Pain had a way of sharpening things.
Sound came first. A low electric hum. Soft beeping. Somewhere distant, a voice murmuring. Not clear. Not urgent. Just present.
Then the light hit.
Warm. Soft.
Too soft for the Hollow.
Jace blinked and groaned as the ceiling came into focus. It wasn't stone or concrete. It was wood—dark, smooth, polished like something out of a monastery or temple. The scent of lavender and burnt sage hung in the air, masking the metallic tang of blood.
His chest burned.
His ribs screamed every time he breathed too deep. His left arm didn't respond when he tried to move it. And his face felt like someone had buried a heater in his eye socket.
"Easy," came a voice. Female. Calm, detached. "You're not dead. Not yet."
Jace turned his head—slowly, painfully.
She was sitting beside the bed in a carved wooden chair. Legs crossed. Barefoot. Pale skin. Long, straight hair, snow white, draping down over a loose, sleeveless robe the color of smoke. Her eyes were silver—not gray. Silver. Reflective, like moonlight on ice.
Beautiful. In that haunting, cold kind of way.
She didn't smile.
"You're lucky Reya brought you here when she did," she said, reaching into a bowl and pulling out a steaming cloth. "Any later, and you'd be pissing blood through your lungs."
She pressed the cloth to his ribs.
He screamed.
"Good," she said. "That means you're healing."
"What… is this place?" Jace rasped.
"My sanctuary." She dipped the cloth again, then slowly began wiping the blood from his skin. "You needed a space where the energy doesn't feed on your pain."
Jace forced his throat to work. "You're a healer?"
Her eyes flicked up. "That's a word for it."
"What's your name?"
She paused.
Then spoke.
"Saela."
He whispered it again, trying the weight of it. It tasted strange on his tongue. Like a forgotten word spoken too soon.
She didn't ask for his name. She didn't need to. She already knew.
"You're different," she said. "Your core is bonded to something primal. Something ancient. That desire path you walk? It's not the usual flirt-and-feed model. You're channeling something far deeper."
He struggled to sit up. "What does that mean?"
She pushed him back down with two fingers. Gentle. But unyielding.
"It means you're either going to become a god… or something that needs to be put down before it spreads."
Jace swallowed hard.
She dipped her fingers into a jar of golden salve and smeared it gently across his cracked ribs. Warmth exploded beneath her touch—burning at first, then cooling like water after fire.
"I watched you in the pit," she said. "You hesitated. You took damage you didn't need to. But when it came time to end him… you didn't flinch."
Jace looked away.
"I didn't enjoy it."
"You will," she said simply. "Eventually. If you live long enough."
The room was silent for a moment. Just the sound of her hands working, spreading the salve, fixing what was broken. But there was an intimacy in it. Not sensual. Not yet. But deep. Intentional.
"You're feeding it," he murmured.
She nodded. "The pain. The vulnerability. Your path isn't fueled by pleasure alone. It's driven by need. Survival. Lust. Loneliness. And yes… pain."
Her touch slowed as her hand drifted down his chest.
"Desire is a cruel god, Jace. But it rewards those who don't run from it."
He met her eyes. "And what are you?"
She leaned in close. Her breath ghosted across his lips.
"I'm the flame that keeps you warm. Or the fire that burns you alive."
Then she stood.
"You'll need three days. I've stabilized the fractures and purged the corrupted energy. Your core will be weak, but it's already adapting."
She walked to the door and paused.
"One more thing," she said without turning. "When you're ready… there's someone who wants to see you. She's been waiting."
"Who?"
Her lips curled—barely.
"She says her name is Lena."
The door closed behind her.
Jace lay back in the silence, ribs aching, pulse quickening.
Lena. The girl from the rooftop. The first kiss.
The one who started this.
He didn't know if she was friend, foe… or something far worse.
But he'd find out.
In three days.