The Court dinner was over, but its poison still lingered in my chest like smoke I couldn’t cough out.

I shut my bedroom door with more force than necessary, the sound swallowed by the thick wards layered into these walls. My heels came off first, tossed toward the nearest chair with little care for where they landed. The dress followed more slowly — firewoven silk hissing faintly with residual enchantment as I peeled it away from my skin. It clung, as if reluctant to release me, warm as a second heartbeat.

I left it in a molten heap on the chair and crossed the cool marble floor barefoot, every step pulling me closer to the tall gilt-edged mirror by the window. I avoided it most nights. The girl inside it had a way of looking at me like she knew too much.

But tonight, I needed to see her.

No glamour blurred the truth — I hadn’t been wearing one since stepping into the Court earlier this evening. This was my real self, the one no human could look at without feeling something like awe or danger, the one the Court paraded as proof of its own beauty while never letting me forget I was not fully theirs.

The girl in the mirror was… unreal.

My hair spilled over my shoulders and halfway down my back, thick waves and loose curls shifting between shades of gold, copper, molten red, and threads so pale they were almost silver. The light caught in them like it had been trapped there, each movement setting off tiny flares. My skin was warm-toned, almost sunlit even here in the shadowed room, smooth as porcelain kissed by heat.

The lines of my body were the sort sculptors tried and failed to capture — tall, long-legged, with the subtle curve of muscle beneath softness that came from years of training disguised as etiquette. The swell of my hips balanced the elegant line of my waist; the shape of my shoulders carried both grace and quiet strength. My collarbones caught the faint glow of the ever-burning Court light, sharp enough to cast shadows. Even my hands betrayed my heritage — long-fingered, precise, the faint shimmer of heat radiating from the skin.

And then my eyes — the starlit brown that had always given me away. Dark, deep, flecked with gold and silver that pulsed faintly like constellations just on the edge of collapse. The kind of eyes that made people forget what they were saying. The kind of eyes that made me feel like a fraud in my own skin.

It was beauty that could win wars, topple kingdoms. On a scale of one to ten, I was a fifteen. And I knew it.

But knowing didn’t mean believing. And believing didn’t mean accepting.

The Court saw perfection. I saw a role I’d been forced into, one that came with its own kind of chains. I was still the girl who measured tiles on the floor just to make the world make sense. The girl who wore her confidence like armor, hammered together from sarcasm and posture to hide the cracks that ran deep.

My gaze dropped to the silver bracelet at my wrist — Naomi’s — the cool metal grounding me against the heat building in my chest.

“You’re still here,” I murmured, not sure if I meant me or her.

Outside my window, the estate hummed — a thousand enchantments woven over one another to keep the outside world out and the Firebrand legacy pristine. But I knew every flaw in those wards. Every hallway where the magic stuttered. Every servant’s passage the protections didn’t quite touch.

I turned from the mirror and reached for my real clothes: scuffed black combat boots worn from rooftop walks, ripped jeans enchanted to self-mend, a black tank that could resist minor fire magic, and a slate hoodie softened from too many late nights. The inside pocket still carried the faint scorch mark from a Flicker mishap last fall.

Pulling them on felt like breathing again. Not better. Just… mine.

I tied my hair back loosely, enough to dull the way it caught the light. My ears stayed uncovered — here in the Summer Court, I didn’t have to hide them — but habit kept me aware of every shadow and angle where they might draw the wrong attention outside these walls.

The manor was silent when I slipped into the hall. Even the candles dimmed slightly as I passed. I padded down the stone steps on bare feet, avoiding the creaky board near the third landing, past cold portraits that watched without warmth, past the room where Selene had once taught me to lie with my smile.

At the end of the east hall waited the iron sconce. To anyone else, just decoration. To me, a door. I twisted it counterclockwise and heard the soft click as the wall beside it cracked open just enough for me to slip through.

The servant’s passage smelled of dust and forgotten magic — older, rougher than the pristine veilcraft the Court preferred. I liked it better that way. It wound beneath the gardens before rising again near the outer perimeter, just shy of the wards.

The night air outside was cooler, sharp against my skin. I kept low as I moved along the stone path, ducking past the glowing perimeter rune. One wrong step and the wards would flare — and if they did, I’d be dead before I could scream.

They didn’t.

At the back gate, where the boundary thinned and the glamour flickered against the edges of the Veil, I crouched low and brushed damp leaves from the rose arbor’s base. The sigil waited there, etched so shallowly into the stone it could be mistaken for weathering by anyone who didn’t know better.

