Page 39

T he bar stretched along the far end of the room, dark mahogany gleaming under the candlelight. Bottles of rich amber and glistening ether elixirs lined the shelves, their contents shifting.

I slid onto the velvet stool, pressing my fingers against the cool wood, grounding myself.

The bartender barely spared me a glance before sliding a drink toward me—deep, luminous violet, swirling in a crystal-cut martini glass.

The liquid shimmered as if stirred by unseen hands, tiny flecks of gold flickering like dying stars on the surface.

I frowned. “I didn’t order this.”

The bartender polished a glass with an old rag, utterly unfazed. “I know.”

My grip tightened on the stem of the glass. “Then who?”

He inclined his head slightly, dark brows knitting together. “Someone left it for you.”

The room tilted slightly beneath me. “Who?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t see their face.”

The purple liquid rippled like the surface of a wind-swept lake. Then I saw it, a note was slipped beneath the base. I slid it free. The parchment was smooth beneath my fingers, the ink slanted in elegant, hurried strokes.

Want to know who your mother really was? Meet me in the Hall of Mirrors. Come alone.

A crude map had been sketched beneath the words, a winding path leading away from the Astralis Ballroom, down the eastern wing of Evermore. I hesitated. Ruby would call this reckless. I swallowed the drink in one.

But I would call this fate.

The ballroom had been stifling, a gilded cage of whispers and empty smiles, but this was quite the opposite. The Hall of Mirrors stretched before me like something conjured from a fever dream, its entrance framed by towering marble columns etched with shimmering rhunes.

Inside, mirrors lined the walls in an endless, fractured labyrinth, the glass stretching from floor to ceiling.

They reflected everything—the chandeliers above, the ivy creeping through the cracks in the marble, the shadows pooling in the corners.

My own image stared back at me a hundred times over, warped and distorted, flickering in the dim candlelight.

I ran my hands down the beading of my dress, watching them shimmer like drops of blood. This was a place built to unsettle, to deceive, to turn a person against their own reflection. I stepped forward, watching my doppelgangers follow in unison.

I still wasn’t sure what I expected. Would someone really arrive bringing nothing but the truth, offering it up on a silver platter? But then the flames of the sconces guttered, flickering like breath against glass. I was no longer alone.

The mirrors betrayed me first. I saw a shape moving at the far end of the hall, reflected a hundred different ways.

I looked over my shoulder, scanning the illusions for the truth, but the hooded figure remained still as their form fractured across the endless reflections.

I couldn’t tell which was real, if any of them were.

My chest heaved. It could have been a trick of a light, a mistake. The figure moved

Then, they lunged. I barely twisted in time, a flash of steel slicing through the air where my throat had been seconds before. The blade caught the candlelight, gleaming wickedly as it struck a mirror instead, splintering glass into a cascade of stars.

The Thread roared inside my skull. “Move, Nocturne. MOVE.”

I obeyed. I rolled, my back slamming against another mirrored wall. The impact sent fractures through the glass, my own reflection shattering into jagged, broken pieces. Something sharp tore through me on impact.

I gasped, hands splayed against the cool surface, heart thundering in my ribs. Blood slicked my fingers as I pressed to the wound, blooming like a dark rose at my thigh.

The hooded figure straightened. I could only see glimpses of them beneath the cloak, the broad shoulders, uneven movements. A ripple of unease tightened in my chest.

This wasn’t a random attack. This was deliberate, and this move was carefully calculated. There were too many people here that hated me, figuring out who despised me enough to try and kill me would be impossible.

But then I saw it. A mark.

The figure stepped closer, the fabric shifting at their wrist for just a second, revealing an insignia carved into the skin. It was a sigil I had seen before, though my mind scrambled to place it.

Another strike came, faster this time. I barely ducked, feeling a sharp kiss of steel against my collarbone, the fabric of my gown splitting beneath the blade.

I stumbled, my shoulder knocking into another mirror, the warped reflections of my own fear closing in on me. I couldn’t win this fight. I was unarmed, far too exposed and vulnerable.

Fresh and old wounds gaped beneath my dress, stinging to the touch. The figure lunged again, and something inside me snapped. “ Focus.” The Thread’s voice sliced through my mind. “Feel it. Call it. You can borrow what’s mine.”

