Chapter 172
Lirael
Morning arrived with watery sunlight filtering through the windows. I woke slowly, awareness returning in layers—Sebastian's warmth, his steady breathing, the unusual softness of the light. I blinked at the ceiling for a moment before turning my head to check the clock.
9:47 AM.
My heart skipped. Sebastian never slept past seven. His internal clock was precise as any alarm, a lifetime of Alpha discipline making late mornings virtually impossible.
Unless the entropy was disrupting more than just memories and motor control. Unless it was fucking with his most basic biological rhythms now too.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Sebastian," I said softly, my hand coming up to cup his face. "Wake up."
His eyes opened slowly, amber irises unfocused and hazy in a way that made my breath catch. He stared at me for several long seconds, his expression completely blank, and ice slid down my spine as I realized he didn't recognize me.
He's looking at me like I'm a stranger. Like he's never seen me before in his life.
"Sebastian?" I tried again, keeping my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my throat. "It's me. It's Lirael."
The blankness persisted for another heartbeat, two, three—then clarity flooded back like someone flipped a switch. I watched shame and fear war for dominance across his features, watched him remember who I was, what I meant to him.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice rough with sleep and something that sounded like despair. "I didn't—for a moment I couldn't remember who you were. I looked at you and saw a stranger."
The admission hit like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I'd known the memory lapses were getting worse, but this was different. This was him waking up beside me and not knowing who the fuck I was.
"It's okay," I lied, forcing my voice to remain calm even as my heart raced. "You were still half-asleep. It happens."
"Don't." His grip tightened on my hand where it rested against his cheek, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that felt like being flayed open. "Don't make excuses for this. We both know what it means."
I wanted to argue, to insist he was overreacting, but I couldn't force the words past the lump in my throat. My free hand moved to brush hair from his forehead, the gesture feeling inadequate against the magnitude of what we were facing.
"How bad is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "The memory loss. How often is it happening?"
Sebastian was quiet for a moment, his gaze sliding away from mine to focus on something over my shoulder. "More frequently than I've been admitting," he said finally. "Last night, I don't remember walking to the bedroom. One moment we were on the couch, and the next I was waking up here with you in my arms. There's just... nothing in between."
Fuck. My chest tightened painfully, and I had to swallow hard against the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. If he was losing hours now, how long before he lost days? How long before there was nothing left of him except instinct and appetite?
"We'll figure this out," I said, the words emerging with more conviction than I felt. I needed him to believe it, needed to believe it myself. "The memory loss doesn't mean we're out of options. It just means we need to move faster."
"Lirael—"
"No." I cut him off before he could voice whatever self-sacrificing bullshit he was about to spew, my tone sharper than intended. "We had this conversation already. You don't get to give up, and you don't get to push me away for my own good. We face this together, remember?"
His expression softened in a way that made my chest ache, one hand coming up to cup my face with a tenderness that felt like a benediction. "Together," he agreed, though I could hear the doubt beneath the word. "I just hope there's enough of me left to be worth fighting for when this is over."
"There will be," I promised fiercely, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "Now come on. Let's get you something to eat, and then you're spending the day resting whether you like it or not."
We went through the motions of breakfast with a normalcy that felt increasingly surreal. Sebastian picked at his food while I forced down enough to avoid raising suspicions, both of us pretending not to notice the elephant in the room. After I convinced him to return to the couch with promises of joining him shortly, I retreated to the bedroom with my tablet.
I read through Damian's protocol three more times, my hands clenching around the device until my knuckles went white. By the time I finished, I could recite every goddamn step from memory—the dosage, the timing, the expected progression of symptoms. Each detail burned into my consciousness with the clarity of absolute necessity.
At 2:45 PM, I made my excuses about needing to collect a package from the eighty-seventh floor. Sebastian was already half-asleep on the couch, and he accepted the explanation without argument, which somehow made it worse.
I'm lying to him. I'm about to put myself through hell, and I'm lying to his face about it.
The reception desk was staffed by a woman who handed over a sleek black box without comment. I clutched it to my chest on the ride back up, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Sebastian was still asleep when I returned. I stood in the doorway for a long moment, drinking in the sight of him—sharp features softened by sleep, hand curled around the pillow where I'd been lying as if seeking my warmth even in dreams. This was what I was fighting for. This man, this moment, this fragile hope that we could build something lasting.
I retreated to the master bathroom, locking the door behind me with hands that had started shaking again. The black box opened to reveal seven stalks of moonshade wrapped in silver cloth, their purple-black leaves seeming to absorb light, and a vial of silver serum that glowed faintly with contained magic.
Okay. Okay, you can do this. You've survived worse. You've survived so much worse than two hours of pain.