Three quick motions. A flick of heat from my palm.

The mark lit faintly—only for me—and the Veilfracture stirred awake. It wasn’t a portal, not exactly. More like a seam I’d picked at until the threads loosened, a weak place in the weave I’d learned to coax open. A shortcut from the gilded cage of Ravensrest to the fractured veins of Grimwall Hollow.

The shimmer widened just enough for me to slip through.

The air changed instantly—magic here hit like a slap of cold water, sharp and wild. The Veil’s precision and polish fell away, replaced by chaos that tangled itself into every breath. Neon bled through fog in impossible shades—violet, green, gold—twisting together in the damp night air. The streets stank of smoke and hot oil, spilled wine and the sour tang of spell ash. Beneath it all, the old pulse of the city beat steady and stubborn, like a second heart that refused to die.

This was Dominveil after dark.

Not the perfect, lacquered façade my mother paraded for visiting dignitaries. This was the version that prowled on broken heels and knife edges, the one that hid in shadows and laughed in the faces of those who tried to chain it.

The one with teeth.

I shoved my hands into the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie, letting the night claim me. My boots scuffed along the uneven pavement, skimming puddles that glowed faintly with magic runoff. Somewhere far off, a street performer’s violin tangled with the deep bass of some club’s spell-amplified beat, both sounds warped by the city’s strange acoustics.

A rat shot across a gutter ahead of me, its shadow ballooning unnaturally large against the brick wall before shrinking back to nothing. An alley witch—face lined like cracked clay—watched me from beneath a dangling string of talismans, her sharp eyes following me until I passed out of sight.

I wasn’t alone, though. I never was in this part of the city.

At the edge of my vision, small glimmers darted between piles of refuse and fractured cobblestones—tiny sparks of light, quick as moths. The Little Folk. Most people couldn’t see them unless they were drunk on magic or carrying a pocketful of iron to ward them off. They didn’t usually linger in the open, but tonight they followed me in twos and threes, never getting too close.

One brave flicker zipped ahead and settled on the cracked rim of a planter, the shape resolving into a figure no taller than my hand. Dragonfly wings trembled in the neon haze; its skin shimmered like quartz dust. It tilted its head, curious.

I slowed. The others stilled too, their faint lights hovering like a halo at the edge of the fog.

They didn’t bow or speak—not in words I could hear—but something in the air shifted. A quiet that wasn’t absence of sound, but… attention. Like I’d walked into a room where everyone already knew my name.

A prickle ran up my spine, half warning, half warmth.

I blinked, and the moment broke. The Little Folk scattered in a flash of light, disappearing into cracks and drainpipes as if they’d never been there at all.

Weird. Even for Grimwall.

The glow of the Howling Moon’s sign finally bled through the mist ahead, its silver wolf’s head grinning down at the crooked door. I picked up my pace. In there, I could drop the last of the Court’s weight and just be Mira. Or at least, the Mira I liked best.

Kess was already outside, leaning against the rail like she’d been born to lounge there. Panther-shifter in ripped jeans and a patchy bomber jacket, her amber eyes caught the light and didn’t let it go. Her smile was all teeth and secrets.

“Took you long enough, Princess.”

I didn’t bother hiding the smirk. “You’re lucky I came at all.”

She snorted, kicking off the rail to fall into step beside me. “You always come.”

And she wasn’t wrong.

We pushed through the crooked archway, the heavy door groaning open. Inside, the air wrapped around me—warm, alive, humming with old magic. The Howling Moon never pretended to be safe. Its mismatched tables and warped wood floors had seen more chaos than the Court would dare whisper about, but here, chaos was comfort.

Kess bumped my shoulder as we crossed the floor. “You bringing the storm in with you, or is that just your mood again?”

“You’d know,” I said, brushing my fingers along the scorched edge of the bar.

She grinned wider. “If I could bottle that scowl, I’d be rich.”

And then I saw her.

Naomi stood at the bar, one boot braced on the footrail, her arms folded over a black tank that showed off frost-blue runes curling down her forearm. Cargo pants cinched at her waist, short white hair tousled from either wind or a fight—probably both. Her violet eyes tracked me as I approached, and a slow, knowing smile curved her mouth.

“You survived the Court,” she said. “Do we need to kill anyone?”

I laughed for the first time that day, the sound breaking something open in my chest. “Not unless you want a one-way ticket to the Queen’s dungeons.”

“I’ve had worse,” she said, sipping her drink. “You look like hell.”

