bChapter /bb149 /b

“Nathaniel*

The wind had a sharpness to it tonight. Not cold, exactly. But cutting–like it knew something wasing and wanted us to bleed for it first.

I moved along the outer ridge of the Gatekeeper encampment, bootfalls quiet against stone and frost. Behind me, Ethan kept pace. Not a word spoken between us since we left the watchfire, and yet the tension braided between us like a cord pulled too tight.

We weren’t patrolling because we had to. Not really.

We were patrolling because we couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t watch her from a distance and pretend this new camp–wasn’t just the sharp inhale before a scream.

Ethan exhaled behind me. Not a huff of exertion. A soundced with thought.

“You feel it too, right?” he said quietly.

I stopped.

Turned.

His eyes met mine, blue and narrowed. The same color as hers, but colder. Always colder.

“The weight,” he added. “Like something’s pressing down from inside the mountain. Not above. Below.”

I nodded. “It’s the leyline. And her. They’re shifting again.”

He rubbed his knuckles over his jaw. “You’re sure it’s her?”

“Yes,” I said. “Because the bond–it’s not just reacting anymore. It’s guiding.”

He looked at me. Harder now. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

“It should,” I admitted.

calm–the eerie silence of the Gatekeeper’s

We kept walking, tracing the line where forest met rock, where the boundary between what was ours and what belonged to the Gatekeepers blurred. I watched the sky as we moved, stars tucked behind clouds that hadn’t quite made up their minds about rain or snow.

“I’m not doubting her,” Ethan said after a long moment. “But I am doubting the thing inside her. I don’t trust it.”

“Neither do 1b,/b” I said quietly.

“But you’re still bonded,” he added.

I didn’t answer.

He stopped walking. So did).

“You’re still bonded,” he said again. “And it’s changing you, isn’t it?”

I looked at my hands. Flexed them once.

“I feel her me in my lungs sometimes,” I said. “I dream about battles she hasn’t fought yet. I smell smoke when she’s bnot /bburning. bAnd /btoday bwhen /bshe walked past me–my heart stuttered like it wasn’t mine.”

Ethan went still.

b1/4 /b

b09:24 /bbFri/bb, /bb6 /bbJun /b

Chapter b149 /b

b“/bbThat’s /bbnot /bnormalb,/bb” /bhe muttered.

b“/bbNo./b” bI /bsaid. “It’s not.”

b“/bDoes she knowb?/bb” /b

“She suspects,” I said. “But she’s already carrying too much. I don’t want her thinking she’s the one breaking me.b” /b

He stared at me.

Then said, “She needs to know if she is.”

I turned, jaw clenched. “Would you rather she push me out? Cut the bondpletely? iGo /iinto whatever the Gatekeeper wants with no one btethering /bbher /bback?”

Ethan’s nostrils red. “You think I don’t want her protected?”

“I think you’re afraid she won’te back this time.”

His silence told me I was right.

27 et s

“She’s not just your twin anymore, Ethan,” I added, quieter bnow/b. “She’s not just me. She’sb… /bbing something else. And aane of us know bwhat /bbthat /bmeans yet. But I’m not going to be the one who lets her drown in it alone.”

His shoulders dropped.

The fight went out of him–not fully. Just enough.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I hate that it’s you.”

My ilips /itwisted. “Sometimes I hate it too.”

He huffed. It wasn’t quite augh. “I never thought we’d end up on opposite sides.b” /b

“We’re not,” I said. “We just walk different angles of the same de.”

He studied me for a beat longer, then turned.

We started moving again.

The trees grew sparser near the outer rise of the valley. No sounds but wind and the distant crackle of the southern torches. Ethan reached for his canteen. I reached for my senses–stretching them across the clearing like a.

I felt her. ol start="4"liLike bthe /bbsensation /bof /li/ol

e marrow of bthe /bbworld/bb. /bbAn /b

Not like I used to–where the bond would jolt in my chest like lightning chasing a storm–but deeper now. Quieter. More re standing barefoot on ancient stone and knowing something sacred once happened there. Distant, yes, but steady. bA /bbpuls /becho running uphill, brushing the base of my skull and the backs of my teethb, /bthreading through muscle and memory and all the pieces bof /bbme /bbI /bbthought /bI’d already offered her.

“She’s close,” I murmured, more to myself than to Ethan.

He walked beside me, jaw tight, footsteps careful, gaze never still. He was scanning the tree line, but I could tell–bhis /bmind was belsewhere/b. bStill /bbtethered /bto her. Still straining toward the sister he’d bled ifor/ib, /bwho now carried more than either of bus /bbcould /bexin.

“You said the bond was guiding,” Ethan said atst. His voice was lower now, stripped of tension but not of bweight/bb. /bb“/bbBut /bbis /bbit /bbguiding /bbher/bb? /bbOr /bbis /bbit /bbusing /byou to hold the lineb?/bb” /b

The question hung in the air between usb, /bfragile and sharp.

Chapter b149 /b

I bdidn’t /banswer right away.

bBecause /bbI /balready knew the answer.

And bI /bhadn’t wanted to say it out loud.

But now?

Now I had to.

“I think bit’s /bboth.”

The forest didn’t move. The night didn’t speak. The sky held its breath like it knew what wasing next.

Ethan inhaled sharply.

His boot caught on a rock he should’ve seen.

He stumbled.

“Ethan-?”

I turned just in time to catch the way his knees buckled beneath him, like the ground had yanked itself from under his spine. He tried to stay bupright/bb, /bbbut /bhis weight crumpled inward, and his palm hit the dirt with a force that sent dust into the air.

Then I saw it.

The blood.

A single drop at first.

Then another.

Dark and gleaming beneath his nose.

His breathing hitched, unsteady, the rhythm off. His pulse jumped beneath his skin like it was trying to escape. Every inch bof /bhim was locked bin /bce, trembling.

“Shit.” I dropped beside him, heart racing.

“What is that-” he gasped, voice cracking around the edgesb, /bbfingers /bwing at the moss beneath us like he was trying to stay grounded. “What bthe /bbfuck /b

is-”

“I don’t know,” I said, though my gut twisted with the

Because I did.

uth.

Not fully.

But enough.

I pressed my palm to his backb, /bfingers syed over the ibones /iof his spine. I expected resistance. A snap of irritation. A bshove/b.

But he didn’t move.

bDidn’t /bflinch.

Because something deeper was gripping him inow/i.

b3/4 /b

Magic.

But not just any magic.

Not his.

Not mine.

Hers.

The signature of her presence was unmistakable–raw heatced with violet threads of me and memory and something older than either of us could name. It pulsed beneath my skin, coiling around my ribs and reaching out, not like a whisper, but a hand.

The bond between us trembled.

But it wasn’t only mine anymore.

I didn’t push into it. Didn’t try to control or dampen it.

I didn’t have toi. /i

Because it pulled.

Harder than it ever had.

And not just on me.

On him.

On the space between us. iOn /ithe threads that once only tied her to me, now fraying and rewiring and unraveling through every person she loved.

Ethan gasped once–sharp and guttural.

His back arched slightly under my palm.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper, so soft I almost didn’t catch it.

But I did.

“The bond…” His eyes rolled toward me, wide, panicked, shining. b“/bbIt’s /bspreading.”

bAD /b

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