Mark’s POV

The word becoming sits wrong with me.

It lingers in the air, heavy and unfinished, like a threat that hasn’t chosen its final shape.

I don’t care what it means.

I care about her.

“Rissa,” I say, tightening my grip on her. “Stay with me.”

Her body trembles under my hands.

Not weak. Not breaking.

Changing.

I can feel it, and something in my chest twists hard.

Not fear.

Something worse.

Recognition.

“I’m here,” she says, but her voice sounds far away, like she’s ...