Page 297 of The Professor's Wife

Collapsed on the ground, barely breathing. His shirt soaked in blood. A kitchen knife lay beside him, smeared and glinting in the candlelight.

“No,” I whispered, dropping to my knees. “No, no, no.”

I reached for him, hands trembling, tears already spilling. He tried to speak, but only a rasp came out. I pressed my hand to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to hold him together. I fumbled for my phone, ready to call for help—

Then the shot rang out.

Pain exploded through my chest. I staggered, breath stolen, vision tilting. The world spun, the candlelight blurring into stars. I fell beside him, my hand brushing his, the rose petals scattered around us.

I couldn’t breathe.

The pain was sharp at first—like fire licking through my chest—then it dulled, spreading outward in waves that madeeverything feel distant. My limbs were heavy. My thoughts, slower. I lay on the ground, the damp earth pressing into my back, the candlelight flickering somewhere near.

I tried to move.

Tried to scream.

But all that came was a gasp, wet and broken.

I saw him just then.

Oliver.

He stumbled into view from the shadows, his body swaying as though he’d been scraped out. Blood streaked his shirt, his hands, his face. One hand was clamped against his side, but it wasn’t stopping whatever Tristan had done to him.

For a moment, he hardly looked human.

His eyes met mine, and I froze. There was nothing in them. No rage. No sorrow.

Just a terrifying, bottomless absence.

He had come here knowing none of us would leave. He didn’t speak. Didn’t reach for me.

He just stared.

Then he swayed once. The gun slipped from his hand and struck the ground beside him.

He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. The sound of his body hitting the ground was soft, almost gentle.

Tristan had fought.

I could see it now. The knife. The blood. The way Oliver’s body had collapsed. My heart ached with love and fury and grief. Tristan had tried to protect me.

He always did.

I tried to get closer to him. My fingers clawed at the grass, but my body wouldn’t follow. I could only reach out—just my hand, trembling, desperate.

The sky above was darkening fast. The trees swayed gently. My vision blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. I blinked hard, trying to hold on.

And then it happened.

A flickering.

A butterfly came into view, fluttering around me before landing on my palm.

Its wings pulsed slowly, like breath. Like life. Amber and indigo, just like before.

Just like this morning.