She woke to the sound of hooves and rain.

The world was motionless and cold, her skin slick with storm. Myrren blinked up at darkness, a blur of leaves overhead, the thundercrack of boots against wet stone. Corven’s arm was braced around her waist, holding her upright as they stumbled through what looked like a forgotten path, half-swallowed by forest.

She didn’t remember fleeing the palace. Only the Queen’s voice slicing air, the tether blazing in her chest like molten wire.

Her throat burned. Her lips still tingled with the phantom of his touch.

“Where..?” she rasped.

“Safehouse,” Corven muttered. “Old lodge. One of the few places the crown forgot.”

The tether thrummed. Not pain this time but with anticipation.

Rain blurred the world to silver.

Then, the door.

The storm clawed at the hunting lodge like it meant to drag the walls down stone by stone. Rain hurled itself sideways against the shutters, thunder cracked like a warning bell, and somewhere above, the spine of the mountain groaned.

Inside, Corven was peeling off his soaked cloak, steam rising from the leather. Myrren stood near the hearth, firelight dancing across her damp sleeves, trying not to look at the way water clung to the curve of his throat.

“We should wait out the worst,” he said, voice low. Calm. Too calm.

“It’s not just weather.” She didn’t mean to say it aloud.

He looked up sharply. One heartbeat. Two. Then: “No.”

The shadows in the lodge shifted. Not magical, not entirely. But the air felt thicker. More than rain pressing in.

Corven hung his cloak, fingers pausing on the hook. “This lodge was once used by spiral-bound knights.”

Myrren flinched. “You knew that before we arrived.”

“I did.”

She turned from the fire, heat prickling her cheeks. “Why bring me here?”

“Because the tether always pulls here.”

The fire popped.

Corven stepped toward her. Slowly. Boots silent on old stone.

“You’ve been here before,” she whispered.

He stopped just short of touching. “With you.”

The tether pulled. Not gentle this time. Her breath caught as heat threaded through her ribs, like a phantom hand around her spine. Her fingers curled into her skirts, steadying herself.

“I don’t remember,” she said.

His voice was barely a murmur. “Then let me remind you.”

His fingers brushed her cheek. Not tentative. Reverent.

The tether flared.

She gasped.

It wasn’t just heat,  it was consumption. Fire unfurling beneath her skin, wrapping her ribs, licking the inside of her mouth. Her knees softened. Her thoughts burned to ash.

He didn’t move, not fully. Just watched her. The space between them shrank like breath before a vow. Shadows clung to his shoulders, unwilling to let him go.

“You always tremble before it,” he said. “In every loop.”

The words struck deeper than they should have. Myrren blinked hard. “You’ve said that before.”

“I have.”

She opened her mouth to stop him.

She didn’t.

Corven leaned in, and the tether between them sang. Her whole body turned toward it, toward him without her consent. Her fingers twitched at her sides, then rose.

Then he kissed her.

No gentleness. No hesitation.

Their mouths collided like a secret detonating. His hands sank into her waist. Hers tangled in his collar, then his hair. The tether snapped taut  and for a moment, she wasn’t kissing this Corven. She was kissing all of him in every version across every spiral, every kiss remembered in his mouth.

Clothes tangled between them. Her back hit the beam with a sharp gasp, and Corven stepped in fully, lifting her easily. One hand gripped under her thigh, drawing her legs around his waist. Her hips met his with a jolt. The contact knocked the breath from both of them. His mouth tore from hers with a  low, rough, and desperate groan. Her body remembered him. That was the worst part.

Even as her mind screamed no, her lips whispered more.

He pressed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone. She arched into him before she could stop herself. The tether pulsed wildly,  hot, and ravenous. Her head spun.

She whispered his name. Not in warning. In plea.

His hand slid to her lower back, anchoring her. He was shaking. “I’ve waited so many spirals for this,” he breathed.

And then  a flicker. A memory that wasn’t hers. A firelit room. Her fingers bloodied. His mouth at her throat. Her voice saying, “Don’t forget me next time.”

She tore away.

Chest heaving. Hands shaking. Mouth swollen. “No,” she gasped. “This isn’t real.”

Corven didn’t chase her. But he looked like she’d broken something he’d carried through centuries.

“It is,” he said softly. “You just don’t remember yet.”

“I can’t.. I won’t..”

He closed his eyes. “You’ll forget me again.”

She backed toward the hearth. Her lips still tingled. The tether burned under her breastbone like it was branding her.

“That kiss,” he said, breath rough, “felt like coming home.”

Outside, thunder screamed.

Inside, she caught fire.

The tether didn’t calm.

It seethed.

Myrren stumbled from the hearth, pressing her palm to her chest. The mark beneath her ribs pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own. Heat surged down her spine, into her legs, into the tips of her fingers,  furious and wild.

“This isn’t fate,” she gasped. “It’s.. manipulation. Poison.”

Corven said nothing.

The fire cracked behind her. Rain battered the shutters like fists.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me,” she snapped, voice hoarse.

“You kissed me back.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

The tether flared so hard she choked.

Invisible threads snapped taut across her ribs, her throat, her mouth. Like the kiss was still there, refusing to be unlived.

She turned on him. “What is this to you? A game? Some tragic prophecy you’re so desperate to prove real?”

His jaw clenched. “This is not a prophecy.”

“Then what is it?”

He stepped closer, slow, like she was a wounded animal that might bolt.

“I loved you before you ever knew my name,” he said, each word carved from glass. “Before you had that mark. Before you became theirs.”

Myrren’s back hit the wall. Her hands trembled.

“That’s not love,” she whispered. “That’s an obsession.”

“No,” he said. “It’s remembering what you begged me to never forget.”

The tether screamed through her, white-hot. Her breath caught on a sob she didn’t let out.

“I won’t choose you,” she said, lying.

“I know,” he said, truthfully.

The moment hung, thick as smoke.

Then, the tether struck.

She gasped,  not from pain, but from the pull. Her body surged toward him against her will, breath seizing. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t magic,  it was something older, primal, spiral-forged. Her knees buckled.

Corven caught her. Gently. As if she weighed less than air. He didn’t kiss her again. Just held her as she trembled, heart drumming against his.

When she looked up, his eyes burned.

“I won’t bind you,” he said softly. “But I will wait. Even if the waiting kills me.”

She wanted to say something cruel. Something that would break him and free her both.

But the words caught in her throat.

Because the truth was, she had kissed him before.

And not just in this life.

The tether pulsed once more , a beat behind her heart and whispered like a vow she hadn’t meant to make.