Page 24

The descent into the Guild’s underground chambers feels heavier than it should.

The stone steps echo with my footsteps, each one dipping slightly in the center from centuries of wear. The air down here is thick, stale with age and old magic, the faint scent of damp stone clinging to the walls. Runes glow faintly along the passage, pulsing in steady intervals—wards meant to hold creatures far more dangerous than my sister.

But then again, I don’t know what my sister is anymore.

The thought clenches at my chest, a slow, painful twist as I tighten my grip on the iron railing, steadying myself. My body is still weak, the aftershocks of the Mirror’s destruction lingering in my bones, but I feel my power coming back—slowly but surely. As Calidora said, it hasn’t been a quick fix. And despite everything, I’m grateful for the rest she and the other elders have demanded of me.

No one thought I should come down here, insisting I wait even longer, but eventually I talked them into it. Nearly a week of waiting is already too much.

I step off the last stair, the corridor stretching before me. The walls are carved from dark stone, flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows across their rough surface. The closer I get, the more I can feel her—the way the air itself seems heavier, charged with something unnatural. She may not be my sister anymore, but I feel her as if she’s never left.

At the end of the corridor, Lucian waits for my arrival, along with the three elders.

Lucian’s figure is partially obscured by shadow, but I’d recognize the way he carries himself anywhere—shoulders set, arms folded, his presence steady even in the dim light. He watches me approach, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze that makes my stomach twist.

"Are you sure about this, love?" I’ve missed him so much over the last week. I’ve seen him, yes, but it hasn’t been the same with the stress of finding Lara, getting my strength back up, and being in a different environment. I miss us being us. Long talks in front of the hearth. The way he holds me in the way no one else has.

“Sylvie?” he asks again. “Are you sure?” His voice is quiet, but there’s weight behind it. A warning.

I nod once. “Yes.”

The man I love studies me for a long moment, his gaze searching, and I wonder if he sees what I already know—there is no version of this where I walk away untouched.

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair before stepping aside. “She’s restrained. Warded. She can’t hurt you.”

That’s not what I’m worried about.

I move past him, pushing open the heavy iron door keeping her from me.

The chamber is dark, lit only by a few hovering orbs of witchlight, their glow casting the room in a pale, unnatural luminescence. The walls are lined with sigils, carved deep into the stone, glowing with faint gold and silver light.

In the center of the room, strapped into a reinforced iron chair, is Lara.

My breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows.

She looks… the same.

And yet, not at all.

Her body is still, head slumped forward, dark hair tangled and sweaty. The soft rise and fall of her chest is the only indication that she’s alive. But it’s her aura that unsettles me most.

Even from across the room, I can feel it—wrong, fractured, like something struggling against itself.

Nicole and Rebecca stand along the far wall, watching in tense silence. Dorian lingers near the entrance, arms crossed, his usual smirk absent.

I step forward.

The wards hum in response, sensing my magic, crackling faintly in the charged air. The restraints around Lara’s wrists and ankles pulse in tandem with the runes along the walls, ensuring she stays locked in place.

I swallow hard. “Lara.”

Nothing.

Part of me braces for the worst—silence, refusal, a sister who doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. But somehow, the nothingness is worse. The emptiness. The hollow void. The absence of response, of reaction, of anything resembling who she once was.

I take another hesitant step forward, the dim light stretching my shadow across the stone floor. The closer I get, the colder it feels, like the air itself is retreating from where she sits, caged in iron and magic.

Her head slowly raises as she lifts her chin from her chest, and the first thing I notice is the way she’s smiling.

Not in greeting. Not in warmth.

It’s forced. Too wide, too sharp, too knowing—like she’s been waiting for me in the dark, amused by my arrival.

The second thing I notice is her eyes.

The light inside of them, the reflection of who she was—it’s gone. Her pupils are too dark, swallowing the color until there’s nothing but black voids, staring, watching, waiting. The whites of her eyes are barely visibly, as if I’m only imagining the sliver that’s there.

I try again, my voice quieter this time. “Lara, do you know where you are?”

Slowly, like she’s just remembering she has a body, she tilts her head. The movement is unnervingly smooth, her chin dipping at an unnatural angle before she rights herself again.

