Page 29

CORA

C ora knelt beside Callum’s sprawled body on the ridge, her palms glowing with desperate gold as she checked the slow rise of his chest. The Veil tear had sealed the moment Elric vanished, leaving a slick red scar in the air that crackled before fading.

Now only bent grass and scorched roots marked the fight, but she could feel the echo humming through the earth, a bruise beneath Hollow Oak’s skin.

“Come on, big cat,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Breathe deeper.”

He lay half shifted, claws dulled back into fingers, amber gone from his eyes. Blood trickled at his hairline where he’d slammed into a fallen branch. Her magic pulsed again, suturing the worst of the cut, but exhaustion tugged at every thread of her own power.

Callum groaned, lashes fluttering. His hand twitched and caught the hem of her dress like he needed to prove she was still there.

“Easy,” she soothed. “It’s just me.”

His eyes opened, dazed blue, pupils slow to focus. “You… safe?”

“For the moment, yes.” Relief flooded her voice though her heart still pounded. “Elric ran once the Veil closed.”

Callum tried to sit. Pain speared across his features. She pressed him back gently. “No heroics. We get to walk away today.”

“I can walk,” he muttered.

“Then do it with help.”

She slung his arm over her shoulders. He outweighed her by plenty, but the adrenaline let her manage.

Together they staggered down the slope, following the hush of pines until his cabin came into view.

Lantern light shone through the single front window; she’d left it burning that morning and felt grateful now for the faint welcome.

Inside, she guided him to the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress with a grunt, boots thudding on wooden planks. The room smelled of pine resin, burnt coffee from the forgotten pot, and the lingering warmth of last night’s fire from them not banking it properly before leaving.

Cora fetched a clean cloth from the wash basin, dabbed blood from his brow. Callum watched her through heavy lids, expression tight with pain and something softer.

“Tea,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone. “Chamomile, elderflower, a bit of honey. You drink, then sleep.”

He caught her wrist before she could stand. “Stay.”

Just one word, heavy with all the things they hadn’t said in the chaos. It snapped tight around her heart, but she managed a small smile. “I’m not going far. Promise.”

His grip loosened. Exhaustion dragged him down, and soon his breathing deepened, slow and even. She brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead, letting her fingers linger against warm skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never wanted this for you.”

Her magic fluttered tiredly at her fingertips, longing to stay, to keep watch. But guilt slithered in, rough and cold, reminding her of Elric’s words and the Veil’s red wound. If she stayed, Callum would bleed for her, over and over, until nothing of his own life remained.

She rose, moving quietly across the floor. On the table by the door sat his field journal, a battered pen, a folded scrap of blank parchment. She steadied shaking hands and wrote.

Callum,

I have to end this before Hollow Oak breaks. I need to face him alone. You cannot shoulder my curse any longer. Please forgive me for leaving while you slept.

You mean more to me then anyone ever has. Thank you for showing me what it’s like to be truly accepted.

Cora.

Ink blotted at the corner where a tear slipped down her cheek. She folded the note, set it on his pillow beside the steady rise of his breath.

Outside, birds hadn’t started their morning chorus yet—perhaps even they sensed the Veil’s unrest. She slipped through the door, closing it without a sound. She hadn’t lied really, she wasn’t going far.

Mist curled along the path as she crossed the clearing, her sandals soaking through almost instantly.

Every footstep felt like a goodbye. The forest loomed ahead, ancient and watchful.

For years she’d run from binding, from fear, from a claim forged in blood.

Now she moved toward it, every nerve taut with purpose.

The trail to the relic wound north, skirting the edge of Moonmirror Lake before climbing toward the Forgotten Cut.

She passed the place where goldenrod and foxglove grew thick, where the path still bore faint scorch marks from the first Veil surge.

Morning bees buzzed halfheartedly around the flowers, unaware of storms brewing in deeper shadows.

Half a mile in, she paused, catching her breath against the trunk of a maple. Her legs trembled, not from fatigue but from the ghost of Callum’s warmth, the memory of being safe in his arms. She pressed a fist to her chest, willing herself not to turn back.

“If you love him, you keep him safe,” she told the quiet.

The forest didn’t answer. It listened.

She walked on.

As the land rose, the air grew colder, heavy with iron.

The canopy thinned, branches reaching like skeletal fingers toward a sky blushing pink.

When she crested the final ridge, the glade spread before her—white trees encircling the altar that pulsed faintly even in daylight. The runes glowed a dull crimson.

Cora swallowed hard, stepping past the ring of carved stones. The moment her foot touched the inner circle, the ground vibrated. Heat licked up her calves, and the altar’s pulse quickened.

She unclasped the satchel at her hip, pulling free a bundle: Miriam’s grounding charm, a sprig of hawthorn from Twyla, and a vial of silver ash Edgar had handed her “in case you need to dull a spell.” They felt like small weapons against something as vast and vile as Elric’s claim, but they were all she had.

She drew a chalk circle around her feet, whispering the old fae words of anchoring that her grandmother had taught her, words she’d barely used since childhood games turned into grown-up trauma.

The air shimmered, gold flecks swirling as her magic answered.

The altar’s pulse stuttered, recognizing opposition.

Then a voice slithered from the stone.

“Dove.” It curled around her name like smoke, dripping with amusement and hunger. “You came.”

Cora’s throat tightened. She forced her voice steady. “Let the claim go, Elric. End this.”

The pulse quickened, the crack in the altar leaking thicker red light. Images flared—visions of chains, of Callum’s body sprawled lifeless, of Hollow Oak burned to ash. She clenched her jaw, breathing through the terror.

“You think to bargain?” Elric whispered. “You have nothing I want except yourself, and you have already promised that.”

She opened the vial of ash, sprinkling the dust across the glowing runes. They hissed, light flaring then sputtering. Pain sparked behind her eyes, but she pressed on, chanting grounding words, weaving her own light through the cracks.

For a heartbeat, gold overwhelmed red. The pulse faltered.

Then a blade of agony lanced through her palm—an invisible cut reopening old scar tissue. Blood welled, bright and traitorous, dripping onto the altar. The runes flared brighter, greedier.

Cora screamed, stumbling but refusing to fall. She threw the hawthorn sprig into the crack. Light exploded, crimson battling gold in a storm of sparks.

Somewhere behind her, a branch snapped—a heavy footfall. She spun, heart dropping.

Not Callum. Not yet. A shadow moved at the tree line, watching.

Her pulse thundered. She had to finish this before he arrived. Before anyone else suffered for her mistakes.

She raised her bleeding palm, letting blood drip in a circle at her feet. The grounding charm throbbed warm against her wrist. She poured every ounce of magic she had into the circle, into the words, into the silent plea that the forest hear her and help her sever the chain.

Gold light blazed up like sunrise. The altar shrieked, the crack widening, red weakening.

Elric’s voice howled in her mind. “You belong to me.”

“No.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, salt on her lips. “I belong to myself.”

The circle flared brighter, and for one breathless moment she felt the chain snap. Relief punched through her chest—then everything went black.

She didn’t feel her body hit the ground. Didn’t hear the frantic roar echoing through the glade moments later. Only the quiet certainty that she’d done it.

For Callum. For Hollow Oak. And for herself.

Then nothing at all.