Page 211 of Harbinger

“Say my name. It will bring me to my knees,” he whispers, like the idea breaks his heart a little, too. “Only you can do it. Because you’re the one who found him … found me.”

He’s not giving me control. He’s trusting me.

Bishop reaches up and covers the hands still gripping his face. “Promise me.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “Please.”

It’s the please that kills me, and I don’t even try to stop the tears from falling. “I promise.”

He tilts his head and nods once. “Good girl.”

There’s no thank you. No hesitation. Just the terrible understanding that neither of us can deny the other.

Because this is what trust looks like in our world. Not vows whispered in candlelight. Not promises of forever. It’s a blade placed in your hand and the faith that you’ll know when to use it.

Bishop is trusting me with the thing he fears most. Himself.

The thought sits heavily on my chest. Not because I’m afraid of what he might become, but because of what’s stirring inside me. The mark over my heart burns, hot enough that I almost reach for it.

I don’t.

Hadrian said that omens aren’t binding. That the stars point the way, but they don’t ultimately decide our paths. That the harbinger is a warning, not destiny. I want to believe him, but every day it becomes a little harder to ignore that something’s changing inside me. Something that calls to my grief and anger. How much longer until I answer?

The silence between us stretches, loaded with what we refuse to name—what we’re afraid we’ll become.

And I know what I have to do.

“If it comes …” The mark blazes with warning. “If the worst happens ….”

His eyes narrow with the look he usually gets right before he gives me an order he knows I’m going to ignore. “Arden—”

“I’ll find you,” I say again.

His jaw tightens.

“And if I can’t bring you back?” The question hangs like a heavy sigh.

His eyes close for just a second. Finally, he nods.

I force myself to speak around the knot in my throat. “Then I’ll do what you asked.”

A mix of pain and relief flashes across his face before it disappears beneath the mask he wears for everyone else. But I’m not done.

“If it comes,” I whisper, “I’m not letting you face it alone. If it comes … we’ll pay the price together.”

He starts to protest, but I shush him. “Try to stop me.” I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. “You don’t get to be the only noble one.”

“What I’m asking isn’t noble.”

I draw back just enough that I can look him in the eyes. “Yes, it is.” I trace the outline of his lips. “You are noble. You are good, and I … forgive you. For all of it. I release you, Endymion.”

For a moment, we stay locked like this, and then I whisper, “Fly.”

And he does.

To me.

The promise lingering on our lips tastes bittersweet as his mouth meets mine. But he surges to his feet, carrying me with him.

Because wherever this man goes, I will follow.