“She always does after she plays dress-up,” Kess chimed in, sliding into the booth with the ease of a cat claiming territory. “Tell me about the dress with the living flame—did it purr when you lied?”

I flipped her off without heat. “At least it had taste. Unlike your jacket.”

Kess gasped. “Rude. This jacket survived the Glare Rites.”

“Only because the Glare Rites involve setting things on fire,” Naomi muttered.

Their banter was a balm, a reminder of who I was when I wasn’t suffocating in silks and titles. Here, I didn’t have to fit the mold. I could exist.

Kess leaned forward. “So. Did Her Majesty give you the loyalty-and-bloodlines speech, or just glare you into submission this time?”

I shrugged, fingers brushing the silver bracelet Naomi had given me. “She said I don’t belong anywhere. I think it was supposed to be inspiring.”

Naomi’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn’t answer right away, instead tilting her head, studying me with the kind of focus that made my skin prickle.

“Your scent’s still off,” she said finally.

I frowned. “Still?”

Naomi’s voice softened, almost reluctant. “Normally, you smell like toasted marshmallow heat wrapped around stargazer bloom—warm, intoxicating, that spark that makes people lean in without knowing why. There’s always a whisper of the ocean in it too, salt and fresh rain, like the air right before a summer storm. But tonight…” Her gaze lingered on me, unreadable. “The heat’s dulled. The bloom’s faded. It’s more rain than fire right now. Like you’ve been standing under a storm you didn’t ask for.”

I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat. Kess reached across the table and ruffled my hair, her touch playful but gentle.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here to make you scream a little,” she said with a wink.

“Oh gods,” Naomi muttered. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

Kess smirked. “You’re not supposed to take me anywhere. You’re supposed to meet me in dark alleys and questionable bars.”

“Mission accomplished,” I muttered, smiling despite myself.

Naomi’s drink caught the glow of the neon moon above us, the liquid inside flickering faint blue like bottled winter. She tilted her head at me.

“Want one?”

“What is it?”

“Something illegal. Something strong.”

“Sold.”

Kess whooped and slid out of the booth. “I’ll grab it. And maybe see if that bard still owes me a song.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “You mean the one you left tied to your bed?”

“He got out,” Kess called over her shoulder.

Naomi sighed, and I chuckled, watching her take another slow drink. The bar around us swelled with magic—soft and shifting, like the world here obeyed different rules. It probably did. That was part of the charm.

Naomi tapped the rim of her glass. “You okay?”

“No,” I said honestly.

She nodded. “Good.”

I gave her a look.

“I hate it when you lie to me,” she said. “Even more when you lie to yourself.”

My throat tightened. “You and Kess should start a therapy collective.”

“No thanks,” she said, deadpan. “I already work retail.”

I snorted into my hands. “Gods. Why are you people my best friends?”

Naomi didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

A moment passed. Then she reached across the table and gently placed her hand over mine, just for a second. No words. No advice. Just warmth.

Kess returned with three drinks and two stolen cherries. She dropped them into my glass, slid into the seat beside Naomi, and raised her own drink in a crooked toast.

“To fire not wasted, frost that endures, and moonlight sharp enough to cut.”

We clinked our mismatched mugs together, the sound strangely solemn.

And for a little while, I forgot about the crown.

I forgot about Seara.

I forgot about the girl in the mirror who didn’t know where she belonged.

Because here—beneath broken stained glass, the hum of rebel magic, and the scent of my friends grounding me in the chaos—I did.

We were halfway through our second round when the smoke charm lit.

It hung above the bar in the shape of a curled serpent—old Veilwork Naomi had rigged together from scraps and magic pulled raw from the street. Most people thought it was just part of the tavern’s décor, like the rune-burned wood and the cracked cathedral windows. But when the serpent coiled tighter, smoke pulsing blue instead of silver, it meant someone had passed the wards. Someone who shouldn’t be here.

Kess looked up from her drink. “That’s not just drunk energy.”

Naomi set her mug down, sharp violet eyes cutting toward the door.

I followed their gaze automatically, heart rate spiking. “What’s it mean?”

Naomi didn’t answer right away. Kess leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. Her smile was gone.

“It means Grimwall just got interesting.”

The door banged open. Not dramatically—just enough to break the rhythm of the room.

A girl stumbled inside. Late twenties maybe, with long jet hair streaked with violet and soaked to the scalp like she’d run through a thunderstorm that hadn’t existed five minutes ago. Her jacket was scorched along one sleeve. Blood stained her collar. Her hands trembled around something clutched close to her chest.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the wards reacted—every rune in the place flashing gold and red like the tavern itself had taken a breath.

