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Walking through the iron gates of Adoracia Cemetery, I pulled the ends of my tattered coat tighter around me. It was a far cry from the usual luxurious garments I had worn in a previous life, but it kept me warm and Bastien had commented on how it brought out the color of my eyes, so I’d worn it every opportunity I could.

Now that autumn was drawing to a close, the trees had nearly all finished their annual shed, littering the ground with a trove of multi-colored ornaments that shifted around my feet as a breeze kicked up. It was quiet today, much like all the other days I’d visited my father’s grave. The same rows of polished marble epitaphs, the same visitors with their heads cast down in silent lamentations, and the same melancholia that gripped me by the gut, twisting my insides till they were nothing but brambles and thorns.

“It’s peaceful here,” Azrael said, breaking the silence as he traveled at my side toward the last row where Father was waiting. “I didn’t know such places existed inside the Magi City.”

“They’re rare,” Bastien replied from my other side. “And typically reserved for those who can afford the exorbitant price.”

“He’s over there,” I said after a moment, leading them down the short path off the main trail to where Tobias Greene awaited. A new addition since my last visit stuck out in glaring disproportion—a large obelisk of white marble, seated in the ground beside Father’s grave. I didn’t have to look to know whose name was carved on the front of it, nor did I care to know what words the Council had used to immortalize my mother. Her grave was a continuation of her life—ostentation for the sake of reputation. I wanted no part of it.

Kneeling down, I brushed the stray leaves from Father’s humble gravestone, then set the modest bouquet I’d brought against it. I didn’t care for the act of prayer, or even know where to begin if I did, but here in these moments in the cemetery with my Father, I’d find myself wanting to speak to him. Wherever it was that he found himself.

“I don’t think Lenny is going to make it this time,” I spoke softly, hoping that my words would get carried away in the breeze like the late falling leaves. “But I’m still here. For better or worse.”

From behind, I heard Bastien mutter something that sounded like a prayer, and I nearly jumped when Azrael landed on the soft grass beside me, sprawling his legs out in front of him as he leaned back, soaking in the late afternoon sun.

“You’re sitting on the grave,” Bastien pointed out, his recitation ceasing.

“And? Have you ever tried it? It helps you feel closer to the departed. I sit on my father’s grave all the time back in Brierwood. Though, the grass is not nearly as soft.” He ran his fingers through the plush vegetation. “We need to find out what kind of seed they use.”

I choked on a laugh as Bastien rolled his eyes. Leave it to Azrael to bring levity, even on the somber occasions. The invisible tether between us pulled taut as he grinned at me, the golden light beaming down transfiguring his hair into a dozen different shades of lavender. I could feel it now, almost all the time, but especially when one of them was close by. Emotions would trickle down the line, giving me brief glimpses into their heads.

Over the last few weeks, since the death of my mother and the massacre at the Magi Council, life had taken on an almost mundane quality back in Brierwood. Bastien shared my apartment with me on the surface, as he wasn’t ready to join Paradise full-time. He always led with caution, so it only made sense that he’d want to spend the time to acclimate to the community before making any long-term decisions. Most days he spent in their libraries, pouring through the history he thought lost.

Azrael joined us for dinner most nights, as long as his schedule permitted, and despite the cramped quarters, I was always glad to see him bring along an Urchin or two. The Rebellion hasn’t seen a drop of blood spilled since Mother’s death, and Azrael seemed determined to keep it that way.

Cirian visited whenever he could get away from the Cradle, spending long weekends sparring with me in the alley outside the apartment and learning how to ride Azrael’s motorbike. The way the Urchins talked about Azrael’s inability to share made me question his willingness to teach Cirian, but they get along surprisingly well. At least, as long as I was there to supervise.

Cirian’s connection flared in my chest, and I quickly turned, scanning the rows of marble for the familiar head of flaming hair. I spotted him, strolling slowly up the main path, his vestments sticking out of place in the most adorable way. He never missed an opportunity to see me when I was in the Magi City.

