"The execution is set for the thirtieth day, my lady." I opened my eyes. Gold vines curled across a ceiling far too high above me. Beside the bed stood a maid in a gray dress, crying so quietly it was somehow worse than sobbing. Then I saw the red wedding gown by the window, and my blood went cold. I knew that dress. Page twelve. The morning of the wedding. No. I had read this book. I had cheered when the villainess died. And now I was the villainess. Lady Zabeth Valcourt. Poisoner. Bully. The woman the entire kingdom hated. Thirty days after today's wedding, I would kneel on a stone platform and lose my head. The kingdom called me the Poison Bride. They would cheer when my head struck the stone. I remembered every line. The wedding at noon. The Duke's silence at the altar. The wedding night, when he called me a poisoned gift from the council and I screamed and threw a vase. The heroine crying in a garden, beautiful even then. And the crowd on the thirtieth day, cheering. I had cheered too. I remembered typing finally in the comments, and my stomach twisted. "Leave me," I whispered. The maid fled. I would find her later and apologize. Somehow. The old Zabeth had given that poor girl plenty of reasons to cry. The door opened again. No knock. Duke Jacob Draven filled the doorway, dressed in black, his eyes like frozen steel. The book had described him in one line: a man without a heart. It had been too kind. "I did not choose you," he said. "The council did. You will have my name and nothing else. And when they come for your head, I will not stop them." This was the page where the old Zabeth screamed and begged, making him hate her more with every word. I could almost hear those words waiting in my mouth. My throat was dry. My hands shook, so I hid them in my nightgown and lifted my chin. "Then let's make a deal." He stared at me. "A deal?" "A contract marriage. Keep me alive, and I'll help you survive what's coming." Something shifted in his face. Not warmth. Suspicion. "And what is coming?" Your friend's secret. The council's knife. Your own death, a month after mine. I couldn't tell him all that. Not yet. "More than you think," I said. "And the people holding the knife will smile at you first." He stepped closer. I noticed a thin scar along his jaw that the book had never mentioned. "You are not the woman I was told to expect." "No," I said, my voice cracking. "I'm not." He studied me for a long moment, like a man reading a letter in a language he almost understood. Then he turned and left. The door shut softly. Somehow, that was worse than a slam. My knees gave out. I caught the edge of the dressing table and slid to the floor. For a while, all I could do was breathe. One conversation. I had broken the story in one conversation. It should have felt like winning. Instead, it felt like stepping off a cliff. The book was the only map I had, and every page I changed made that map a little less reliable. Voices drifted through the corridor. Two men, speaking quietly. I crawled to the door and pressed my ear against the wood. "Did she scream?" a warm, easy voice asked. "No." "Cry?" "No." A pause. "Then what did she do?" Another pause. "She made me an offer." A short laugh of disbelief. Vamin. Jacob's oldest friend. The kindest man in the whole book, and the one who died smiling. I had cried over his death on the train home, ugly crying, until a stranger passed me a tissue. Now his voice was right there, alive, on the other side of a door. I wanted to open it. I wanted to tell him that I knew how this ended, that I was sorry, that I would try to change it. Instead, I stayed where I was. A villainess who wept for a man she had never met would be locked up as mad. "Be careful," Vamin said, his voice quieter now. "A wolf changes his coat for one reason. He is hunting." Their footsteps faded. Somewhere far below, a bell began to ring. I pressed my hand over my mouth. The ceiling in my old bedroom had a water stain shaped like a rabbit. I had stared at it every morning for four years. My last memory was a wet road, a flash of headlights, and my phone buzzing in my hand. Mum's name on the screen. Mum called every Sunday. She always said I worked too hard, and I always told her I was fine. We both pretended that was true. That night, I had been too tired to answer. I'll call her back tomorrow. Tomorrow. The tears came before I could stop them. Not for the Duke, the wedding, or the execution platform. For a missed call and a woman who would sit waiting by a phone that would never ring. "I'm not crying," I told the empty room, wiping my face with the heel of my hand. "I'm just not dying on that platform. That's all." A knock sounded at the door. Then a voice, sweet as honey and about as sticky. "Zabeth, darling? Everyone is waiting to see you married." My stepmother. In the book, this woman built my grave one lie at a time. Forged