Kess was already up. “Naomi.”

“I see it.”

“What am I seeing?” I hissed, standing automatically.

“Veilmage,” Naomi said. “Low-tier, probably. Someone just chased her through the wrong part of the city.”

“Shroud?” I asked.

Kess didn’t look away from the girl. “Could be. Could be cops on their leash. Doesn’t matter. She’s bleeding and she made it to the Moon. That makes her ours.”

I blinked. “Wait, what?”

But Kess was already moving—fluid, fast, all muscle and instinct as she caught the girl at the bar, steadying her before she could fall.

Naomi grabbed my wrist and nodded toward the back hallway. “Come on. This way.”

The Howling Moon might’ve looked like a crumbling bar to most, but it had secrets. Naomi shoved open a false door behind the liquor shelves and we stepped into a narrow corridor lined with pulsing ward-glyphs. The tavern’s real guts.

By the time we got the girl inside, she was shaking harder. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the glowing object at her chest.

Kess brushed her damp hair back. “What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer, just shoved the object toward us with a gasping, “Keep it safe.”

It landed in my hands before I could react.

And pulsed.

A beat of light shot through my palms like a second heartbeat. I almost dropped it—but the magic clung to my skin like it knew me. Knew something I didn’t.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, holding it out.

Naomi’s brow furrowed. “A glyph crystal.”

“I’ve never seen one like this,” Kess said quietly.

The girl gave a rough, choked laugh. “You wouldn’t. I pulled it from a Veil-split. It wasn’t supposed to still be active. I think they tracked me because of it.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Naomi asked.

But we didn’t get an answer.

Outside the corridor, the wards hissed—sharp and sudden like a snake snapping its fangs.

Naomi swore.

Kess stood. “They’re here.”

I froze. “Wait—who’s here?”

Kess tossed me my hoodie, already halfway to the door. “People who don’t knock. People who kill first.”

Naomi moved to the girl, whispered something I didn’t hear, then turned back to me. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were steel.

“We’re getting you both out of here.”

My pulse hammered in my throat. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to,” Kess said, already pulling open the alley door. “Just follow us.”

And then we were running.

The door slammed open behind us as we spilled into the alley—half-shadowed, wet with rain that hadn’t touched the rest of the city. Glamour runoff. Streetlight bleeding through Veil static. Magic thick in the air like a thunderstorm that had never learned to leave.

Naomi shoved the girl forward, arm around her ribs. “Go. Left.”

Kess grabbed my wrist and dragged me behind a rusted dumpster just as a bolt of something not-quite-lightning shattered the brick wall where we’d been standing seconds before.

A scream rang out—high, sharp, real.

Not mine.

Kess swore. “We’re boxed. Three more in the alley mouth.”

“They weren’t supposed to follow me this far,” the girl gasped, struggling to stay upright.

“They aren’t supposed to do a lot of things,” Naomi growled, her voice rougher now—deeper. Her eyes gleamed faint silver. Her nails were lengthening.

My hand still clutched the glyph crystal. It pulsed against my palm like it had a heartbeat—like it was syncing with mine.

I felt the magic rise—hot, coiled, alive.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, eyes wide.

“You don’t need to know,” Kess said, pressing her back to the wall. “Just stay alive.”

Another blast came—blue-white Veilfire this time. It hit the dumpster, and the metal screamed like it was alive.

Kess moved first.

She darted out and vanished into the shadows between breaths. I heard a body hit the ground. Another grunt. Something metal slicing air.

Naomi followed—shifting mid-motion, her body expanding, solidifying. Her roar cracked the alley like thunder. One of the attackers turned just in time to get slammed into the wall so hard I felt it in my chest.

A third figure ducked low, lifting a rune-blade—some kind of twisted Veil-tech knife.

I didn’t think.

I stepped forward, fingers curled tight around the crystal.

They saw me.

Lifted the blade.

I flinched back—

And then everything exploded.

Not outward. Not up.

In.

My chest squeezed. The magic surged wild and raw, like a scream I’d never let out. Light burst from my hand—searing, brilliant, out of control. It wasn’t shaped. It wasn’t trained. It just was.

The crystal amplified it. Or maybe absorbed it. Or maybe something else entirely. I didn’t know.

But for a second, the alley was flooded with radiant gold.

The enforcer closest to me screamed and dropped their weapon, clutching their face as if the light had burned through their mask.

The others faltered.

“Go!” Kess shouted.

