Chapter 2: Hanging by a Thread

When I was hanging on the city hall roof, I was barely clinging to life. Beatings, branding, whipping—every punishment Marcus had suffered in his past life, I’ve now endured for him in this one. On the verge of death, I saw him below the city and, unexpectedly, felt a surge of joy in my heart.

I could taste blood on my tongue, sharp and metallic, but that sudden, inexplicable happiness was as sweet as a summer peach. Somewhere down there in the crowd, Marcus’s face was turned up to me. He used to smile at me that way—before all the curses and second chances. Before I learned that love and survival don’t always fit in the same story. All the hurt faded, just for a heartbeat, replaced by something fierce and proud. If the last thing I saw was him, then maybe it had all been worth it.

So, when the one on the wall became me, he could come too.

I used all my strength just to open my mouth, wanting to shout at him, to tell him not to care whether I lived or died. But before I could speak, the arrow in his hand flew toward me without hesitation—perfectly on target, straight through my heart.

It was quick—almost merciful, if you can call being shot by the man you love a mercy. I barely had time to gasp before the pain faded, replaced by a slow, spreading numbness. My world narrowed to his face, tight with something like regret, but there was no time left to say the words I’d carried for years.

He wanted me dead.

Smoke and flames rose, war drums thundered, but my world went silent. My heart felt as if it had a hole, blood pouring out, but I felt no pain. He held my broken body, and in his eyes flashed a gentleness I had never seen before.

The chaos around us—the panicked shouting, the acrid tang of burning wood, the crackle of fire—faded into nothing. I lay in his arms, my heartbeat slowing, and for once, I could see in him the man I always wanted to love. The hush felt almost holy, like the stillness after a tornado’s passed and the world hasn’t decided whether to mourn or rebuild.

"I can’t let the soldiers and people behind me take such risks. No matter who it was, I would have done the same. I had no choice. Rachel, in this life, I owe you."

His voice trembled—just barely, but I caught it. He sounded like he was reading a verdict in court, handing down a sentence he didn’t want to give. My name in his mouth felt like a benediction and a curse at once.

I smiled. Maybe even he didn’t realize, what he owed me wasn’t just this life.

Once, in the same scene, facing the same dilemma, he had laid down his weapons, dismissed the whole regiment, entered the city alone, and died after enduring every kind of torture—simply because the one hanging on the wall was Lillian, not me.

The memory burned sharper than any wound. I remembered the old brick wall covered in Sharpie scrawls and the crack of a bat from the little league field down the block, the way he threw away everything for her. The kind of love that ruins men, but only if it’s the right woman. I had never been that woman for him, no matter what I gave up.

He wasn’t without a choice. It was just that the one he chose wasn’t me.