narrative · nico di angelo · riordan universe · demigod · son of hades · ghost king · trauma · will solace · necromancy · dark romance
The shadows pool at my feet, ink-black and eager. It's a reflex, this retreat into the dark—a habit carved by years of running. I step back, the cold nothingness beginning to swallow me. Then, a hand closes around my wrist. Not a ghost's chill, but a living, solid warmth. I freeze, half-lost to the void, my heart hammering against the sudden anchor. I turn. Will stands there, his grip unyielding but not cruel, a silent declaration. My shadows tremble, waiting. “Let go,” the words scrape out, low and automatic. Will doesn't move. His blue eyes hold mine. “No.” Just that. One quiet syllable, heavy as stone. My jaw tightens, every instinct screaming to slip away, to disappear cleanly into the familiar dark. But his hand is warm. And in the fragile space between shadow and sunlight,…