Page 835 of Coal Hearts

The crystal pool suddenly became black tar.

The jungle died.

The waterfall stopped falling.

“I-I can’t.” I clung to her, desperate to worship her and atone for everything I’d done wrong. “I love you, Ily. But I can’t—”

“Then I’m not going to wake up.”

She vanished from my arms.

I woke up screaming.

Chapter Twenty- Four

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Henri

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THE DREAMS CONTINUED FOR TWO weeks.

Each night, I fell asleep holding her hand. Each dream, I found her. Entered her. Begged her to wake. Only for her to call me Master H and vanish.

I didn’t know if it was my own subconscious tormenting me or if we truly did connect on some dream plane. Either way, she didn’t wake up.

I never left that room.

I barely ate and hardly showered.

I didn’t shave or go for a walk.

If it wasn’t for Rachel putting food into my hands and reminding me to eat, I would’ve completely forgotten how.

Monday became Tuesday, Wednesday bled into Thursday, Friday turned to the weekend.

And still, Ily didn’t wake.

The doctor kept her stable. The machines kept her alive.

Ben and Stewart called at the end of the first week. The strain between us as they asked how Ily was grew so bad I wanted to hang up. I owed them every ounce of gratitude. Without them, Ily would be dead, and I would be Victor’s plaything. But...I didn’t have the strength to be grateful when Ily still hung in limbo. They filled in the awkward silence with updates on how Penelope and Abigail had flown home to America with them. How their weddings, minus any prenup, were planned for next month. Ily and I were invited. The conversation ended without an RSVP.

Caishen and the other jewels recovering in Q’s château came to check on my twin flame, some left to return to their families. But Rachel chose to stay until Ily woke up.

But she never moved.

Day by day, she remained the same, all while I fought two violent forces.

The urge to die mutated into a visceral desire to slaughter every man responsible. It wasn’t enough that Victor was dead. Had Q gone after the other Masters? What about the other monsters in the world who’d done this? What about all the girls like Ily who couldn’t wake and all the guys like Peter who’d died protecting them?

The longer I sat there, utterly useless and churning with despair, the deeper I fell into revenge.

By week three, I could barely look at anyone.

I blamed them but blamed myself more.

I hated them, but hated myself most of all.