letters. Rumours about my temper. Whispers fed to the council, spoon by spoon. My skin crawled. I knew every lie she was going to tell. Knowing them was not the same as being able to stop them. I pushed myself up and wiped my cheeks. "One moment." "Of course, darling. Take all the time you need." Her footsteps drifted away, unhurried. She knew exactly how much time I had. And she wasn't the worst of it. At noon, the whole kingdom would watch my wedding. In the front row, dressed in white silk and wearing an expression of patient hatred, would sit Lady Manon. She had loved the Duke since they were children. She would never forgive the council for choosing me instead. I looked at the red gown. It hung against the white wall like blood. Thirty days. Just get through thirty days. I made myself stand and walk to the mirror. A stranger stared back at me. Dark, wavy hair. A sharp, lovely face. Cold eyes that weren't mine. Somewhere inside this body, the old Zabeth had been angry and lonely and cruel. I could feel the shape of her, like a coat that didn't fit. I pressed two fingers to my throat. Warm. Quick. Alive. Okay, I told the stranger in the mirror. We're going to do this together. I don't have a choice, and neither do you. Interesting. I stopped breathing. The voice was deep, slow, amused. It wasn't mine. You are not her at all. I spun around. The candles. The curtains. The mirror. Nobody. Who's there? I thought, and suddenly my own mind felt too loud. A low laugh rolled through my skull, soft as thunder over distant hills. Someone who has been locked away for a very long time, the voice said. And you, little stranger, are the only one who can hear me. My heart hammered against my ribs. What do you want from me? Right now? To help you live. You will need me before this wedding is over. A pause. I could almost feel it smile. Ask my name, and I will tell you how to survive the night. I swallowed. Fine. What's your name? Marrow. I went very still. I had read this book three times. I knew every character, every cruel little secret, every name in the kingdom. There was no Marrow in it. Not on any page. Not a footnote, not a rumour, not a villain's name whispered in a council room. Nothing. Good, the voice said softly. Then we are both something it never planned for. What will it cost me? I asked. Nothing yet, Marrow replied. Survive the wedding, little stranger. Then we will talk about what a villain is worth. The voice went quiet. The candles guttered. Far below, the bell rang again. For the first time since I woke up in this strange room, I was truly afraid. Not of the execution. Of the one voice in this kingdom that wasn't in the book.

The first thing I noticed was the pain in my neck. The second was the sound of a bus honking outside my window. I opened my eyes. My ceiling. The ugly water stain shaped like a rabbit. The faded curtains I'd been meaning to replace since last Christmas. For several seconds, I didn't move. I simply stared upward, afraid that if I blinked, the gold vines and unfamiliar faces would return. Then I sat up so quickly that the room spun. My room. My actual room. I looked down at myself. An oversized T-shirt. Old shorts. Bare feet tangled in my bedsheet. No silk nightgown. No red wedding dress. No strange body staring back at me from a mirror. I touched my face. My nose. My cheeks. My lips. Me. A laugh escaped me, followed by something dangerously close to a sob. It was a dream. Of course it was a dream. I'd spent too many nights reading werewolf romances and falling asleep with my phone in my hand. My brain had probably decided to punish me for it by inventing the most terrifying story imaginable. A forced marriage. An execution. A man who looked at me as if my existence offended him. And that voice. My smile faded. Marrow. I pulled the blanket up to my chin. Even in the safety of my own room, the name made the back of my neck prickle. I'd heard that voice so clearly. It hadn't sounded like something my mind had invented. It had sounded like someone standing beside me, speaking directly into my ear. But there was nobody here. I checked beneath the bed anyway. Nothing but dust and a missing slipper. I laughed at myself. Then I checked the wardrobe. Still nothing. Congratulations, Sofi. You've officially lost your mind. I stopped. Sofi. That was my name. The name I had answered to for years. The name my mother called when she wanted to know why I hadn't picked up her calls. My mother. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. The screen lit up, and for one awful moment, I forgot how to breathe. Mum had called last night. Three times. There was a message beneath the missed calls. You said you'd call me back, sweetheart. Are you okay? I pressed the phone against my chest. In the dream, I'd remembered a wet road, headlights, and my mother's name glowing on a screen. I'd remembered not answering. But I was here. My phone was here. My mother was alive, somewhere in the same world as me, probably sitting in her house wondering why her daughter couldn't spare five minutes to call her. I dialled her number. She answered on the fourth ring. "At last! I was about to call the police." I laughed, but the sound broke halfway through. "Mum." "What's wrong with your voice?" "Nothing." "Don't tell me nothing. Have you been crying?" I pressed my fingers against my eyes. "I just wanted to hear your voice." Silence. Then a softer voice. "My child, what happened?" I wanted to tell her. I wanted to explain that I'd spent the night in another world, that I'd woken up inside the body of a woman who was supposed to die in thirty days. I wanted to tell her about the Duke, the wedding, the voice in my head. Instead, I swallowed everything. "I had a bad dream." "About what?" I stared at the ceiling. "Something stupid." "Then tell me the stupid thing. Maybe we'll laugh about it together." That nearly undid me. My mother had always been like that. She could make room for my smallest embarrassment and my biggest disappointment without making either feel ridiculous. I wished I could do the same for myself. "I'll tell you later," I said. "I promise." "You'd better. And eat something today. You can't keep surviving on biscuits and stubbornness." I laughed properly this time. We spoke for another few minutes. She told me about a neighbour's argument, asked whether I had sent the documents I'd promised to send, and reminded me that Sunday was approaching. Ordinary things. Beautiful, ordinary things. When the call ended, I sat on the bed and listened to the quiet. I was home. Whatever had happened, it was over. I repeated that thought while I showered, dressed, and made tea. I repeated it while I opened my laptop and tried to read the email I'd left unfinished the previous night. I was home. I was safe. I was not going to be executed by a kingdom of werewolves. By ten in the morning, I almost believed myself. Then my phone buzzed. A message from Daniel. Are we still meeting today? I stared at his name longer than necessary. Daniel had been my almost-something for nearly eight months. Almost a boyfriend. Almost a date. Almost the person I could call when something good happened and I needed someone to tell. He was the kind of man who remembered how I took my coffee but somehow forgot every conversation that threatened to become serious. And I liked him anyway. Embarrassingly much. I typed a reply. Yes. Of course. His response came almost immediately. Good. Same place. Two o'clock. I smiled at the screen. It was ridiculous how quickly a person could make a day feel better without doing anything particularly special. I had spent the night facing an execution that wasn't real. I'd woken up terrified of a voice that couldn't exist. Now I had a meeting with Daniel, and I was already thinking about what to wear. For the first time that morning, the world felt normal. At one forty-five, I stood in front of my mirror, trying to decide whether the blue blouse made me look too eager. I changed into it anyway. Then I picked up my phone. The screen was black. For a moment, I saw my reflection in it. Then the reflection moved. Not much. Just the slightest tilt of the head, as if the woman staring back at me had noticed something behind my shoulder. I spun around. My bedroom was empty. I looked back at the phone. My reflection stared at me, perfectly still. I stood there for a long time, waiting for my heart to slow down. Then I shook my head. You need sleep. That's all. I put the phone in my bag and left. The café was crowded when I arrived. Daniel was already at our usual table, scrolling through his phone with a cup of coffee beside him. He looked up and smiled. "There she is." Something inside me loosened. I sat opposite him. "You make it sound like I've been missing for months." "You disappear sometimes." He said it lightly, still looking at his phone. But the words landed somewhere uncomfortable. I ordered my usual drink and tried to shake off the feeling. For the first twenty minutes, we talked about ordinary things. His work. My unfinished projects. A film he'd watched and insisted I should see. I listened, laughed when I was supposed to, and tried not to notice how often he checked his phone. Eventually, he put it facedown. "You seem tired." "I didn't sleep well." "Again?" I frowned. "What do you mean, again?" He hesitated. "Nothing. You just haven't seemed yourself lately." I looked at him, waiting for him to explain. He rubbed the back of his neck. "You've been saying some strange things, Sofi." The café suddenly seemed louder. "Like what?" "Last week, you called me at midnight asking whether I thought people could live two different lives." I remembered that conversation. I'd been half asleep, reading a story about a woman