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LIORA

I don’t teleport so much as rip myself out of one place and slam into another.

It’s not pretty. Or safe. It leaves my magic raw, my stomach twisted, and my limbs aching like I’ve run a hundred miles barefoot through thorns.

But it’s fast.

And right now, fast is survival.

I collapse in the circle of warded trees behind the old greenhouse, breath burning in my lungs like acid. The moss here smells like wet earth and forgotten promises—exactly the kind of place no one comes looking for trouble. Or for me.

The glamour’s gone, fully burned out. I can feel the cold sweat drying on my skin, the sticky tingle of residual power clinging to my tattoos like frostbite. They’re still glowing faintly—shifting, agitated.

“Dammit,” I whisper, dragging myself upright. My fingers dig into the dirt, grounding. The runes quiet a little, but not much.

I didn’t just break cover tonight.

I shattered it.

The club. The alley. Him.

Shit.

That wolf—whoever the hell he is—saw too much. Way too much. He saw my magic, my runes, me . Not the girl behind the glitter and lights. Not “Nightshade.” Liora.

I thought I could handle it. Stay hidden, ride the edges of this city like a ghost with a paycheck. Work a stage, fade into shadows. Keep the glamour strong, the lies stronger.

But then he looked at me like he could see through it.

And that mist showed up. Again.

Black. Cold. Hungry.

And the second I touched power, the second I chose to protect him, it grew. Like it was waiting for me to slip.

A low hiss sounds behind me. Not human. Not angry.

Just tired.

“You weren’t supposed to let them see, little star.”

I turn my head, already knowing who it is before I do.

Thorne steps out of the trees like he’s part of them. His long coat rustles like leaves, and his face—lined, old, and carved from something harder than bone—looks the same as the day I met him. Fae don’t age like mortals. Not unless they want to.

“Didn’t plan on it,” I mutter, standing. My legs wobble, but I hold.

He clicks his tongue. “You never plan. You react. That’s the danger of your kind.”

“I saved a life.”

“You exposed a prophecy.”

I hate how fast that shuts me up.

He walks closer, brushing a hand against the trees as he moves. They lean toward him. That’s the kind of respect I’ll never have. Thorne is Seelie —old court. Regal. Bound by rules. He trained me when no one else would touch me. Not when they found out what I was.

Dark fae. Half-shadow. Daughter of a curse and a prayer.

I cross my arms, trying to hide the way my body trembles. “The mist came back. It wasn’t just watching this time. It moved.”

Thorne’s expression hardens.

“Where?”

“Alley behind Lux. Both times... he was there.”

“What would be drawing Seraphiel out to you right now like this?”

I can tell he already knows, but he wants it from me.

“There was an alpha, a shifter, or something. He was chasing down a rogue and… and eahc time he talked to me, the mist showed up.”

Thorne’s stare is intense and it forces my eyes down.

“You’re being drawn to him, this shifter. I can sense it. You know what that means.”

I shake my head. “I don’t even know his name.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Thorne says. “He’s awakened something. You used your power to protect him. It isn’t just about exposure now.”

I know what he’s not saying.

Seraphiel knows.

The fallen prince. The one with molten eyes and blood-magic chains. The one who’s whispered my name into bone and dirt since the day I was born.

He thinks I belong to him.

He thinks I’m the missing half of his power.

He thinks...

“I didn’t summon the mist,” I snap. “I didn’t call him.”

“No,” Thorne murmurs, “but you felt . And that’s enough.”

Gods damn him. Damn all of them.

“I’m not going to stop living because he’s watching from the void like a fucking creep,” I say, too loud. Too angry. “I’m not his. I never was.”

Thorne’s gaze is sharp. “Tell that to New Orleans.”

I freeze.

Low blow.

I can still smell the fire when I sleep. Blood on brick. Magic out of control, coiling like a serpent through the air, ripping through walls and people and souls . I didn’t mean to. I was trying to get away.

Twelve dead. PEACE agents. Civilians. A baby, they said.

No survivors but me.

“I was seventeen,” I whisper. “He was in my head.”

“And now you’re older. Stronger. But no wiser,” Thorne replies. “You saved a wolf, yes. But you also fed the tether. You made Seraphiel hungry.”

I hate that word. Tether.

I never agreed to it. Never said yes. My mother—if you could even call her that—made the pact before I was born. A dark fae womb, a celestial curse, and a ritual written in blood and starlight. I was bred for destruction.

I was never meant to love anyone.

Especially not someone like him.

“He looked at me like he knew ,” I whisper. “Like... he didn’t see the magic. He saw me .”

Thorne is silent. He never comforts. That’s not what he’s for.

I finally sink down on the moss, curling my legs under me, hands buried in the dirt. My magic is still boiling just under the surface, aching for release. It wants to find the wolf again. To wrap around him, protect him, connect .

But if I do, Seraphiel will come. Not just with mist or whispers. With fire.

“I need to disappear again,” I murmur. “Somewhere deep. Maybe underground.”

“No,” Thorne says, crouching beside me. “You need to control it. That alpha? He’s not like the others. I can smell it from here. He’s not just wolf.”

My head snaps toward him. “What do you mean?”

“Something old runs in his blood. Guardian magic. Wards, maybe. Bones laced with oath-forged silver. I’ve only sensed that kind of power once or twice since the Veil cracked.It’s rare. Much like you.”

“Shit,” I breathe.

Now everything makes more sense—and less at the same time.

“Stay away from him, Liora,” Thorne says finally. “Not because you’re afraid. But because if you don’t, Seraphiel will tear the veil open again just to take you back and civilization isn’t going to handle it well. They barely did with the little glimpse they have gotten.”

“I won’t go back,” I whisper.

“You say that now. But the deeper the bond goes, the harder it’ll be to cut.”

He rises, vanishing into mist before I can argue.

And I’m left there, under the trees, staring at my glowing tattoos, my soul aching with something I don’t want to name. Because the truth is I don’t want to stay away. I want to find him.

A part of me feels like he may be the answer I didn’t know I was looking for.