The moon hung low over Valdrigal, fractured like old bone. Haldyn pressed his palm against the ruins of the castle gate, feeling the curse pulse beneath the stone. Alive. Hungry.

“If I break this,” he whispered, “the demon dies. But so does the part of me that remembers you.”

“There is no other way.” Vald turned. For one breath, his face was human again — soft, tired, afraid. “Volume eight ends here, Haldyn. Not with a battle. With a choice.”

Haldyn reached for Vald’s hand — the one not stained by claw marks. “Then I’ll write the next page myself.”