Naomi had the girl over her shoulder now and barreled past me like a freight train. I followed, legs moving without command, my grip on the crystal so tight my knuckles ached. My hands were still shaking.

I didn’t know if I’d just hurt someone—or helped.

I didn’t know what that magic had done.

But I didn’t stop.

We ducked through a crooked break in the wall that led into another alley, then another. The city folded in on itself like a paper maze when you knew where to press.

Kess whistled—a long, high-pitched note that echoed strangely off the buildings.

Something answered from the rooftops.

I didn’t look up.

We ran until the sounds behind us faded—until the shouts were echoes and the air was only damp with leftover rain, until my heart felt like it might explode.

Only then did we stop.

Kess held a hand up—listening, breathing hard. Naomi eased the girl down onto a crate, crouching beside her. No one spoke.

I looked at my hands.

The crystal was gone.

But my skin still glowed faintly, light curling in the lines of my palms as if the magic hadn’t fully left.

And for the first time… it didn’t scare me.

Not completely.

Not yet.

By the time we reached the rooftop, my lungs were on fire.

The girl had vanished into the city with one last breathless “thank you,” and Naomi had given a quiet nod that looked like it cost her something. Kess had guided us upward, through twisting iron stairwells and rotted ladders hidden behind a shuttered bookstore.

Now we stood on an old stone platform above Grimwall Hollow, where the city stretched out beneath us—broken and beautiful.

Dominveil at night was a strange thing—equal parts neon and nightmare. Veil magic shimmered along the skyline like starlight fighting through smoke. Rooftops rose in uneven rows, crooked chimneys and shattered glass catching the glow. It shouldn’t have felt safe.

But up here, with them, it almost did.

I collapsed onto the ledge, legs trembling. “Please tell me this isn’t normal for you two.”

Kess dropped down beside me and offered a battered flask. “Define normal.”

I didn’t hesitate. The alcohol burned on the way down—sharp, smoky, with something floral underneath. “Gods, that tastes like it was distilled in a cauldron.”

“It probably was,” Naomi said dryly, settling on my other side. She pulled a small first aid kit from her belt. “Give me your hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m always shaking.”

Her look said try again. I sighed and held my hand out.

The bandage was cool, her touch careful. She didn’t comment on the faint gold still sparking at the edges of my fingers, or the way the skin had blistered, healed, and shimmered again like my body couldn’t decide what to be.

Kess laid back against the stone, eyes on the fractured sky. “Not bad for your first firefight, Princess.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I nearly blinded someone.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I shot her a look. She grinned like she was proud of me.

Naomi’s voice was softer. “You didn’t lose control.”

“I wasn’t in control,” I said. “I didn’t even know what I was doing. It just… happened.”

“It always does the first time,” she replied.

Silence settled. Below us, sirens wailed and faded. Somewhere, a ward collapsed, spilling light across the dark in brief, fragile bursts.

“This city’s alive,” I murmured. “Even when it’s rotting.”

Kess opened one eye. “Everything alive rots eventually.”

Naomi didn’t answer, but her gaze stayed fixed on the skyline.

I swallowed. “That girl—who was she running from?”

Neither spoke.

Finally, Kess said, “People who don’t like it when you find things meant to stay buried.”

“Like that glyph crystal?”

Naomi’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t just a glyph. It was a key.”

“A key to what?”

A pause.

Kess, casually dangerous: “The kind of door that doesn’t open unless someone bleeds on the lock.”

I stared.

Naomi looked away. “Not tonight, Mira.”

“But you know,” I pressed. “You both know. Why won’t you just tell me?”

Kess sat up slowly, amber eyes faintly aglow. “Because knowing comes with a price. And you still flinch when your fire answers.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” she said gently. “And that’s okay. You’re not there yet.”

My jaw clenched. “Then what am I doing here?”

Naomi finally met my gaze, glacier-steady. “Because you will be ready. Someday. When the fire stops asking and starts demanding.”

Kess nodded once. “When you’re ready to burn something down and not regret it…” She leaned in, voice low and final. “We’ll be waiting.”

The wind kicked up, brushing my skin like a hand made of smoke and prophecy.

Below us, Dominveil shimmered—half-city, half-lie.

I didn’t answer right away.

Just stared.

Because I could feel it now, deep in my bones—beneath the fear, beneath the chaos.

Something wanted to burn.

And maybe…

Maybe I wanted it too.

I leaned forward on my elbows, eyes locked on the jagged horizon where Veillight glimmered against steel towers.

“I think I just might be.”