who woke up in another body. "I was joking." "And yesterday, you sent me a message asking whether I'd believe you if you told me something impossible." I looked down at my hands. I had sent that message. I'd deleted it a few minutes later, embarrassed by how dramatic it sounded. "I was having a bad week." "I'm not judging you." He reached across the table, then seemed to think better of it. "I'm just worried about you." I hated how much that hurt. Not because he was being cruel. He wasn't. He was looking at me with genuine concern, and I could already see the distance forming behind his eyes. The distance people put between themselves and something they couldn't understand. "I'm fine, Daniel." He nodded, but he didn't look convinced. I wanted to tell him about the dream. I wanted to tell him about Jacob and the execution and the voice that had called me little stranger. I wanted to hear someone laugh and tell me it was impossible, because then I could laugh too. Instead, I stirred my drink until the ice knocked against the glass. "I just need some rest." "Then get some." He smiled faintly. "Promise me you'll talk to someone if things get worse?" I forced a smile. "Promise." We finished our drinks and talked about safer things. When we said goodbye, he hugged me. It was a brief, familiar hug. The kind that used to make me imagine things neither of us had ever promised. I held on for one second longer than he did. Then he stepped away. "Text me when you get home." "I will." I watched him leave. For a moment, I wanted to call him back and tell him everything. But what would I say? That I had been married in a world that wasn't real? That I had made a deal with a man I'd never met? That a voice in my head had promised to help me survive a wedding? He would think I was losing my mind. Maybe I was. I walked home alone. By the time I reached my apartment, the afternoon light had begun to fade. I dropped my bag beside the door, kicked off my shoes, and went straight to bed. I was exhausted. I wanted one night of ordinary sleep. No strange kingdoms. No execution platforms. No voices. Just my ceiling, my bedsheets, and the sound of traffic outside. I closed my eyes. Sleep came quickly. And then I heard a bell. One clear note. I opened my eyes. Gold vines covered the ceiling. For a moment, I couldn't move. The room was too large. The curtains were too heavy. The air smelled faintly of roses and candle wax. I sat up. The red wedding gown hung beside the window. My stomach dropped. No. I scrambled out of bed and ran to the mirror. The woman staring back at me had dark, wavy hair and cold eyes. Zabeth. I was Zabeth again. My breath came in short, painful bursts. It was a dream, I whispered. I woke up. I went home. I spoke to my mother. I saw Daniel. My reflection stared back. I'm not supposed to be here. A sound came from the corridor. Footsteps. Then a voice. "My lady? The Duke is waiting." I stumbled away from the mirror. The door opened. The maid stood there, her face pale. "My lady, we must hurry. The wedding begins in an hour." An hour. The wedding. I had already lived through this morning. I had already spoken to Jacob. I had already heard Marrow's voice. Unless none of it had happened. Unless the first world was the dream. My knees weakened. "What day is it?" The maid blinked. "My lady?" "Tell me what day it is." She stared at me as if I had finally gone mad. "Your wedding day, my lady." I gripped the edge of the dressing table. I had to think. I had to remember exactly what I'd done before waking up in my room. Jacob had left. Vamin had spoken outside the door. My stepmother had come to collect me. And Marrow had told me to survive the wedding. I looked at the maid. "Did the Duke come here earlier?" "Yes, my lady." "What did I say to him?" Her face grew even more frightened. "You asked him to make a deal." The room tilted. It had happened. Every word. Every choice. I hadn't dreamed it. I'd lived it. And somehow, I'd lived another life afterward. "Please," I whispered. "I need you to tell me something." The maid took a hesitant step forward. "Anything, my lady." I swallowed. "If I fall asleep again, will I wake up somewhere else?" She stared at me. Then, slowly, she crossed herself. "May the Moon Goddess protect us." A cold sensation crept down my spine. I turned toward the mirror. For the briefest moment, my reflection looked different. Not like me. Not like Zabeth. Something darker stood behind my eyes. Then it was gone. A familiar voice brushed the inside of my mind. There you are, little stranger. I squeezed my eyes shut. Marrow. You sound disappointed. What is happening to me? A pause. Then that soft, patient amusement. You are beginning to wake up. I opened my eyes. In which world? His answer came almost tenderly. That, little stranger, is the question you should be afraid to ask. Outside, the wedding bells began to ring. And somewhere far away, in a world I had believed was mine, my phone was ringing too.