But my smile soon faltered as I realized he wasn’t alone.

“Source’s blessings,” Saint Sancha greeted us, standing at the edge of the grass, her arms tucked into the sleeves of her vestments.

“What are you doing here?” I asked plainly, the days of worrying over decorum long behind me. I stood, brushing the dirt from my faded jeans. “If you’ve come for Bastien, then you’ll have to put me back into the ground before you take him.”

Bastien chuckled at that, knocking his shoulder into mine. “So dramatic.”

Azrael was on his feet now too, standing behind the two of us, a low growl emanating from his chest.

“It’s not like that,” Cirian interjected, stepping closer. “Please, Tobias, just hear her out. I’ve spoken with Her Eminence about the prophecy given to me by the Source.”

Bastien’s eyes were trained on me, his brow raised in surprise. I hadn’t shared the prophecy with another soul since Cirian spoke it into being.

“I’ve had enough of prophecies, thanks,” I replied. “I want no part of this one or any other.”

“Your hesitation is understandable, Tobias,” the Cardinal commiserated. “But I would still ask you to hear me, if only to know what it is that waits for you out in the world.”

I looked to Cirian, his dark eyes pleading. The tether between us twinged with a resonance of longing. He needed me to understand.

“Fine. Speak your piece.”

“Something moves amongst the Source. A shadow that looms over all Magi. We can see the ripples of its existence even now, spreading. I believe this to be the ‘distortion’ mentioned in Cirian’s prophecy.”

“And what does that have to do with Tobias?” Azrael asked, the growl not fully distilled from his words.

“Not just Tobias,” the Cardinal corrected, glancing between the three of us. “But you all have your part to play in what’s coming as well.” She reached out a rested a hand on Cirian’s shoulder. “The prophet.” Her eyes drifted to Bastien next, “The seeker.” Then she looked to Azrael, “The rebel.” And lastly, her gaze fell on me, “The Son of the Second.”

The words of the prophecy burned in my mind. I had my suspicions before, but I’d turned a blind eye to the correlations. I wanted to enjoy the peace I’d managed to squeeze from my second chance at life. Prophecies didn’t fit into that picture.

“It’s not enough,” I said, leveling my stare at the Cardinal. “You can keep your prophecy. I don’t want any part of it.”

The Cardinal nodded solemnly, her arms once again retracting into her robes. “I know the hardship you’ve faced, Tobias. But there is one more thing I wish for you to consider. This… distortion precursing havoc across the Source—I believe it is your sister.”

Another growl from Azrael and my stomach twisted.

“What are you talking about?” Bastien stepped in, launching into a slew of questions. Azrael joined him as they moved to close the gap between them and the Cardinal, and I turned to face the obelisk rising from my mother’s grave.

I knew that Lynette was still alive. I knew it the moment I reached out my aura that night when she fell from the window. Still, I’d hoped that she’d disappear. Retreat into obscurity, if only so I wouldn’t have to face her again after everything she’d done. We’d done. The curse of the Greene family.

But she was still alive. And if what Sancha said was right, and Lynette had become some sort of monster, leeching off of the Source of magic, then maybe I wouldn’t be able to escape this prophecy after all.

The marble pillar towered over me, just like Mother used to. My hand clenched at my side, a swell of magic drew from the stone in my chest, and I slammed my fist into the monument, the marble cracking at the impact.

Behind me, the conversation fell silent as half of the marble obelisk fell to the ground, breaking further into pieces.

“I’ll find her again,” I said, not bothering to look at the others. “But I’ll do it alone.”

I wouldn’t risk their lives. I’d been running on borrowed time as it was.

A strong hand clapped down on my shoulder, spinning me in place. The three of them stood there, staring me down with mixed expressions.

“Like hell you will,” Azrael snarled, retracting his hand.

“You’re hopeless on your own, Toto,” Cirian scoffed. “You’ll be bleeding to death in a field of flowers before you even find Lynette.”

Bastien’s eyes found me last, brimming with defiance.

“Where do we start?”