The last of the buses hiss away from the curb, leaving the Ravenrest courtyard hollow and echoing. Steam curls from the exhaust, blending into the fog rolling down from the upper spires. Winter break’s first breath always feels like this—empty, cold, a little too quiet after weeks of noise.

Mira’s laughter still lingers somewhere behind me, soft as memory. I can almost hear her teasing Rori about something, both of them disappearing down the main road like they don’t carry entire worlds on their shoulders.

Lucky them.

Kael stands beside me near the gate, posture rigid, eyes tracking the rooftops like we’re expecting snipers instead of snow. Her hand drifts toward the blade she keeps hidden beneath her coat. Always alert, always braced for impact.

“You can relax, soldier,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Pretty sure the vending machine isn’t plotting my assassination.”

“Someone has to keep the princess’s wife alive.” Her voice is calm, steady, the kind of tone that could probably stop an earthquake. “You’re trouble disguised as charm.”

I grin. “That’s a generous read.”

The metal of my bracelet catches the fading light—ember cord twined through silver, Mira’s craft and heart tangled in a single thread. It’s warm, like skin against skin. The pulse underneath beats in perfect rhythm with mine. Or maybe I’ve just learned to breathe around hers.

Kael’s gaze flicks down. “You miss her already.”

“You make it sound like she left for war.” I roll my wrist, watching the faint glow under the surface. “But yeah. When she’s gone, the world feels quieter. Like the volume got turned down on everything.”

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t need to.

Something catches my attention near the gates—Bree Halden, laughing too brightly at something one of the cheer captains says. Her hair looks different. Shinier. Her skin, luminous in that unnatural way that always sets my teeth on edge. There’s a sharpness to her jawline now that wasn’t there last week, and her posture’s changed—shoulders back, perfect confidence.

“There,” I murmur. “That’s what I was waiting for.”

Kael’s brow creases. “What?”

“Bree,” I say, voice low. “She’s changing again. Every time a girl disappears, Bree gets an upgrade—stronger, faster, prettier. It’s like someone’s rewriting her.”

Kael’s eyes narrow, tracking Bree as she drifts farther from the crowd.

“It always happens after big events or school breaks,” I continue, pulse picking up. “Today’s the start of winter break. That means another girl’s going missing tonight. And I’m not letting it happen.”

Kael studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “And you didn’t tell Mira because…?”

I smile, but it feels tight around the edges. “Because she’d tell me to stay out of it. That she’ll handle it. That’s what she does.” I glance toward the empty road where Mira disappeared. “I’m not the helpless human she has to save, Kael. Not anymore.”

A gust of wind cuts through the courtyard, sharp and cold enough to sting. I pull my coat tighter, shifting on my heels to keep the blood flowing.

“If I’m wrong, we waste an hour,” I say. “If I’m right, we stop a monster before another girl disappears.”

Kael exhales the long, suffering sigh of someone used to babysitting adrenaline junkies. “So this isn’t about shopping.”

“Of course it is.” I let a grin sneak back in. “Shopping for answers. And if I can’t find Mira a present, she can unwrap me at Lumenfeast instead.”

Kael groans. “Do you ever stop flirting?”

“Not when it’s a coping mechanism.”

She gives me a flat look, but the corner of her mouth twitches.

Bree slips through the gate toward the tram station. The last light catches on her hair, too bright to be real.

“C’mon,” I say, already moving. “If we leave now, we won’t lose her.”

Kael mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a prayer, then follows.

The air bites at my cheeks as we step into the wind. The faint hum of city traffic fades behind us, leaving only the sound of our boots crunching on frost.

I glance once at the ember-cord around my wrist. The warmth there steadies me.

I can do this.

For once, I’ll be the one protecting her.

By the time we reach the lower district, the daylight’s gone. The sky’s turned the color of slate, and everything below it hums with that strange, electric quiet that only Dominveil can manage.

The Veiled Conflux isn’t a place you wander into by accident. Even without magic, you can feel it. The air is thicker here—crowded with scent and sound and something else, something that presses against your skin like humidity before a thunderstorm. Mira once told me that was how the Veil “breathed” between worlds. I can’t see it, but I can tell when it’s close.

The smells hit first. Roasted nuts, fried dough, wet stone, too-sweet incense from a dozen stalls crammed together. Someone’s playing a stringed instrument nearby, the notes bending around the sound of coins and voices and shoes scraping over old stone.

Bree slips into the flow of people like she was born to it. Her head tilts once, just enough to check behind her, but her eyes pass over us without slowing. She doesn’t look like a girl wandering a market—she looks like she belongs here. That bothers me more than it should.

Kael keeps her distance, tall enough to see over most of the crowd, her hand brushing the hilt under her coat every few seconds. I stay just behind her, using the bodies moving between us as cover.

“How the hell does she even know her way around here?” I mutter.

Kael’s eyes stay forward. “You’re assuming she’s new to this.”

That lands heavier than I want it to.

I adjust my pace, weaving between a woman selling candied fruit and a man shouting about enchanted scarves. The ground under my boots feels uneven, old. The kind of old that remembers things it shouldn’t.

The deeper we go, the stranger it feels. The noise fades in pockets, like the sound’s being swallowed by something under the stone. My skin prickles, hair rising at the back of my neck. I catch myself glancing down the alleys we pass, half-expecting to see something watching back.