The wedding dress felt heavier than it looked. I had been standing in front of the mirror for several minutes, staring at the woman reflected in it, and I still couldn't decide whether I was more frightened by the dress or by the fact that I was wearing it. The woman in the mirror was beautiful. That much was undeniable. Dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face that seemed too delicate to belong to someone whose reputation could make an entire room go silent. But the eyes were mine. Or at least, they looked like mine. "My lady?" I turned. The maid stood near the door, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She had been watching me with the sort of careful patience people reserved for unpredictable animals. I couldn't entirely blame her. "How long have I been standing here?" I asked. She hesitated. "Almost ten minutes, my lady." Ten minutes. I looked back at the mirror. "And you didn't think to ask if I was all right?" Her expression tightened. "Forgive me. You instructed me not to disturb you." Of course I had. Apparently, the original Zabeth had been as unpleasant as the book suggested. I sighed and reached for the small bouquet on the dressing table. The flowers were white, delicate things tied together with a silver ribbon. I wondered whether they had been chosen to represent purity or whether someone had simply thought they would look good against the red of my dress. Either way, the irony wasn't lost on me. I was about to marry a man who had no desire to marry me, in a world where I was destined to die. What could possibly go wrong? "Is the Duke waiting?" I asked. "Yes, my lady. His Grace is at the chapel." Naturally. I had imagined a groom might at least pretend to be nervous on his wedding day. Jacob Draven, however, seemed capable of treating his own wedding like an inconvenient meeting he had been forced to attend. I lifted my chin. Thirty days. That was all the time I had. Thirty days to discover how the original Zabeth had earned her execution, why the people around her seemed to hate her, and whether there was any way to escape the ending I remembered. I was not going to die because a book said I should. "Let's go." The maid opened the door. As I stepped into the corridor, a familiar voice stirred at the back of my mind. "How brave." My fingers tightened around the bouquet. Marrow. "Not now," I thought. "You say that as though I have ever been particularly concerned with your convenience." "You could try it sometime." I felt rather than heard his amusement. "Careful, little bride. There are things in this place far more dangerous than a voice in your head." I kept walking. "You keep saying things like that. If you know something, tell me." "And spoil the fun?" I wanted to scream. Instead, I smiled at a passing servant, who immediately lowered his gaze and hurried away. This place was exhausting. By the time we reached the main hall, I could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the chapel beyond it. Servants moved quickly along the corridors, and guards stood at intervals beside the tall windows. One of them turned his head before I had even reached the end of the passage. His nostrils flared slightly. I stopped. He looked directly at me, his expression sharpening as though he had detected something unusual. Then his eyes dropped to the floor. "My lady." I nodded uncertainly and continued walking. Perhaps he had smelled my perfume. That was the only explanation I could think of, and I was beginning to suspect that explanations were in short supply in this world. The chapel doors stood open. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood, fresh flowers, and something darker beneath it. Something earthy, almost wild, that I couldn't quite identify. The room was filled with nobles dressed in shades of black, silver, and deep red. Their conversations softened as I entered. I could feel their eyes following me. Some looked curious. Others looked openly displeased. One woman near the front stared at me with such concentrated dislike that I wondered whether I had personally ruined her life. Then I saw Jacob. He stood before the altar in a black formal coat embroidered with silver thread. His dark hair was neatly arranged, and his expression was as cold as I remembered. He was annoyingly handsome. That was my first thought. My second was that the man looked as though he could have the entire chapel emptied with a single sentence. His gaze found mine. For one brief moment, his eyes appeared almost golden. Then the colour disappeared, leaving them dark again. I blinked. Perhaps the light had caught them strangely. "You are late," he said when I reached him. I glanced at the enormous windows behind him. "By less than a minute." "A minute is still a minute." "And