The days after the dream-offering were grey and silent. Lilith moved through Thornwood like a ghost herself, the vibrant gardens a mockery of her inner desolation. Cassian gave her space, a penitent hovering at the edges of her vision. The bond was a cold, aching wound between them, throbbing with her resentment and his grim, desperate longing.
It was the discovery of the solstice rite in her aunt's journal that pushed her to the brink. The page was deliberately water-damaged, but key phrases stood out: "…the surrendering of a hope irrevocably ties the keeper's fate to the Warden's… a point of no return… the mortal spirit begins to synchronize with the immortal anchor… the first step toward becoming…" The rest was illegible.
Becoming what?
Panic, sharp and clean, cut through the numbness. She wasn't just fueling him; she was being assimilated. The "piece of her future" wasn't a metaphor. It was a literal severing of her mortal trajectory, grafting it onto his endless, static existence. She would become like him—a part of Thornwood, forever. A beautiful, trapped thing.
She found Cassian in the Stone Garden, staring at the face of a weeping angel statue. "What happens after the solstice?" Her voice echoed in the quiet space.
He didn't turn. "The bond stabilizes. The offerings become less frequent. More… symbolic."
"Liar." The word hung in the air. "My aunt's journal. It says 'becoming.' What do I become, Cassian?"
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes held a universe of sorrow. "You become mine. Truly. Eternally. Your mortal coil begins to unwind, and you are woven into the tapestry of Thornwood. You would not age. You would not sicken. You would be here, with me, as long as the stones stand."
It was both a confession and a plea. The ultimate dark romance promise: forever.
"And if I refuse? If I leave before the solstice?"
A spasm of pain crossed his face. "The bond is already deep. If you break it violently… the rebound would likely kill you. Your vitality is intertwined with the estate's. To rip it out would be to rip out your own soul." He stepped toward her, his hand rising as if to touch her, then falling. "Lilith, this is not the curse I would have chosen for you. But it is the one that exists. And the thought of eternity… without you… after knowing you…" His voice broke. "It is a deeper hell than the one I have already endured."
It was the truth, finally. Ugly and inescapable. She was damned if she stayed, and damned if she left. The only choice was the shape of her damnation: a slow transformation into an immortal prisoner at the side of her tormented jailer, or a quick death.
That night, she did the unthinkable. She dug out the village pub's matchbook from a drawer and, using the old landline in the library, she called Leo. Her voice was a frantic whisper. "Leo, it's Lilith. You were right. I need help. He's… it's not human. The estate, it's alive. Meet me at the edge of the woods, the east property line, tomorrow at noon. Don't come to the house."
She hung up, her heart hammering. She felt it instantly—a seismic shock through the bond. A wave of betrayal so profound it was nauseating. From somewhere deep in the house, a roar of pure anguish and rage shook the foundations, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
Cassian knew.