "Not every bad thing is your fault… this is my choice…"
And then he was gone.
He sacrificed himself so the rest of us might live, and what did I do? I failed. I destroyed everything. My scream tore through me, raw and broken, my chest threatening to split apart under the weight of grief. I clutched my heart as if I could keep it from collapsing, sobbing until the world spun into blackness and I sank into unconsciousness.
When I awoke, something wet brushed against my face. I opened my eyes to find a wolf licking at me, nudging me back into life. I sat up sharply, and it darted away into the shadows. And then the truth carved itself into me. I had gone through that portal with my brother and friends, fighting to bring Cris back. But I returned with nothing. My friends—gone. My brother—sacrificed.
I was left with nothing but loss.
The thought that I might never see them again clawed at me until I could barely breathe.