good morning to you too, Your Grace." Something shifted in his expression. It wasn't quite amusement, but it came close enough to make me wonder whether he had expected me to arrive trembling. I was trembling, admittedly. I simply preferred not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. A man standing beside Jacob made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh. He was younger than Jacob, with dark, slightly unruly hair and an easy expression that seemed entirely out of place among all the stiff, watchful nobles. Vamin. I recognised him immediately. In the original story, he had been Jacob's closest friend. He was also the man who would eventually fall in love with Zabeth and die because of it. My stomach tightened. He was standing right in front of me, alive and smiling, completely unaware of the future I remembered. "I see the stories about you were exaggerated," he said. I looked at him cautiously. "What stories?" "That you bite." I stared. He grinned. "Although, judging by the way you are looking at me, perhaps I should keep my distance." "That would be wise." His smile widened. Jacob looked at him. "Vamin." One word. That was all it took. Vamin's amusement faded, though the corners of his mouth still twitched. He stepped aside and gave a small bow toward the altar. I watched the exchange carefully. There was something different about the way these two interacted. Vamin could tease Jacob in front of a room full of nobles, but the instant Jacob's voice changed, he paid attention. Not because he was frightened of being reprimanded. It was more instinctive than that. As though he recognised something in Jacob that the rest of us couldn't see. The priest began the ceremony. I tried to listen. I really did. But my attention kept drifting to the strange details around me. The way the guards seemed to notice every movement in the chapel. The way a man several rows behind me turned his head toward a whisper I could barely hear. The way the woman who had been staring at me lowered her eyes when Jacob glanced in her direction. And Jacob himself. He stood perfectly still, yet there was something restless about him, something held tightly beneath the surface. His gaze moved over the room with the precision of a hunting animal. For a moment, I wondered whether he could hear my heartbeat. Then I remembered the book. Werewolves. This was a world of werewolves, Alphas, and packs. I had known that, of course, but knowing something from a novel was different from standing in front of a man whose presence made the air feel charged. Jacob wasn't simply a duke with a terrible personality. He was an Alpha. And I was marrying him. Wonderful. The priest continued speaking. I caught only fragments of his words until he instructed Jacob and me to face each other. Jacob turned. Up close, his eyes were even more unsettling. There was a faint gold around his pupils, almost imperceptible unless I looked directly at it. "You look frightened," he murmured. "I'm standing in a chapel surrounded by people who appear to hate me, marrying a man who looks as though he would rather be anywhere else." His expression didn't change. "Then we understand each other." I almost laughed. Almost. The priest asked Jacob to repeat his vows. Jacob did so in a steady, controlled voice. There was no tenderness in his words, but neither was there hesitation. He spoke as though he were fulfilling an obligation, and perhaps that was exactly what he was doing. Then it was my turn. I repeated the words the priest gave me. My voice sounded strangely distant. I was halfway through the final line when Vamin stepped closer to help with the ceremonial exchange that followed. The priest gestured for us to join hands. Vamin reached for mine. His fingers closed around my hand. And Marrow screamed inside my head. "DON'T LET THEM HOLD YOU." The words struck so violently that I forgot how to breathe. I tried to pull away. Vamin's fingers loosened at once, his smile disappearing. "Lady Zabeth?" But I could no longer hear him properly. Heat surged through my wrist. Not ordinary heat. It felt as though something beneath my skin had suddenly opened its eyes. I stared at the place where Vamin's fingers touched me. A thin silver line appeared beneath my skin. My breath caught. The line spread across my wrist, branching into delicate patterns that seemed to move like veins of light. For one impossible second, I could see something beneath the chapel floor-something vast and dark, something that made the air tremble. Then the world lurched. The chapel vanished. I was standing in my bedroom. Not the bedroom in this strange kingdom. My bedroom. My old, familiar bedroom, with its peeling patch of paint near the ceiling and the curtain that never quite covered the window. My phone lay on the bedside table. Sunlight fell across the floor. I could hear a vehicle honking