The river was quiet. Too quiet.
Miles stood at its edge, breathing heavily, watching the black water swirl around his boots. The moonlight reflected on its surface like fractured silver. Somewhere behind him, the forest burned, and in the heart of the fire, she had chosen him.
Dorian.
Not him.
Not the one who'd stayed by her side when she was terrified and confused. Not the one who'd trained her, guarded her, fought to keep her safe from the Hollow Man and the curse in her blood.
She chose the shadow over the light.
Miles slammed his fist into the nearest tree. Bark cracked and splintered. Blood smeared his knuckles. He didn't feel it.
"She was supposed to be mine," he whispered, teeth clenched.
The wind answered him—not with comfort, but with laughter.
It was low and curling, like smoke curling through a locked door. Ancient. Sinister.
"Poor Miles," the voice said, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "You gave her everything. And she still ran into another man's arms."
He turned, scanning the woods. "Show yourself."
A shape stepped out from between the trees.
Tall. Cloaked in shadow. Antlers like twisted obsidian rose from its skull. Eyes like oil and fire. The Devourer's emissary, older than the Hollow Man, older than Black Hollow itself.
"I know the ache of betrayal," the thing whispered. "I was once a protector too. Until they cast me out. Like her."
Miles took a step back. "You're one of them."
"No," it said, almost gently. "I am what you could be. If you let go of your guilt. Of your weakness. You want her back?"
Miles didn't answer, but his silence was loud enough.
"She will never be safe with him," the voice purred. "He is power barely leashed. He will destroy her, whether he means to or not. You've seen it. You've felt it."
"I won't let him hurt her," Miles said, voice shaking.
"Then take what he hides. Take the strength he fears. There's a piece of the Hollow locked beneath the ruins. You know the place. The well sealed in silver chains. Break them. Let me in."
"I'm not a killer."
"No," the shadow agreed. "But you will be. For her."
Miles's chest heaved. His hands trembled. He remembered Elena's face when she kissed Dorian. The softness in her eyes. The peace.
He hadn't seen her look like that in his arms—not once.
"You're lying," Miles whispered.
The creature moved closer. Its voice was a caress now. "You say you want to protect her. Then prove it. Claim the Hollow Crown. Become the equal of the one she chose. Or remain a footnote in their story."
It stepped back, leaving only a single object on the ground.
A black shard.
It pulsed like a heartbeat. Beckoning.
Miles stared at it.
Then he reached down—slowly—and picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched the shard, darkness surged up his arm like ink in water. His veins turned black. His eyes burned. His breath hitched as power poured into him—ancient, wild, unrelenting.
His scream echoed through the forest.
But it wasn't pain.
It was rebirth.
Back at the ruins...
Elena stirred from her sleep. Something cold whispered through her veins.
She sat up, eyes wide.
Dorian, beside her, instantly tensed. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But something's changed."
In the forest, far away, Miles opened his eyes.
And they weren't his anymore.