Page 36

A sound shattered the midnight silence, a single ping , as somber as the final note in a requiem. My heart quickened. There were a thousand ways this could all go wrong.

Slate light carved through the dorm’s shadows, stabbing my tired eyes. I clicked it open, the erratic thrum of my heartbeat the only sound I could hear. There was just a single response, unsigned.

Meet me in the chapel. Alone.

My pulse thrummed high in my throat, and yet, I was not surprised. I should have expected this. Godwin had. Why me? Why was Dante interested in me?

A slow exhale steadied my trembling fingers as I slid out of bed. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet, but I barely felt it. My hands worked quickly, fastening buttons, pulling my tights taut, buckling the straps of my boots. Every piece of clothing felt like armor.

This wasn’t just for me. This was for my parents.

For Hugo. For Ruby. For every name carved into Evermore’s bones, left to rot under the weight of its secrets.

I wasn’t going down without a fight. I should’ve been afraid, but some part of me still wanted answers.

It wasn’t just the deck I needed. It was the truth.

For a heartbeat I simply stood in the middle of the room, palms pressed to the cool iron bedframe, letting the hush settle over me. Ruby’s even breathing drifted from the other bed. Beyond the window the rain ticked like a soft metronome.

My muscles still ached from conditioning, my ribs bruised where Hugo’s javelin had landed, yet in the quiet I could feel my own stubborn pulse. If I managed to get the deck from Dante, was it selfish to run like my mother had? Could Godwin really get me out?

Fear was still there, cold and ever-present, but a harder thing rose beneath it. Resolve. When I finally moved, it was with purpose, every step forward a vow to see this through.

The chapel loomed ahead, a relic from a time when Evermore still pretended to be holy. Now, the stone was cracked, ivy curling between the fractures like veins beneath ancient skin.

Wind howled through the stone slats, a hollow sound that sent a shiver through me.

My breath came too fast, my footsteps too loud.

Everything in me knew I shouldn’t be here.

But I was tired of waiting, tired of watching.

Tired of feeling like a ghost in my own damn body.

Only the flicker of candlelight cut through the dark, casting long shadows over the stone.

I almost turned back, until I heard the music.

It didn’t feel like a melody, exactly, more like a memory.

Half-broken notes bled from the piano. Dante sat at the keys, back to me, moonlight striping across his coat through the fractured stained glass.

His hands moved effortlessly over the keys, like he’d done this a thousand times before. I hated that it moved me.

He let the last note ring out. It lingered in the air like smoke. “You came,” he said, without turning.

I didn’t answer.

“I hoped you wouldn’t.”

The silence blanketing us felt like a spell, though fragile enough to shatter. The last note still rang in my ears, though his hands no longer touched the keys.

I didn’t move. Neither did he. The silence breathed, and the song, his song , lingered between us like fate itself. I forced myself to look at him, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Dante was the first to speak again. “You asked to meet me.” His voice was softer than I expected, almost practiced.

“I didn’t expect you to come.” I watched the slow tilt of his head, a glint of something hidden in the depths of those dark eyes. I swallowed, my throat tight. “That song…” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “What was it? It felt familiar.”

Dante’s gaze flickered, just barely, but enough. Enough that I knew my question mattered. “ A nocturne ,” he murmured.

The word slid between us like a blade to my ribs. It was a coincidence; I was sure of it. That word. The one I had so often heard in a whisper spun from the shadows of my mind.

The Thread’s name for me. The chapel felt colder, the candlelight flickering in strange patterns against the stone. I tried to fight the way my fingers curled, the way my stomach knotted, but I couldn’t stop it. No. It couldn’t be him. Except it could. It could.

Because this wasn’t a coincidence. I knew it instinctively.

“Why did you agree to meet me?” My voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried, twisting through the darkness. He still hadn’t answered. I pressed on, the bigger question burning my tongue. “Why me, in all of this?”

“You already know, Nocturne.” The Thread curled through my skull, and I knew. I knew . It should have made me flinch, hearing my nickname spoken like that. But it didn’t. It made something inside me go still. Like he’d plucked a thread only I could feel.

“You,” I breathed. “It was always you.” My throat closed. “You’re the Thread.” Dante didn’t confirm it. He didn’t have to. The feeling between us was proof enough. I took a step back, suddenly feeling like the air in the chapel was too warm. “How long? How long have you known?”

