The completion bar hasn't moved in three months. I stare at the translucent screen floating before my eyes, visible only to me, and watch the progress indicator mock me with its stubborn zero percent. Eight years. Eight years of carefully guiding Cassian Verne away from his destined path as the novel's bloodthirsty villain, and the System refuses to acknowledge a single moment of progress. "Elara?" I blink, dismissing the screen as Cassian's voice pulls me back to reality. He's watching me from across his study, those storm-gray eyes that once held nothing but calculated cruelty now soft with something that makes my chest ache. "Sorry, I was just thinking." I force a smile, clutching the book I'd brought as an excuse to visit. "You seemed distracted." "I'm always distracted when you're near." He rises from his desk, moving with that predatory grace that no amount of reformation has quite erased. "It's been eight years, and you still have that effect on me." Eight years since I woke up in this world, trapped in the body of Elara Thorne, a minor character whose only purpose was to die by Cassian's hand in chapter three. Eight years since the System gave me one mission: Reform the villain or cease to exist. I'd succeeded, hadn't I? The Cassian before me bears little resemblance to the monster from the novel. He's abolished the brutal taxation system, pardoned political prisoners, even established schools for common children. The cold-blooded killer who would have drowned the capital in blood now spends his evenings reading philosophy and debating ethics. And three weeks ago, he'd done something the original Cassian Verne would never have done. He'd confessed his love for me. "Elara." He's closer now, close enough that I can smell the bergamot and smoke that clings to him. "You've been distant since the coronation preparations began. If something's troubling you—" "The completion bar is at zero percent," I blurt out, then immediately regret it. His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Something I can't quite read. "The what?" "Nothing. I'm sorry, I'm just tired." I step back, my heart racing. I've never told anyone about the System, about my true nature as a transmigrator. The warnings had been clear: exposure means immediate termination. But Cassian doesn't press. He simply nods, though his gaze lingers on my face a moment too long. "You should rest. The coronation is in three days, and I need you there. You're the only reason I've made it this far." The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks me. "Cassian—" "I mean it." He takes my hand, and his touch is warm, real, nothing like the fictional character he's supposed to be. "Before you, I was lost. You showed me another path. Whatever darkness was in me, you burned it away." I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly. But the completion bar doesn't lie. And if eight years of transformation hasn't moved it even one percent, then something is fundamentally wrong. "I'll be there," I promise, squeezing his hand. "I wouldn't miss it." He smiles, and it's the smile that convinced me he'd truly changed—gentle, almost vulnerable. "Good. Because after the coronation, I have something important to ask you." My breath catches. Is he going to propose? The thought sends warmth flooding through me, followed immediately by cold dread. If he proposes, if we marry, what happens to my mission? What happens to me? "I should go," I say quickly. "I'll see you at the ceremony." I flee before he can respond, my mind racing. I need to check the System settings, need to understand why nothing is registering. There has to be an explanation. There has to be. Because the alternative—that I've failed, that I've wasted eight years on an impossible task—is too terrifying to consider. ---