Page 22

The air in the passageway is thick with the scent of dried herbs and the faintest trace of smoke. It clings to my skin, heavy and warm, curling around me like an invisible force. My bare feet make no sound against the cold stone floor as I drift forward, the hem of my nightgown whispering with each step as I walk around the Guild.

The halls stretch endlessly before me, bathed in the golden glow of candlelight and sconces lining the walls. Shadows move strangely along the walls, flickering in ways that don’t quite match the rhythm of the flames, as though something unseen lingers just beyond my periphery. It isn’t scary though, and it feels much different than the ominous halls of Blackthorne. It feels as though it’s breathing beneath my fingertips, shifting beneath my weight, but giving life to the place that it needs.

Despite not knowing where I’m going, I continue moving. My feet pattering down the hall, guiding me as if they know the way. There’s a pull deep in my chest, a thread wrapping itself around my ribs, drawing me forward with an urgency I don’t understand. The sensation is strange—not painful, but insistent, like a forgotten memory straining to be recalled.

And then I hear it.

Running water.

A quiet ripple, a delicate, lapping sound, as though something disturbs a perfectly still surface.

I round a corner, and suddenly the hall is gone, replaced by a vast courtyard bathed in moonlight. The reflecting pool stretches out before me, the water dark and endless, mirroring the sky above. The air is crisp, cool against my skin, yet I feel no chill. I’m as warm as when I sit in front of the grand fireplace at Lucian’s home.

I glance about the space, and to my complete surprise, at the edge of the pool, standing still as black death, is Lara.

My breath stills in my chest as I look at my sister. The girl who protected me for as long back as I can remember. The one who pulled me out of anxiety attacks and helped me get through the death of our parents.

That girl feels so lost to me now.

She’s barefoot, her toes hovering just over the water’s edge. A long dress clings to her frame—deep burgundy, almost black beneath the subtle light of the moon, the fabric rippling gently in an unseen—and unfelt—breeze. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves, strands lifting slightly as though gravity holds less sway over her.

She doesn’t move.

She only stares, unblinking.

Her gaze is locked onto her own reflection, motionless, as though she’s frozen in time. The surface of the water remains unnaturally still, reflecting her face with eerie clarity.

The quiet stillness is broken when she speaks.

“I know you,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly to the left, as if she’s inspecting the reflection. The words are barely more than a whisper, but they cut through the silence like a knife.

Lara lifts a hand, her fingers trembling as she traces the curve of her jaw, then her collarbone, as though mapping the shape of her own face. She leans closer, breath fogging against the water’s surface.

“I think I know you.”

The words scrape at something deep in my chest, a cold and hollow ache.

Her fingers curl at her sides, and I see it—the way her body tenses, the way her brows furrow, the smallest flicker of confusion in her glassy eyes.

She doesn’t recognize herself.

She’s now at the point where she doesn’t know who she is. There’s no way she knows who I am at this point. I understood Solstice erased her humanity—but how would she forget her own self?

A slow, shuddering breath escapes her lips, and I feel it as though it’s my own.

I take a step closer, my pulse thudding in my ears.

She doesn’t see me.

She only stares harder, her breath coming faster now, panic curling at the edges of her expression.

“Who are you?” she whispers, her eyes still on her reflection.

She’s speaking to herself.

My heart clenches, aches in a way I’ve never hurt before, despite everything that’s come before. A tear slips down my cheek as I try to figure out what to say to her, how to pull her from her thoughts, how to make her remember herself.

Me.

Us.

I try to reach for her, try to step forward, but the moment my fingers stretch toward her shoulder, the world shatters.

A deafening crack splits the silence, a burst of wind slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave. The reflection in the water distorts, twisting and writhing, as though something beneath the surface is trying to claw its way free.

I hear my name—a voice not my own, fractured and distant?—

And then I fall.

Everything collapses in on me and I shatter into nothing more than shards of light as even the earth vanishes beneath my feet.

And I am falling, falling, falling?—

The blood-curdling screams jolts me, and for mere seconds I am terrified, until I realize that the scream is rippling from my own throat. I breathe in a strangled inhale, my body lurching upright before my mind catches up, before my soul returns to where it belongs. For a moment, my world is still half-formed, stitched together by the lingering remnants of the vision—or was it a dream?—but the sensation of it remains, sinking deep into my bones like a frost I can’t shake.

I reach blindly for the sheets, my fingers curling into the fabric, desperate for something solid, something real, something to tether me to the present. But my body betrays me, trembling, sweat-slicked, as if I had run for miles, as if I had stood at the precipice of something too vast, too dark, too consuming.

And maybe I did.

The room around me is unfamiliar in my half-dazed state. Not the apothecary. Not the estate. Not the courtyard where I had just been standing. But I was never standing there, was I?