Then, after a long, aching pause?—

“Do you?”

Her voice slithers through the air, soft and saccharine, but threaded with something else. Something wrong.

A shiver crawls down my spine.

The runes embedded in the walls pulse once, the magic sensing the shift in energy, reacting to her presence the same way I do. Like it knows she’s not supposed to be here.

Not like this.

Lucian shifts behind me, barely perceptible, but I feel it. The way the others tense. The way Dorian moves just slightly closer, his hands curling into fists.

Lara hums. A small, quiet sound. Then, finally, she moves.

Not much—just the flex of her fingers, her nails tapping against the iron armrest in slow, deliberate succession. A rhythmic click, click, click echoing through the chamber, like the ticking of some invisible clock counting down.

“Help me understand,” she murmurs, her head tipping back slightly as she studies me. “Are you afraid?”

My throat tightens. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The lie sits heavy on my tongue.

Lara laughs—a breathy, delighted sound that doesn’t belong in this room, doesn’t belong to her.

“You should be.”

She leans forward just enough for the torchlight to illuminate her face, and I swear a demon is possessing her. The way her eyes are so far from hers, the strange, eerie smile, the hollowness of her cheeks.

I suck in a sharp breath as I take her in, and it’s then that I notice…

There’s something wrong with her skin.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible at first, but then I see it—the faintest shimmer, like the remnants of some spell stitched just beneath her flesh. A weaving of magic that doesn’t belong to her, something forced inside, something unnatural trying to seep out.

The wards around the room pulse to life again.

Rebecca exhales sharply beside me. I don’t look at her, but I feel the way she tenses, the way the air shifts with the slow, careful build of magic pooling at her fingertips.

Lara notices.

She lifts her chin again, her lips twitching, that sick, knowing smile still carved into her face.

“You all think I don’t know, don’t you?” Her voice drops lower, almost conspiratorial. “You think I don’t see it? Feel it?”

She leans back against the chair, the iron restraints digging into her wrists, but she doesn’t even flinch.

“They did something to you,” I whisper, barely able to form the words.

Lara hums again, eyes flickering to the ceiling as if considering. “Maybe.”

Then she shifts again, her gaze dragging back to mine, and for a fraction of a second, the expression flickers. The edges of her smile falter, the amusement dimming, replaced by something… lost.

I seize onto it. “I know you’re still in there.”

The words ache as they come out of me.

I step closer, even as every instinct screams at me to stay away.

I think of the vision.

I think of the way she stood in front of her reflection, staring, staring, staring at her own reflection like she didn’t recognize herself. Like she wasn’t even sure if she was real.

“You looked at your reflection,” I press, voice trembling. “You didn’t know what was staring back at you. You don’t know what they’ve done to you. You’re playing a game. Why?”

She stills.

The smile fades completely as she refuses to speak. It’s enough to make my pulse trip, my breath hitch. The silence stretches, warping, twisting into something unbearable.

Then, she lunges.

The restraints hold—barely—but the force of it sends a sharp pulse through the room, the magic trembling beneath the weight of whatever she has become.

I stumble back, my heart hammering, and suddenly Dorian is there, standing in front of me, a dagger already in his hand. Rebecca and Nicole move at the same time, their magic sparking around them like embers in the dark.

Lara sits still again, but she is different now.

The cracks have sealed. The flicker of hesitation is gone.

And then, she whispers—so softly I almost don’t catch it.

“You should have let me die.”

The words slam into me like a physical thing.

I shake my head, my breath coming in ragged bursts. “Lara...”

She exhales, long and slow, like she’s just humoring me. Like she already knows how this ends.

“You should have let me die!” She screams the words this time, shaking her head frantically from side to side as she repeats those six words again and again—and again. “You should have let me die! You should have let me die! You should have let me die!” She screams into the room like she’s reciting a prayer, her words guttural, throaty, deep, and otherworldly, shaking me to my core.

Then, all at once, she stops.

She swallows hard.

And she looks at me, straight-faced.

“But you didn’t, did you?” she asks, slowly tilting her head again, a smirk creeping up on her face. “You’ll break before I do.”

Her voice is nothing but a murmur, but it might as well be a prophecy.

And for the first time, I believe it.