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“Yes, very.” I remove my cloak, acutely aware of how deeply we’re buried beneath the ordinary world I just witnessed. “Mira has been teaching me lots of words.”

“Good. That will be helpful in the days ahead.” His fingers drum against the table’s edge. “We’ve been discussing next steps. Once we’re done here, I’ll speak with you.”

The dismissal is clear. Mira touches my arm, indicating I should follow her. She leads me to a smaller adjoining room, where we continue the lesson for another hour. Her patience and genuine effort to help me communicate independently show care that transcends our language barrier.

Through the doorway, I see newcomers enter the main chamber. Three men and a woman, all wearing travel-stained clothing. They move straight to Sacha, each performing the same gesture of respect I noticed earlier—a fist to the chest with a reverent nod.

Their arrival changes the energy in the room. Whatever meeting was concluding now resumes with renewed intensity. Varam gestures for Mira, who excuses herself and leaves me alone to join the gathering at the main table.

I continue to practice the words Mira has taught me, trying to commit them to memory by repeating them to myself. The voices in the main chamber rise and fall, but I still can’t make out any meaning.

I think about home. Chicago, the noise, the smell of the sidewalk after rain. My apartment. My phone. The fact that no one here even knows what those things are.

How much time has passed there since my disappearance? It’s been days here, but does time even work the same way between worlds ?

Uncertainty gnaws at me. The possibility that I might never find my way back, that I might remain forever stranded in this world of shadows and half-truths is more than unsettling.

After what feels like hours, everyone leaves.

I stay where I am until Sacha walks into the room.

His expression is blank, unreadable, but there’s something about him that suggests decisions have been made, and plans set into motion.

He’s composed in that way that’s starting to bother me, like nothing surprises him.

Like everything is already accounted for.

“If you’re done here, we have much to discuss.”

I straighten, abandoning my vocabulary practice. “About your plans? Or are those not for outsiders to know?”

The corner of his mouth twitches at my words. “The Veinwardens have an established base here, but we need to move carefully. The Authority’s reach is extensive.”

“And my situation? Finding a way home?” I hate the vulnerability that creeps into my question. I hate that I have to ask.

“That remains the goal.” His eyes lock with mine. “The more we understand about what allowed you to break the binding, the closer we may get to finding you a way back.”

I study his face, looking for deception, but finding nothing. Just the same calm stillness it always holds.

“You still haven’t even explained how I got here in the first place. Or why it was me.”

His eyes move away, looking at a point over my shoulder, a tell I’m beginning to recognize.

“There is much about your arrival that remains unclear. What matters is that you’re here, and you were able to do what no one else could. Understanding that connection is our best hope.”

It’s not the first time he’s said something like this. But each time, the wording changes … just enough to make me wonder what he’s not saying.

I could push, demand answers, but experience has taught me his walls only build higher under pressure. I need patience. Something I’m running short on.

“Okay, so what happens now?”

“We continue gathering intelligence. The network will rebuild. Meanwhile, I’ll work with you on understanding more about what happened at the tower, and why the binding responded to you in the manner it did.”

The tower. The raven. The dream that didn’t feel like a dream.

I think of that moment again. Its wings slicing through the air, its gaze fixed on me with eyes too knowing to be an animal. It looked at me like Sacha does sometimes.

I nod without argument. I have no choice but to accept his word for now.

At least we’re working toward something, another step on a path that might eventually lead me home.

But his evasions haven’t gone unnoticed, nor has the way everyone treats him here.

I’m not stupid. I know power when I see it …

and his is growing by the hour in this place.

He’s becoming less the desperate prisoner I freed, and more someone with agendas I can’t even begin to work out. He’s becoming something I’m not sure is safe to be standing beside.

I stand, and walk forward, brushing past him in the close space. Static jumps between us, catching skin. It shocks me, a sharp pulse up my arm that makes me hiss.

He stills, head tilting, but he doesn’t say anything.

Neither do I. But the feeling remains, a weird tingling under my skin.

He knows more than he’s telling me. About this world, about why I’m here, and about what connects us, and somehow, I have to discover what that is before those secrets cost me everything.