I give myself a few moments to acclimate to my surroundings, and thankfully, I realize I’m at the Guild. I’ve been here for nearly five days, resting as much as possible and listening to the elders as instructed.

Reality settles in slowly, reluctant in the way the mind clings to something just out of reach. Candlelight flickers dimly on the small nightstand, its golden glow barely cutting through the dense shadows along the walls. The scent of herbs lingers—lavender, rosemary, hints of dried sage, a smell I’ve come to find comfort in—and beneath it, the sterile bite of salves and poultices. There is a heartbeat in the air, magic woven into the very walls, its rhythm steady and slow, unlike the erratic thrum of my own pulse.

I draw in a breath—shallow, uneven, barely enough.

The vision is still with me, the images sharp, burned into the backs of my eyelids even as I blink them away. Lara, standing in front of her reflection. The way she reached for her own image, the way her lips parted around a question that should have never passed them.

"Who are you?"

The words coil in my chest, tightening, pressing against my ribs like an iron cage. My stomach knots, nausea twisting deep, but I force myself to focus, to sift through the mess of it. My heart is breaking all over again, and I can’t help but wonder…how many times can a heart truly break?

This wasn’t just a nightmare.

It was more than that. I know it, feel it deep in the essence of my bones.

I wasn’t just seeing her—I was with her.

Somehow, through the tangled, fraying thread of whatever bond we still share, I had felt her confusion, her unraveling sense of self. There had been no recognition in her gaze, no certainty in her movements, only a ghost of something she had once been.

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

If that was a vision and not a nightmare…my sister doesn’t know herself.

I grip the blankets tighter, my breath shuddering in my throat. I have to do something. I can’t just sit here while she?—

I shove the blankets back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but the moment I try to stand, the world tilts violently. A sharp, searing pain lances through my muscles, locking them up, and my vision sways dangerously. My knees buckle, and I barely catch myself against the nightstand before my body gives out completely.

A small, strangled sound escapes me, frustration and exhaustion bleeding into one as my nails dig into the wooden surface and the candle nearly tips over.

Too weak.

I am still too weak.

A sharp knock at the door splinters through my thoughts, startling me, the sound jarring against my already raw nerves. I exhale sharply, trying to steady the shaking in my hands as I brace against the edge of the bed.

“Sylvie?”

Ravenna.

Her voice is firm, steady in a way I am not.

I drag in a breath, swallowing back the dizziness threatening to pull me under. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and Ravenna steps inside, the candlelight catching on the deep green of her robes. Her sharp gaze sweeps over me, assessing, cataloging, and then narrowing slightly when she takes in the state I’m in.

She exhales slowly, crossing her arms. “Well, dear. I wish I could say you look better.”

I almost laugh, but there’s nothing in me to summon amusement.

Ravenna moves closer, eyes flicking over my unsteady posture, the way my fingers still clutch at the nightstand for balance. “How long have you been awake? It’s early in the morning.”

I don’t answer.

I don’t care.

Instead, I lift my gaze to hers, my voice hoarse, raw from disuse. “I need to leave.”

Ravenna lifts a brow, unimpressed. “No. You need to rest.”

My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. “Lara?—”

“Isn’t going anywhere,” she interrupts, stepping closer, her voice calm but resolute. “Lucian and Dorian are tracking her as we speak. They’ll bring her to us when it’s time.”

I shake my head, something frantic, desperate curling in my chest. “You don’t understand.”

Her expression doesn’t shift, but something in her energy sharpens. “If I fail to understand, then explain it to me.”

I force a breath through my teeth, the weight of it pressing against my ribs like lead. “I saw her.”

Ravenna stills.

For the first time, I have her full attention.

The shift is subtle, but I catch it—the way her stance stiffens slightly, the way her focus narrows in on me, no longer just scanning me for signs of exhaustion but listening.

“What do you mean?” She looks around my small room, as if I mean I saw her here, in the flesh.

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Just now. In my dream, my vision—whatever it was. I saw her. She was standing in front of her reflection, staring at herself like she was trying to remember her own face. She didn’t recognize herself, Ravenna.” My voice cracks, the weight of it pressing down on me. “She doesn’t know who she is.”

My mentor doesn’t speak right away.

Instead, she moves toward the chair beside my bed, lowering herself onto the seat with a slow, deliberate motion, eyes never once leaving my own. There is no disbelief in her face—only contemplation, the weight of her knowledge settling over the room like a thick fog.

She exhales, folding her hands in her lap. “This is a normal stage in the process,” she says. Flames burn just beneath my skin because no one ever told me this. “Once humanity is erased, eventually, the unfortunate soul will no longer remember even themself.”

I grip the sheets beneath me, fingers digging into the fabric. “So it could be too late,” I say, my mind racing as I try to make sense of what I thought could never be true: she may be too far gone to ever come back again.