Page 232 of Lana Pecherczyk

A mirror of polished obsidian dominated the opposite wall. Its black surface reflected nothing until he stepped into its range, and the blue glow of a Well-blessing revealed his face.

What a mess.

Ash smoothed his hair. Strands had fallen from the knot. He then adjusted his torn ceremonial garb, fingers moving with practiced precision. Each fold smoothed. Each crease aligned. Each feather was dusted. The actions felt natural, automatic—like breathing, blinking, or any other function his body performed without conscious thought.

He stilled and studied his hands. When had grooming become a ritual? When had preparation become an obsession?

Around the chamber, objects sat in perfect arrangement. Had his mother placed them there, or had he? The question lodged in his throat like a bone. He found himself adjusting a ceremonial dagger that didn’t need adjusting, repositioning a bowl that was already centered.

His reflection caught his attention. Dark eyes glimmered in the black glass mirror. For a moment, the face looking back could have belonged to anyone.

Could have belonged to her.

His breathing stilled. The way he held his head, canted at that same predatory angle. He stepped closer to the mirror, studying the stranger wearing his face. Behind his reflection, the locked door stole his attention, reminding him of the day he’d carved those runes, not long before he’d met River and Cloud.

The first time he’d stood in this chamber was centuries ago, after carving out the space himself.

Nothing is truly yours unless you create it,she’d whispered into his ear as he marked his territory.

She’d spoken of rewards and patience and blood calling to blood. How easily he’d dismissed her then. How certain he’d been that rescue and captivity were opposites, not variations on the same theme.

Slowly, he walked to the door. His grip tightened on the handle until his knuckles blanched. Each breath came shorterthan the last, his chest constricting like something vital was being slowly crushed.

I’m here to save?—

The thought died unfinished. Even his mind rejected the lie now.

He straightened his ceremonial collar one final time, ready to meet his reward. Ready to discover which of them had been the prisoner all along. Distending claws from each of his fingers, he fit them to the hidden recess within the knob, then paused, remembering what happened when he’d opened this door only a few turns of the hourglass ago.

The scent had hit him first, like lightning. It made his soul sing and his bones ache with recognition. Then he’d noticed the knife aimed at his face with precision that spoke of training.

She’d struck, but he caught her wrist, stopping the point a whisper from his eye. Blue light exploded from the ground between them, magic older than his wrapping around their arms like chains.

Mine.

The thought had barely formed before her emotions flooded through the connection. Fear, rage, and determination burned bright as stars.

Mine.

This time, the thought grew teeth. Not protection. Not rescue. Possession.

He’d taken her weapon, stepped back, slammed the door, and locked it. He left his reward locked away while he processed destiny’s gift.

What he’d always known would be his.

River would have torn down the walls. Cloud would have freed her immediately, consequences be damned. But Ash had kept her like his mother kept her treasures.

The wind whispered around him, messing the hair he’d just fixed.

Welcome home, little crow.

He turned the lock.Click. The door creaked open. Light spilled through the crack—not manabee glow but something steadier, brighter. Bluer.

Something blessed.

Beautiful.

He swung the door wider and stepped across the threshold, prepared to deflect another attack. Instead, he froze. He locked eyes with seething hatred five feet ahead, her pupils visible through a curtain of long, dark hair. A small smile tipped her lips. A sharpened bone fragment glinted in her hand.