Page 57 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

Her eyes went from focusing on me to practically seeing through me and I knew why.

At this point, she was no longer trying to hide the insidious Remnants’ thoughts.

Movement in the fog drew our attention back to the city ahead of us.

People drifted through the streets. Hordes of people, actually.

And though it was overgrown with trees and vines creeping along the ground and up the walls, they seemed almost normal.

Paesha moved closer to me as we watched them, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine. Whether she sought comfort or not, I didn’t question it. I’d take what scraps of contact she offered.

“It’s not… There’s a market. Look.” She pointed to a collection of half broken carts lined up on the crumbling stone square. “There’s a fully functioning city here if you can get past the creepy shit.”

I smiled. Not because of what it was, but because of that spark.

She’d gotten that same look in her eyes when she and Archer were about to do something reckless.

Another familiar piece of her. She held a hand out to me, and I thought she did it without realizing.

She dragged me along as she stepped through the gap in the wall and into the forgotten city.

A few faces sparked familiarity as we moved toward the marketplace, a poet whose words had moved mountains until the world forgot his name, a queen whose kingdom had been erased from maps and memories when she’d turned on her people.

But most were strangers, lost to time in ways even I couldn’t recall.

“How many people did you banish here?” Paesha asked, watching a woman try to barter with a hooded man.

“Most of these souls weren’t banished,” I said quietly.

“They were forgotten. When the world stops remembering you exist, this is where you end up. A merchant who never made a sale. A fisherman without a family to return to. A love story that never began. They all come here, carried by the same magic that makes people forget them.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Look at the edges of their bodies. They’re fading away.”

I nodded, looking at the same cluster of people she was. “Remember what a broken soul looks like? That must be the equivalent of a forgotten soul.”

The marketplace was unlike anything I’d seen across countless realms. There were stalls filled with glass containers that glowed.

Some that seemed to vibrate. Some were full of darkness and some, empty.

A young woman, her edges softly blurred like a watercolor painting left in the rain, stood behind a table of delicate bottles.

Her movements were whimsical and uncertain, as if she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten there or why she held the small pink bottle in her hands.

“Would you like to feel love again?” she asked, though her voice suggested she didn’t fully understand the question.

She uncorked the bottle, and as the soft pink essence drifted out, the memory hit me with startling clarity, the nervous anticipation, the thundering heart, the tentative press of lips.

Someone’s first kiss, preserved and bottled like fine wine and then forgotten all together.

Another vendor, an elderly man whose form flickered like a candle flame, cradled a jar that held golden sunlight.

When he lifted the lid, the sound of children’s laughter and the scent of grass spilled into the air, carrying with it the pure joy of a perfect summer day.

Each memory was a tangible thing here, stripped from those who’d been forgotten and traded like precious gems.

“What’s that?” Paesha asked, pointing to a shimmering cloth that seemed to catch light that didn’t exist.

“I…” The merchant’s brow furrowed. “I don’t quite remember. Something important. Something about… rising? Or was it falling?” She shook her head, confusion clouding her features. “Was I the one who rose? I like flowers.”

Paesha’s eyes narrowed before her shoulders stiffened.

She’d seen herself in that broken woman.

Had felt that kind of madness and it must have scared her.

I led her forward, but her grasp on her Remnants had faltered.

They’d seeped onto the ground around her feet, and I caught sight of a merchant eyeing them with too much interest.

“You need something to cover up,” I murmured, steering her toward a stall draped with fabrics that rippled like smoke.

Another elderly man, with dark skin as wrinkled as sun-dried leather, smiled vacantly. “Looking for something special?”

“A cloak,” I said, studying the options.

“A cloak from where?” he asked, then immediately looked confused by his own question.

I slipped my glasses off, watching the merchant’s vacant eyes focus on them with sudden interest. Something about the golden frames sparked recognition in his otherwise empty gaze.

“These should cover it,” I said, holding them out.

“Oh yes, very valuable. Very…” he trailed off, already forgetting what he was agreeing to. He handed over a cloak that absorbed the shadows around it. “I think I made this?”

“Wait,” Paesha said, her hand catching my wrist. “You need your glasses.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Before I could argue, she spun her back to the old man, swiped a scarf that rippled like liquid moonlight from the cart, and shoved it up her sleeve. Slowing her pace, she drew the old man’s attention again as she pointed. “What’s this one made of?”

“Yes. We should ask the owner,” he answered.

She smiled genuinely at the old man and it broke something inside of me.

I loved that damn smile. The shine in her eyes, the whisper of wrinkles forming around her eyes.

That smile broke me and mended me. Drowned me and revived me.

If I was destined to lose everything in the Forgotten, that memory would be the one I clung to when everything else was gone.

She pulled the stolen scarf from her sleeve. The merchant’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. “Maybe you’d consider trading this very fine silk for those old glasses.”

“You would give me such a bargain?” the old man asked.

“Because you’ve been so kind,” she said, gently.

With the trade done, she slid the glasses back onto my face with a wink. “There. Problem solved.”

I arched an eyebrow as we walked away from the old man that threw the scarf over his own shoulders.

She shrugged, already wrapping herself in the shadow cloak.

“He’s never going to remember it anyway.

” Her fingers worked the clasp at her throat.

“Besides, the last thing I need is you stumbling around this nightmare realm like a drunken fool because you can’t see.

For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking? ”

We moved deeper into the forgotten city, past vendors trading in lost memories and broken dreams. Ahead, a castle rose against the dark sky, its towers partially collapsed as if the stone had forgotten how to hold itself together.

The fog rolled through the streets in thick waves, obscuring and revealing the wandering souls that called this place home.

I kept close to Paesha’s side, watching how she studied everything with those keen eyes.

Even here she moved like she owned every shadow, every secret.

But something felt wrong. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I caught a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision.

Someone else was watching us too intently, moving when we moved, stopping when we stopped.

“Don’t look,” I murmured close to her ear. “But we’re being followed. About twenty paces back.”

The footsteps behind us grew closer. Without thinking, I grabbed her arm and pulled her into a narrow alley between two crumbling buildings. She started to protest, but I pressed my hand over her mouth, crowding her against the wall with my body. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t fight me.

I could feel every inch where we touched, her chest rising and falling against mine, her breath warm against my palm, her fingers gripping my shirt as worried eyes stared into mine. My thumb brushed her cheek without my permission, and she made a small sound that nearly shattered my restraint.

“There’s only one,” I breathed against her ear. “They’ve been following since the bridge.”

She nodded. Her pulse raced beneath my fingers, matching the frantic beat of my own heart. When I finally lowered my hand from her mouth, it settled on her hip instead, keeping her pressed against the wall. For protection, I told myself. Nothing more.

“Thorne,” she whispered, and my name on her lips was almost my undoing.

The sound of footsteps passing the alley saved me from myself. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to step away, to break this moment of charged tension between us. Her fingers flexed against my chest, and I couldn’t tell if she meant to push me away or pull me closer.

“We should…” she started, then swallowed hard. “We should keep moving.”

“We should,” I agreed, but didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Until a familiar voice shattered the moment.