outside. I could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent. I was home. Then I blinked, and the chapel returned. Vamin was still holding my hand. His face had changed completely. He was staring at my wrist, his eyes no longer warm brown but bright amber, the colour spreading through them as though a flame had been lit behind his pupils. He released me immediately. "Jacob." There was no teasing in his voice now. Jacob moved before anyone else could react. One moment he was beside the altar. The next, he was standing directly in front of me, his hand closing around my forearm as I staggered. His grip was firm. The silver pattern flared. Pain shot through my arm. I cried out. Jacob's eyes turned fully gold. A low sound rumbled in his chest, so deep I felt it in my bones. Several people in the chapel recoiled. Somewhere behind me, a woman gasped. Jacob looked down at the mark on my skin. For the first time since I had met him, his composure cracked. "What are you?" he whispered. I tried to answer. I couldn't. Marrow's voice tore through my mind again. "I warned you." "Make it stop!" I screamed at him silently. "I can't stop what has already begun." The silver lines climbed toward my elbow. Jacob's fingers tightened around my arm, and I felt something answer his touch-something wild, furious, and impossibly familiar. The chapel lights flickered. Every candle went out. Darkness swallowed the room. A dozen voices erupted at once. I heard the scrape of chairs, the sharp commands of guards, and the sound of something heavy striking the floor. Then a growl rolled through the darkness. It was not human. I felt Jacob's hand leave my arm. Someone caught me before I could fall. Vamin, perhaps. I couldn't tell. The last thing I heard was Marrow's voice, suddenly quiet. "Now you understand why I told you not to let them hold you." And then everything went black. A horn blared outside my window. I jerked upright with a gasp. My hands flew to my chest. My heart was beating so violently that I could feel each thud in my throat. For several seconds, I couldn't move. The ceiling above me was familiar. The water stain near the corner was still shaped like a crooked continent. My curtain was half open, letting in the harsh afternoon light. My phone lay beside me. My old, cracked phone. I snatched it up. Three missed calls from Mum. Two messages from Daniel. The time on the screen made my stomach drop. I had been asleep for hours. I stared at the messages without opening them. My fingers were shaking too badly to type. It was a dream. The words appeared in my mind with desperate certainty. It had to be a dream. The wedding, the castle, the cold duke, the man with amber eyes-my mind had simply taken a story and turned it into something elaborate and terrifying. That was all. Except I could still feel the pressure of fingers around my hand. I looked down. There was no silver mark on my wrist. No burn. Nothing. I let out a shaky breath and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bedside glass was almost empty. I reached for it, intending to drink, but stopped when the glass slid several inches across the table. I froze. My hand was still in my lap. The glass moved again. Only slightly. Enough. I stared at it, unable to breathe. Then it stopped. I waited for it to happen again. I waited for the room to change, for the walls to dissolve into stone, for a voice to whisper inside my head. Nothing happened. I grabbed the glass and set it firmly in the middle of the table. "No," I whispered. My voice sounded small in the room. "Absolutely not." I pressed both hands against my face. I needed sleep. Food. A doctor, perhaps. Maybe Daniel was right. Maybe something was genuinely wrong with me. The thought frightened me more than I wanted to admit. I picked up my phone and called Mum. She answered almost immediately. "Sofi? I've been calling you. Are you all right?" The sound of her voice nearly broke me. "Mum..." "What's wrong?" I swallowed. How could I explain it? How could I tell her that I had spent what felt like days in another world, that I had almost married a man from a novel, and that a voice inside my head had warned me not to let someone hold my hand? She would think I was losing my mind. I was beginning to think the same thing. "I don't know," I admitted. "I think something is wrong with me." Her voice softened. "What do you mean, darling?" I looked at my wrist again. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a faint silver line beneath the skin. I blinked. It was gone. "I don't know how to explain it," I whispered. Outside, another vehicle honked. Inside my room, the glass remained perfectly still. And somewhere deep in my mind, a voice I had hoped was only part of a dream murmured softly. "Rest while you can, little bride." I stopped breathing. "The next time you wake, they may not let you leave."