I woke up choking.
Air tore into my lungs like a whetted blade—sharp, cold, and utterly unfamiliar.
It felt as if breathing itself was a skill I had long forgotten. I rolled onto my side, my body convulsing in a violent fit of coughing, my palms pressing hard against a surface that was far too soft to be a stone floor.
A mattress.
The scent hit me next—not the copper tang of blood or the damp rot of the dungeons, but lavender. Clean linen. The faint, expensive drift of sandalwood incense.
I froze, my breath hitching in my throat.
This wasn't the dark. This wasn't the end.
My eyes flew open.
Golden sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, filtered by pale, cream-colored curtains. The light cut across furniture I knew in my marrow: the mahogany writing desk, the heavy oak wardrobe with the slight crack in its mirror, the silk cushions embroidered with the silver-and-blue crest of House Valen.
My room.
My heartbeat thundered against my ribs—a frantic, living rhythm—as I pushed myself upright. My hands were shaking so violently I had to clench them into the duvet. My body felt light. Whole.
Unbroken. There were no iron shackles biting into my wrists. No cold ache in my neck where the rope had done its work.
I stared at my hands. They were pale and soft, the skin unblemished. No scars from the interrogations. No dirt beneath the nails from clawing at prison walls.
I was alive.
A sharp, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up my throat. It tasted jagged in the quiet room—too loud, too raw, too real. I slammed a hand over my mouth, forcing myself to take slow, shuddering breaths until the room stopped spinning.
Seven years.
The realization drifted through the fog of my mind. The decor, the height of the sun, the specific weight of the air... I was back. Seven years before the trial. Seven years before the world decided I was a traitor.
Tick.
The sound was small, but it felt like a gunshot in the silence.
I looked down at my left wrist. My breath left me in a rush.
The watch was there. It was strapped tightly to my skin, the leather band dark and ancient. The metal looked dull and unassuming in the morning light, but the web of cracks across the glass was unmistakable. It looked like a bruised eye, watching me.
It hadn't been a dream. The Dealer was real. The price was real.
"So," I whispered, my voice sounding thin and ghost-like. "It wasn't a lie."
Click.
A sudden, sharp ripple passed through my head. It felt like a needle being pulled through silk—smooth, but leaving a hole behind. I gasped, pressing my fingers to my temple as a wave of vertigo washed over me.
"What was I… what was I just thinking about?"
I searched for the thought, but there was only a blank space. A void where a moment had lived just seconds ago.
My stomach dropped. The cold dread of the void returned for a fleeting second.
No. I shook my head fiercely. No, it's just the shock. It has to be the shock.
I swung my legs off the bed, my feet hitting the plush rug. I needed to move. I couldn't afford to be paralyzed by fear. I had died once; the worst had already happened.
Everything from this moment forward was a bonus—a bloody, beautiful bonus.
A soft, rhythmic knock sounded at the door.
"Lady Elara?" a familiar, timid voice called. "Are you awake?"
My heart stuttered. That voice...
"Marin?" I said, the name slipping out before I could think.
The door creaked open, and a young maid peeked in. Her eyes were bright, her face unlined by the tragedies that would eventually claim the servants of House Valen. She looked at me with a mix of caution and kindness.
"Yes, my lady. You called?"
Called? I blinked, trying to find the thread. "I… did I?"
Marin hesitated, stepping into the room with a silver tray. "Earlier this morning, my lady. Before the sun was fully up. You rang the bell and asked for your herbal tea."
I stared at her. I searched my mind for the memory of waking up, of reaching for the bell, of speaking to her.
There was nothing. Just a silent, black gap.
The watch on my wrist seemed to pulse against my pulse point.
Click.
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
A single, insignificant memory—calling for tea—had been the first payment. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't a grand sacrifice of my first kiss or my mother's face. It was a mundane moment, erased as if it had never happened.
The Dealer hadn't exaggerated. The watch didn't care about the quality of the memory; it only cared about the count.
"Never mind," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. I offered her a practiced, noble smile—the kind that never reached the eyes. "Leave it on the table, Marin. I'll attend to it shortly."
The girl nodded, clearly relieved by my calm tone, and withdrew.
The moment the door clicked shut, I collapsed back onto the edge of the bed.
My fingers curled into the silk sheets, the fine fabric bunching in my grip.
"That was fast," I murmured to the empty room.
I looked at the watch again, watching the slow, merciless movement of the second hand. Every tiny movement was a theft.
"How much will you take from me?" I whispered. "How much of 'me' will be left when this is over?"
No answer came. The watch didn't care about my existential crisis. It was a tool, and I was the one who had agreed to use it.
Fine. Let it take.
I straightened my back, my gaze hardening. I stood up and walked to the mirror, facing the woman staring back at me. She looked younger. Her skin was glowing, her hair thick and lustrous. She looked like a girl who believed the world was her playground.
But her eyes—my eyes—were different. They were the eyes of a woman who had felt the snap of the rope. They were the eyes of a wolf who had been cornered and finally learned how to bite.
"I won't repeat the same mistakes," I told my reflection. I touched the cold glass, tracing the line of my jaw. "I won't beg for love from people who trade in blood. I won't trust. I will be the one who decides who lives and who burns."
I thought of my family downstairs. I thought of the man in mourning black.
The watch ticked.
I smiled, and for the first time in two lifetimes, it felt genuine.
"Let's start with the easiest one."
Somewhere, in the back of my mind—or perhaps from the void I had just left—a soft, amused laughter echoed.