His jaw tightened. “I have always felt you. It wasn’t until you arrived at Evermore that I knew.” His voice broke on the words, and he looked away. His fingers twitched, like he was fighting the urge to reach for me.

Everything snapped into place. Every whisper. Every pull. Every instinct I shouldn’t have had. The way he was always there. The way he always knew. The reason the Thread had never left me. It wasn’t a force. It wasn’t fate. It was him. I had let him inside my mind.

Dante took a step forward. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I felt the tension in the space between us. “Like I have often said. You don’t even know who you are.”

My hands curled into fists. “Then tell me.”

A muscle flickered in his jaw. “I tried to ignore it. Tried to resist it. But it never goes away, does it?” The Thread roared in my skull.

“Why me?” I demanded. “Why are we connected?” I didn’t know if I wanted to run or reach for him. I didn’t know who I was anymore, not really. Not if he’d been there all along.

“I don’t know,” Dante said. “I tried to resist it. But you…” His throat worked, like he couldn’t say it. “You make it harder. ”

“Harder,” I echoed. “This is hard for you? Imagine how I feel! You’ve been in my mind , Dante. This whole time.”

He didn’t answer. He glanced at my mouth, then back to my eyes, sighing.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card.

Goosebumps prickled against my skin, my body already knowing what it was before my mind could catch up.

Saints help me, I wanted to understand him.

Wanted to understand this. “I thought if I kept you close I could learn how to sever this before it ruins us both.” But there was something in his voice, something far from detachment.

“Maybe that was just a lie I told myself.”

A flick of his wrist sent the card spinning between his fingers, its edges gleaming like embers waiting to catch. The ink writhed beneath his touch, the card’s many eyes rolling in their sockets, tracking me. They saw me, they knew I was here.

A cold weight settled in my chest. “Give them back.” My voice came out raw, breaking as I uttered, “ Now .”

Dante smirked. “Why?” His grip on the card was loose, lazy, like he wasn’t holding power in his hands, like it didn’t mean everything. “You think they belong to you? That they’re safer with you? That returning them will raise your score?”

“Maybe.” My voice cracked.

“You’re wrong.” He didn’t flinch. “Someone like you was never destined for the After.”

My stomach clenched. “What are you saying?”

“The cards are safer with me. I want you to see that. I’ve tried to show you…” he started, but I moved before I could think, lunging for the card.

The second my fingers brushed its surface, pain. Not just pain, total blinding agony. A strangled sound tore from my throat as I jerked back, my palm burning, raw and red.

Dante caught my wrist before I could stumble away. The Thread pressed against the edges of my mind, delighted. “You want answers?” he asked. “I’ll give you one card. That’s all I’m offering.”

“I need the whole deck.”

“Can’t do that.” His gaze dropped to the necklace at my throat. “One card and in exchange, your necklace.”

My hand flew to it, the weight grounding. It was a part of me I wasn’t willing to give away.

“You don’t even know what it is,” he said, almost gently. “Do you?”

“It belonged to my mother.”

“It’s called a Lumen,” he said. “It’s a Vestige, an artifact my father would love to collect.”

A Vestige, like the Arcana Deck. My mother had left me something powerful.

“I’m not interested,” I ground out.

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” He didn’t sound cruel, this time. Just tired . “But if you want this card, it has to be a trade.”

I didn’t move. The chain dug into my palm. I could still say no. I could still walk away. The Lumen pulsed softly in my palm, its chain tangled in my fingers like a lifeline. But if I did… what if I never got this chance again? Maybe Godwin would grant me my freedom with one card.

My hand shook as I unclasped the necklace. The moment it left my skin, a cold emptiness bloomed in its place. Dante took it like it burned, dropping it quickly into his jacket pocket.

In return, he pressed the card into my palm. The Fool. I had surrendered something I loved for the intangible promise of hope. His hand lingered for a moment, hovering, just close enough for heat to arc between us.

As I stared down at The Fool Card in my hand, the jester’s painted grin catching the light, it felt less like hope and more like a warning, a cruel joke played at my expense. I’d come here to win the cards. was leaving the victim of a moonlight robbery .

I had failed to get the entire deck, failed to secure my ticket to freedom. But as I looked up at him, something else cracked wide open inside of me, something I couldn’t make sense of.

Dante was the Thread. We were connected. I wanted to believe it was a lie, but I knew it wasn’t. All the cards in the world wouldn’t make it untrue.