I leaned in to the power I felt in the bathroom, with the Daemon. I reached for something beyond my own fear, something deeper. I could feel it coiled inside me—heat, power, rage. Ether.

But it wouldn’t come fast enough. The blade arced toward me as the Thread hissed, and I braced myself for impact.

But the hooded figure jerked back, cursing, clawing at his eyes. It bought me a breath. My heart stopped as a second shadow moved in the glass, but his face quickly pulled into focus. Dorian.

He moved fast. The hooded figure spun, too slowly. Steel met flesh. There was a strained gasp and the attacker stumbled back, clutching their leg, blood pooling. He looked up, registering Dorian’s face, and sprinted out of the hall.

I stood there, trembling. Dorian was watching me, and suddenly, I was aware of everything including the closeness between us. The rapid swell and fall of my chest, the way my skin hummed with adrenaline.

His gaze raked over me, desperate. Then, before I could stop him, his fingers brushed against my cheek. “You are too vulnerable without it,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, something almost dangerous threading beneath it. “You are killing me trying to protect you. Hugo, and now this…”

I couldn’t stop shaking. “Without what? ”

Dorian’s fingers curled slightly at my chin, tilting my face toward his. The space between us shrank.“The Lumen.”

“What, my necklace?” I stammered. My throat tightened, thick. “You know what it is?”

Dorian inhaled slowly, deeply, nodding. “I figured it out, yes.” His lips parted, like he might say more, but then his eyeline dipped lower. To my torn gown. To the place where the blade had split the fabric apart, exposing just enough. “I’m going to find who did this to you.”

“Someone wants me dead.” The words were flat, hollow as I spoke them. “Before the Rift. Why? Because they think I’m responsible? ”

“I don’t know, Davenant.” He exhaled, his fingers tracing over the gash in my dress. It had narrowly missed my still-healing wound. “People are desperate to destroy beautiful things.”

He looked at me differently now, like I was something fragile he’d die to protect. Maybe I was. But I didn’t need saving, I needed to feel real again. To feel like I was alive, not breaking apart. I just wanted to feel anything but the fear pounding in my veins.

His lips hovered just above mine, a breath away.

His lids were half-lowered with want. The want to save me, the want to have me.

In the sea of reflections, mine were too.

I should have hated him with everything in my being.

He was a Daemon. A murderer. But here, he wasn’t any of those things. He was warmth, gravity, safety.

I moved first, tangling my hands around his neck and pressing my lips to his.

I felt the bite of his teeth, then warmth.

It was everywhere, in the space between us, in the way his breath tangled with mine, in the unbearable slowness of it all.

I wanted more. Needed more. His kisses grew more frantic, more desperate.

I met them with equal desire, my neck arching as they shifted to my jaw and my neck.

The ballroom beyond the doors no longer existed.

The world had melted into silence, into the space between us.

The only thing that mattered was the press of Dorian’s body against mine, the heat radiating between us like a force of gravity neither of us could resist. If he sank his teeth into my neck again, I might have begged for more.

He pulled away, just out of reach, keeping me suspended in the ache of almost. I moved to shadow him, but winced. Pain seared everywhere , burning at my chest, my stomach, my hip.

“You need a medic,” Dorian hissed, lifting me easily. “Again.”

“I’m fine.” It was a lie. My vision was fading, blurring in and out of focus as I lolled against his shoulder. His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he ran, the sharp turns sending searing pain through me.

“Quick,” he called as we reached the medical suite. I sunk my head into his chest. “She needs another tonic. Maybe stitches.” He set me down on a bed and I groaned in protest. A bitter tonic spilled down my throat, and I felt only tugging as my wounds were stitched up.

When the medic was done, I was woozy but stable. “Thank you,” I uttered.

I shifted against the pillow, trying to sit up, but pain flared through my side. Dorian was beside the bed before I could blink. “Don’t,” he said sharply. His next words were gentler. “You’re still healing.”

I studied him. His lips were still parted like he hadn’t meant to speak. He looked… shaken .

“What?” I asked.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. For a moment, I thought he was going to say it, whatever impossible thing was clawing its way up his throat, but his jaw clenched shut. “This was a mistake.”

He strode out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. I stared at the place he’d been like an echo of him remained.

But maybe he wasn’t talking about the kiss. Maybe he meant me.