Because the double heartbeat… was no longer just in his chest.
It echoed in the roots. In the sea. In every woman's touch.
Jude had become the thirteenth bloom.
And the island had only just begun to sing.
The temple breathed.
Not metaphorically - truly. Beneath their bodies, the altar rose and fell in the slightest rhythm, as if the earth itself now inhaled through Jude's lungs. The vines overhead unfurled fully, laying themselves across the ceiling like the petals of some vast flower blooming in worship. The new basin, glowing with that small, pulsing spark, remained quiet - but its presence charged the air with something fierce and raw.
Jude lay still in Lucy's arms, Sophie curled against his chest. Their bodies were slick with sweat and glowing softly from the ritual, but his heart… his heart felt hollowed out and filled at once. Like something enormous had moved into him and made room by stretching every edge of who he thought he was.