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Already in bed and propped against the headboard, Skye glanced up from his sketchpad. “Ivain says you’re doing an amazing job.”

Taly rolled her eyes. “Yeah, for a first-year mage.”

“No,” Skye said plainly. “There were no qualifications.”

Warmth flickered in her chest—she ignored it, kicking off her slippers. “Ivain always thinks I’m more impressive than I really am. It’s the human goggles—everything looks extraordinary when you’re supposed to be weak.”

Skye watched her climb into bed, his gaze steady. He closed the sketchpad, setting it aside, before leaning in. “But you’re not human anymore,” he pointed out, his voice lower now, softer.

Before she could fumble for another excuse, his hand cupped her cheek. The weight of the day fell away as his lips met hers—slow at first but with growing intent.

Taly didn’t resist, her frustration slipping into heat. He nudged her back against the pillows, one hand already hitching up the hem of her nightdress. He pulled back just enough to drag it up and over her head.

“I don’t know why you still bother with these,” he said, his voice a slow drag of silk across bare skin. The fabric fluttered through the air as he tossed it aside. “I just end up taking them off you.”

Beginning at her neck, he kissed a slow, lazy line of fire down her body. He didn’t rush. That night, he mapped every inch of her skin with his mouth—built her need with every kiss, every pause, every look before finally giving her what she wanted.

By morning, she felt lighter. She wasn’t saying his cock was magic, but she wasn’tnotsaying it either.

Seated at the piano, her fingers teased out the familiar melody. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, clarity settled in. She knew exactly where to go, where to look.

As always, she began with the ouroboros. The vision formed, but before it could settle, something else flared at the edges of her awareness.

Another amulet. Another thread. A cold pulse, like a whisper of dread, accompanied by a flash of a serpentine eye.

Without hesitation, she reached for it. No second-guessing, no resistance—just movement. She jumped.

The world spun violently, colors and sounds collapsing into a single point, and then she was there.

Countless threads stretched outward, leading to places unknown. But the second amulet pulsed in her vision, a beacon in the chaos of the Weave around it.

Finally, she had something more than shadows to follow.

But even as the new amulet anchored her, she felt it again: that flicker of darkness, trailing just behind.

Yet another week passed.

As Taly very quickly discovered, finding keys wasn’t all that hard once you knew what to look for. But tracing themback… that was proving to be more difficult.

Every night, she tried. And every night, the answer slipped further away. Some threads knotted, others snapped, and a few vanished entirely before she could follow their paths. Every direction led nowhere.

It was maddening. Like a lock she couldn’t pick, a door that refused to open.

She was starting to lean back towards her original hypothesis, despite Skye and Ivain’s endless optimism: maybe she was just a shitty time mage.

The thought burrowed deep, coiling under her ribs where it festered. The gifts were still coming, and she was still no closer to finding Bill.

She told herself she wasn’t trapped. She told herself again. Louder. And when that still didn’t stop the shake in her hands, or her breath from suddenly snagging mid-step, she turned to what always worked—staying busy.

If she couldn’t fix this, she had to find something shecouldfix. Because stillness had never done her any good. It made her think too much. And Bill would love that, wouldn’t he? If she unraveled herself for him.

So, when Aiden mentioned they needed a new brewsmith, she practically vaulted over the breakfast table to volunteer.

The human sickness was still spreading, and supplies were running low—especially pain potion. After a year living and training with Azura, Taly knew the recipe by heart. As well as those for regeneration elixirs, most major antidotes, and she made a mean wound salve, if she did say so herself.

Shivering beneath the warming lamps that had been dragged into the cramped canvas tent, Taly sprinkled a light dusting of gaderee root over the bubbling cauldron. An enchanted cauldron, of course. Not iron like in the human legends, but burnished viridian with green and violet wires veining the sides. The herbs had also been specially prepared—harvested and dried before being allowed to rest in a bin with earth crystals for a period of exactly six days and six hours.

“Is that the next batch…?” Aiden asked, ducking in out of the mist. Outside the potion tent, people milled about, standing in lines, some carrying crates or medical supplies, others sitting or lying on the ground, huddled against the cold while they waited for the healers to assess them.