Page 31

Kieran

Oleander was chewing on the corner of Silas’s stolen boot again.

The damn rabbit had developed a vendetta against his laces—or maybe just a sense of comedic timing.

Every time Silas nodded off, Oleander reappeared like a furry curse and went for the footwear.

Thea watched from the armchair, amused and entirely unbothered, flipping her knife lazily between her fingers.

I couldn’t focus on the book in my lap. Not really. Dahlia was dozing against my shoulder, warm and worn-out from training, and I’d spent the last half hour keeping still just to let her rest. She made a quiet sound in her sleep, something like a sigh, and I pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair.

Peace. Almost.

Then Sunny, from his spot on the windowsill, yowled.

Not a chirp. Not a meow. A warning.

I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved. Shadows rippled beneath my skin, coiling like instinct. I crossed the room in two strides and shoved aside the curtain, eyes narrowing against the darkness outside.

And froze.

There was a figure beyond the ward line.

No breath. No movement. Just… flame.

It was shaped like a person—tall and rigid, head bowed, one arm extended to hold a torch like an offering.

But it wasn’t fire, not really. It flickered wrong. Too steady. Too quiet. No warmth reached the glass. No light moved.

“Dahlia,” I said low. She stirred, then sat upright, already alert.

“What is it?” Silas asked from the hallway.

“Get over here,” I snapped.

Thea rose without a word, already gripping her blade.

Together we stared out the window at the thing that shouldn’t exist.

It didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Then—gone.

Just like that.

But the torch? The torch remained.

I didn’t wait. I was halfway to the door before Dahlia caught my arm. “Don’t cross the wards,” she said.

“I just want to see it. I won’t touch.”

The others followed me to the edge of the boundary. Dahlia hovered close, fingers brushing mine like she didn’t quite trust me to keep that promise.

The torch was embedded in the ground—stabbed through the grass like a knife through cloth. It wasn’t wood. Not really.

Bone. And blackened vines.

The flame still burned, but it wasn’t a flame. Not like I understood it.

Inside, I saw—

Myself. Screaming. Bound. Shadows pouring from my skin as I fell.

Silas, blood streaming down his face.

Thea crawling across a floor littered with ash.

Henry collapsed beside his books, unmoving.

And Dahlia.

Alone. Knees in the dirt. Clutching the locket to her chest and sobbing like the world had already ended.

My chest cracked open.

Henry took a step forward, yanked off his jacket, and tried to smother it.

The fire surged upward with a hiss. Like it liked the fight.

“Don’t!” I growled. “It’s magical.”

Silas crouched beside it, tracing the shaft with one finger. The blood drained from his face.

“These are names,” he whispered. “The Voss coven. Every last one. Carved into the bone.”

Then we heard her.

Calliope.

Her voice curled around the flame and into our bones.

“You think you’ve gathered strength? You’ve only gathered kindling. Come to me, Kieran. Or I’ll burn every thread you love.”

The flame flared once—then snuffed itself out.

Smoke rose in a spiral and vanished into the sky.

For a moment, no one said a word.

Then I spoke, low and hard. “She knows where we are.”

Dahlia’s hand found mine. I held it too tightly. I didn’t care.

I wanted to burn something down. I wanted to drag Calliope back from whatever pit she’d crawled into and make her feel everything she’d done.

Instead, I said, “We leave. We go to the Temple. Tonight, if we can.”

Silas nodded. “Agreed.”

Dahlia didn’t hesitate. “Then let’s pack.”

But Henry stepped forward, and Thea was already shaking her head.

“We’re not going,” Thea said. “The cottage needs guarding. And you’re not dragging Henry into a cursed ruin.”

Henry’s smile was grim. “Besides, someone has to keep up with Sunny and Oleander. And keep an eye out for torch-wielding hallucinations.”

My jaw tightened, but I knew they were right.

I turned to Dahlia, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” she said. “So don’t even try.”

Gods, I loved her.

Even if loving her meant watching her walk into hell beside me.

Because that’s what this was now.

War.

And the first torch had just been lit.