Until I feel a pull on the very center of my furnace. My head snaps up—to find Merlin kneeling before us, one open hand hovering a foot away, collecting a swirling ball of my red root into his palm. It’s just enough that my flames weaken, briefly. I send them roaring back to life—and aim them straight at him.

Merlin absorbs the rush of power but winces at the effort, fangs bared. “Nicholas,” he grits out. “It’s not enough. She’s… too strong; she doesn’t believe we’re real. She’ll kill us in here if she gets free.”

At my ear, Lancelot looks up. “And they’ll kill her out there if we can’t bring her back! Try again!”

Merlin raises both palms, taking in double the amount of my aether, sucking it nearly as quickly as I create it, just like a hellfox would.

“Still not enough.” He grinds his teeth together, shaking his head.

“Keep trying!”

A pause. A growl. “You know what I have to do.”

“No!” Lancelot’s helmet is gone now. I can see the scruff on his chin now, the dark blond hair matted in sweat against his forehead. “I can’t lose you; I won’t lose her….”

“You’ll lose us both if you don’t let me try,” Merlin says.

The two meet eyes over me. Something about that shared glance, the worry there, the care… makes the dream feel too good to leave. Makes me want to stay there between them, even if it’s all a lie in the end.

Lancelot’s voice is tight when he finally answers. “Do it.”

Merlin crawls closer on hands and knees. “Just know, Briana Matthews,” he says, “that you are worth this and more.”

Without a second’s hesitation, he pulls me close enough that we nearly kiss—and inhales my power into his body. Devours it whole. My wings shrink and turn to smoke. My armor melts, then sparks, then turns to dust. My gauntlets shatter into shimmering pieces. And all of it—all of it—flows up and into the sorcerer’s mouth, draining my root until the furnace grows dim. With every breath, Merlin draws more deeply on my root. And with each breath, his eyes turn a deeper and darker red, until they are the color of heartblood. His fingers hold mine and I gasp at the sight of them—nails turning dark, veins crawling up his wrist in black lines.

Lancelot grasps my face in both palms and holds it tight. “Come back, Bree. Come back to us.”

My root has left me. The only thing of my own here, the only thing that kept me safe in this hellscape. “No…” I shake my head.

“Please.” Merlin’s voice is nearly unrecognizable. “Come back to us.”

“This isn’t real,” I whisper. “It can’t be. If this is real…”