Page 23

CORA

T he sky hovered in that in-between place, not quite morning, not quite storm. A heavy fog clung to the forest floor like breath held too long. Cora adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, fingers tracing the rune charm Miriam had slipped into her palm before she left.

“Just in case,” Miriam had said, squeezing her hand. “For grounding. If the magic grabs you again.”

The charm pulsed against her skin now, warm and steady, but nothing about her heart felt settled.

Callum stood just ahead on the trail, arms crossed, golden skin muted in the dim light.

His broad back was stiff with tension, muscles coiled tight beneath a dark shirt.

He didn’t speak, but his presence anchored her, even if he was clearly holding more than his weight.

The wind hadn’t touched him, yet his jaw was clenched like he’d taken the first punch already.

“You good?” he asked without looking back.

She nodded, though her throat felt too tight to answer right away. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He finally turned, eyes scanning her face. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“I need to see it again.”

He held her gaze a second longer than necessary. Then he nodded once and motioned her forward.

The relic site sat in a shallow glade surrounded by bone-white trees. The air grew colder with every step they took. The moss beneath her boots felt damp and angry, as if the earth itself bristled at their approach.

It hadn’t looked like this a week ago. Now, the clearing pulsed faint red—subtle but constant, like a heartbeat rising from the soil. The runes glowed softly. Not gold. Not the silvery shimmer of Hollow Oak’s wards. This was the color of raw magic and old wounds.

Callum stepped ahead of her, hand resting near his hip like his claws might come without asking. “I’ll circle the edge. Keep watch.”

She nodded, throat dry, and stepped into the circle of trees.

The moment her foot crossed the outer ring of old carvings, her breath stopped. The pressure hit like diving too deep. Her ears rang, her vision blurred and then she felt the pull.

Magic wrapped around her ankles, slid up her calves. Her knees buckled. She hit the ground with a gasp. Her palms pressed into the dirt, and the scent of iron flooded her nose.

“Cora!” Callum’s voice tore through the haze, rough and panicked.

“I’m okay,” she choked out. “Just—something’s happening?—”

The site flared. The world shifted.

Suddenly she stood barefoot in another glade, the same altar looming, but now it bled red mist that curled like smoke. The trees wept sap that looked like blood. Overhead, the sky cracked open, spilling shadows instead of light. Her heart stuttered.

Chains snapped tight around her wrists.

She looked down and saw her arms were bound. Red veils swirled from the altar and coiled around her legs like silk and smoke. Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came.

And then she saw him.

Elric stepped from the edge of the trees, cloak soaked with crimson, smile as cold as winter wind. His eyes gleamed like polished obsidian.

“I found you,” he murmured.

Cora tried to back away, but her feet stayed rooted. The red veil wrapped tighter around her chest, her throat, her ribs. She couldn’t breathe.

“You always did run,” Elric said, circling her like a predator admiring his prize. “But I’m very good at finding things that belong to me.”

“I don’t,” she rasped, though her voice sounded muffled under the veil. “I don’t belong to you.”

His laugh was slow and low, like thunder far off. “You said my name in your sleep, dove. The spell remembers. And now, so do you.”

The altar cracked open behind him, spilling blinding red light. From it rose ghostly versions of herself—dozens—each wrapped in veils, each collapsed in chains. A thousand moments of what-ifs. A thousand versions of failure.

“No,” she whispered, stumbling back.

“Yes.” Elric’s smile widened. “You always fall. And this time, I’ll be the one to catch you.”

Suddenly, gold light flared at the edges of the vision. An unhuman roar shook the trees. She turned and saw Callum standing near the dream-glade, glowing with lion magic. His eyes burned bright, his fists crackling with power.

“You don’t touch her,” he snarled.

Elric looked bored. “You’ll break too, lion. Just like the last one.”

Callum stepped forward and the vision cracked.

The red light shattered. The veil tore away. The altar screamed and Cora collapsed.

She came to on the forest floor, face cold and slick with tears, breath punching in and out like she’d run for miles. Her body shook. Her magic flickered out of control, sparking at her fingertips.

Callum knelt beside her, one hand on her shoulder, the other braced on his thigh. His face was pale, eyes wide, voice tight. “Talk to me.”

She blinked up at him, then choked on a sob. “He was here. I saw him. Not just in my head—he was here. ”

Callum’s jaw clenched. “Elric?”

She nodded.

“I couldn’t reach you. You went quiet. Your body hit the ground like you’d been struck.”

Cora sat up slowly, every inch of her aching. “The vision, it wasn’t just a warning. It was a memory. He’s getting stronger. He showed me… things he’s planning. The Veil isn’t just leaking. He’s trying to pull me into it.”

“Then we fight harder.”

She looked at him, lips trembling. “There were chains. Red veils. The altar was wide open.”

His hand curled into a fist against his thigh. “What else?”

“I saw you,” she whispered. “In the vision. You came for me. And Elric—he knew you.”

Callum's mouth tightened. “I don’t care what he knows. He won’t reach you.”

Her voice cracked. “I’m scared.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her, eyes burning like coals, his own jaw ticking like he was holding back the urge to shift right there.

But he didn’t touch her.

He didn’t pull her in.

Instead, he stood slowly and reached down. “Come on. We’re getting you home.”

Cora took his hand, let him pull her to her feet. Her knees buckled, but she found her balance. Together, they left the glade behind.

The altar stayed quiet. But the Veil still pulsed. And her pulse answered.

She didn’t know what came next. She only knew she wasn’t running again.

Not this time.