Bree doesn’t hesitate. She takes a left down a narrow street, her steps confident, sure. The walls here are close enough that Kael’s shoulder brushes stone when she follows. Ancient runes—half-erased, half-graffitied—run in uneven lines down the bricks.

A flickering sign swings ahead of us, its light barely cutting the fog.

Gary’s Rare Texts & Relics.

Kael glances at me, voice low. “You sure you want to keep going?”

I nod, throat tight but steady. “Yeah. We’ve come this far.”

The words taste like commitment.

We move toward the door. The wood looks solid, but the handle gleams like it’s been used recently. Inside, I can see the faint outline of shelves, dust motes floating in the warm light.

Bree’s silhouette crosses the threshold and disappears.

Kael exhales once. “You know this is probably stupid.”

“Definitely stupid,” I whisper back. “Let’s go.”

And then we step inside.

The bell over the door gives a small, traitorous chime when we slip inside.

Warm air hits me first—thick with dust, old paper, and the faint tang of metal. The light here doesn’t reach far. Lamps burn low, pooling gold over crowded shelves, leaving everything between them in half-shadow. The place smells like secrets.

Bree moves through it like she’s been here before. Confident, sure-footed, not a hint of hesitation.

The man behind the counter looks exactly like the kind of person you forget the second you see him—average height, soft build, sweater sleeves rolled to his elbows. His name tag reads GARY.

“You’re late,” he says, voice steady, tapping a pen on his ledger in a slow, even rhythm.

Bree drops her bag on the counter. “You told me to make sure I wasn’t followed.”

Kael and I exchange a look from behind a shelf. The floor creaks under my boots, too loud. I freeze.

Gary lowers his voice, the pen still clicking against paper. “The delivery’s ready. The signal goes out when the sun drops.”

Every word lands like a stone in my stomach.

I know that phrasing. Mira’s notes. The Shroud used it to coordinate shipments—people, not packages.

My pulse spikes. I nod once to Kael. Her hand closes around her weapon.

I step out from behind the shelf before I can talk myself out of it. “Delivery for who?”

Bree spins, face draining of color. Gary doesn’t move. He just watches me over the top of his glasses, pen still in his hand.

“Cassie,” Bree breathes, taking a step back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.”

Gary clicks the pen closed. “You really should’ve stayed at school.”

The sound of it—soft, final—makes the hair on my arms rise.

Then the lights die.

Every bulb snaps out at once, plunging the shop into near-darkness. For a split second, it’s silent except for the creak of settling wood and my own heartbeat in my ears.

Then red light crawls up the walls and ceiling, thin lines glowing like veins under glass. They move, pulsing, alive.

Kael’s voice is low, tight. “Cassie. Behind me.”

The air shifts—hot, chemical, wrong. I catch the faintest scent of ozone before something hisses above us.

Heat detonates through the room. Shelves burst, paper whirls like ash. Kael moves first—blade catching the light, turning it molten. She cuts one man down, pivots, takes a slash across her arm, and doesn’t flinch.

Another lunges; she drives her elbow back, steel meeting bone. Blood sprays the counter.

I duck under a swinging staff, ram my shoulder into a ribcage, hear a grunt, grab the nearest thing within reach—a hard-bound book—and slam it into his face. The spine splits; he drops.

We’re a rhythm of noise and breath—her light, my fists. Sparks rain from ruptured wards overhead.

Something grazes my side, heat searing through fabric. I bite down a shout. Kael shoves me behind a shelf, deflects another hex that splinters the wood beside my head. The blast leaves her staggered, golden light flickering.

“Still with me?” she pants.

“Not planning to die in a bookstore.”

“Good. Stay low.”

She dives back into the smoke. The light around her is thinner now, gold bleeding into white. Every motion costs her more.

I follow, grabbing a shard of broken metal from the wrecked counter. It’s sharp enough. One swing catches a cloaked attacker across the jaw; another gash opens across my forearm, hot and wet. I barely feel it.

Kael reappears through the haze, chest heaving, hair plastered to her temples. She takes another hit, this one to the ribs; the sound it makes is ugly. Still, she plants her feet, sword rising one last time.

The explosion that follows is sunlight and thunder. Half the room collapses.

When the glow fades, Kael is on her knees. Blood drips from her mouth; the gold in her eyes is dim.

“Kael!”

She tries to stand, stumbles, forces a crooked grin. “Told you… I’d keep you alive.”

Then she falls.

I catch her shoulder, but she’s already gone slack, faint warmth still radiating from her skin. Around us, footsteps close in—dozens, maybe more.

I grip the metal shard until my knuckles ache. I’ll die swinging if I have to.

Something whistles through the air. A sting hits my neck—small, sharp.

Cold spreads fast.

I rip the dart out, but my fingers don’t work right. The floor tilts. My body refuses to listen.

No. Not like this.

I grab for Kael’s fallen hand, then my bracelet—the ember-cord Mira tied there months ago. It’s burning hot, alive against my pulse.

I focus on it, on her. Mira.

The thought isn’t words anymore. It’s instinct—panic compressed into a single pulse of heat and light. Help.

For an instant, I feel her answer—distant, fierce, terrified. The connection sparks like lightning through water.

Then it snaps.

The warmth drains out of my wrist, the red light fades, and the dark rushes in to swallow everything else.