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I stared like I’d walked into a dream. Or a very well-organized fever hallucination.

I hadn’t realized how much I had missed just the smell of books, leather and parchment that reminded me of my sister and safety. It was strange to realize how far away it all felt in just a few weeks, the estate that I had called home for over a decade.

The feeling of safety.

My mind didn’t conjure up the familiar cozy bedroom. Instead, I felt strong arms holding me against a solid chest in the middle of a snowstorm surrounded by monsters.

And that…

That was why I needed to lose myself in this library. Both because I was driving myself insane, and because this room had everything that I had lacked from the moment I walked through the palace doors.

Information.

Without it, I was stuck. So I let myself be giddy about the library, let myself enjoy a rare reprieve from the constant feelings of dread and panic and a thousand other contradictory feelings.

Nevara huffed out a breath that was as close as she ever came to a laugh. “Just try not to get too close to the Chainedbound Section. It tends to bite.”

Batty let out a protective squeak, and I laughed.

“I’ll take my chances,” I said, stroking her head and soothing her back to sleep.

We moved through the library slowly at first, but once I started, I couldn’t stop.

One book on ward stones. Another on frostbeast lore.

Two more on royal wedding rites, to finally get some answers about this frost-damned bond.

A slim volume on blood vows, with a subsection on wedding rings. And a thicker one on winter mana.

By the time we reached the fiction wing, I was nearly giddy.

I pulled down several titles that intrigued me: stories of lost queens, cursed forests, defiant lovers. And even a few of my old favorites, because rereading a good book was its own kind of comfort.

“Let’s send those up to your rooms,” Nevara said when I grunted and huffed, adding another tome to my stack.

She gently pulled on my arm, bringing me over to a table near the wall, gesturing for me to put my books on the table. Then she ran her fingers along the center beam until they found what she was looking for, a shimmering glyph etched into the wood.

She traced it lightly, and my books vanished with a ripple of light.

A wry chuckle sounded behind us. “You’ve either made an enemy of the archivist, or you’re about to become their favorite.”

Soren Redthorne strolled into view, arms crossed, a familiar smirk playing at his lips.

A tailored coat in deep bronze swept behind him, the sleeves pushed back to reveal rings along his fingers and a hint of embroidered cuffs.

His dark hair, pulled into its usual knot, had begun to loosen at the edges, as though even it refused to behave.

He turned that gaze onto us, or more specifically, onto the Visionary at my side, and openly grinned.

Nevara stepped closer, and though she couldn’t see it, I had the distinct impression she could sense his grin all the same.

“You’re late,” she said, with a wry sort of amusement.

“I prefer to think of it as fashionably unpredictable,” Soren replied, sweeping into a shallow bow that was more show than sincerity. “Besides, I heard the queen herself was pillaging the archive, and I couldn’t resist witnessing history.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t bother stifling my laugh.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Nevara asked, tilting her head. “Although, ‘fashionably unpredictable’ does have a better ring to it than ‘showing up whenever you're bored’.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Visionary.”

The corner of her mouth curved into a wicked grin.

“I could try harder,” she said, and the flames in Soren’s eyes flared in response.

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. I quickly looked away, the air between them suddenly feeling too charged, too personal. Like I was intruding on a conversation meant to be whispered behind closed doors.

We spent the next hour pilfering books from the library, each stack vanishing in a shimmer of glyphlight whenever Nevara or Soren brushed their fingers against a panel.

Their banter kept the air light, even as Soren passed around a flask of Emberkiss whiskey and offered up half a dozen titles he insisted were essential reading.

It was a welcome reprieve from everything I couldn’t control, so I let myself enjoy it—the warmth, the ease, the illusion of normalcy.

Which made the shift feel all the more jarring when it came.

Soren was in the middle of describing one of the paintings on the wall to Nevara—every detail more absurd than the last, and clearly a lie—when she gasped.

Her body went still, but her eyes were swirling pools of starlight. The silver flecks were swirling, like a whirlpool gathering in still water. And she was eerily silent.

The next breath caught in her throat before she stepped back from the shelves.

“I need to go,” she said, voice distant.

“Nevara.” Soren’s voice was cautious, his smirk dead on his lips.

But she didn’t answer. She only shook her head, using her staff to guide her to the frost-etched doors and slipping through them without another word.

Silence followed, stark and immediate, my stomach sinking like lead. I had known better than to let myself forget, even for a moment, all that was at stake.

Soren stared after her. “That’s… not like her.”

No. It wasn’t. She was sometimes withdrawn, but always composed. Never speechless.

And there it was—the familiar sense of dread, seeping through my veins like poison, paralyzing my lungs.

“I'm done for the day.” The words left me in a rush as I stepped away from the shelf. “I’ve got more than enough to keep me occupied.”

And more than enough spiraling sanity to deal with behind the privacy of closed doors.

Soren didn’t press. “Of course. Let me walk you back.”

The halls were quiet as we returned to my rooms, the palace deceptively hushed, like a thin layer of ice across a raging river. Poised to crack at the first sign of pressure.

Ready to trap you in the current below.

Soren kept the conversation light, but even his usual charm felt a little thinner, like his thoughts were still with Nevara.

Which was just as well because my thoughts were too scattered to try to pretend.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the attacks.

About Draven, and the Archmage. About this shards-damned bond tugging at me more and more with each passing day.

And there was something else, something niggling at the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

At my door, Soren offered a quick bow, all warm poise once more. “Try not to get buried under that mountain of books.”

“No promises,” I said with a tired smile.

He left without another word, and I didn’t wait for Mirelda or tea or anything else.

I went straight to my study. The books were there as promised, filling the shelves with color and scent and life, for a change.

And without Nevara’s presence, without Draven’s shadow at my back, I did the only thing I could control.

I opened a book and started reading.

For the rest of the day I poured over tomes and jotted down notes that felt relevant. Notes about various frostbeasts and their strengths and weaknesses, before adding the new information we had on them now.

Then I moved onto what I could find about the marriage ceremony.

My book on skathryns had been set to the side, but Batty pushed it in front of me now. I set it back aside, earning an offended trill from the tiny creature on my shoulder.

“I will read it,” I assured her. “Just not in the middle of…”

I trailed off, the reminder of Batty’s presence making me realize which animal wasn’t yet present.

I opened the doors and stepped into the freezing evening air, the cold biting through my sleeves like teeth. The sky had darkened to a bruised gray, and the wind carried the kind of stillness that felt wrong.

I scanned the horizon.

No movement. No shadows bounding down the northern road.

Snow stretched out across the courtyard in an unbroken sheet, soft and untouched. Too untouched.

I adjusted the book in my arms and pushed open the foyer door, half-expecting to hear claws on stone or the soft huff of breath behind me.

But the entryway was empty. I let out a whistle, though I wasn’t sure exactly why. I had never had a need to summon Lumen before because he was always just…there.

Sure enough, there was no answering howl. No familiar silhouette through the snow.

Draven had said the wolves would return by morning, but morning had long since passed.

A chill crept down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

They should have been back by now.

Something was wrong.