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SIX

EVRYN

T he Veil didn’t part like a curtain.

It pulled .

It hummed in her blood, in her bones. Like a song written just for her, played so low it made her teeth ache.

Evryn stood at the edge of Grayridge, the world behind her turning to rot and static. Before her, the alley shimmered—barely. Just a flicker to the left of reality, a stutter in the corner of her eye. Most people would pass by without a second glance, just chalk it up to smog or bad lighting.

But Evryn had the Sight. She saw it for what it was: a Threshold.

Not a place, exactly. More like an invitation.

Beyond the shimmer lay the Veil Dominion—the other world, the hidden one.

The realm of shifters, of Houses and Thrones and shadows that moved on their own.

She didn’t know the names of all the places inside it, but she’d glimpsed pieces: cities blooming underground, temples grown from obsidian and whispering moss, old cathedrals tucked into cliffs where the sun never touched.

It didn’t belong to humans.

But she had never really felt like one, had she?

The dream had led her here. That same silver-eyed figure, waiting in a garden made of ash and memory, whispering without words. This time, he hadn’t disappeared. This time, his hand had reached back for hers.

So here she was, fingers trembling at her sides, the markless charm pulsing faintly against her chest.

Behind her, boots crunched gravel.

“Evryn, don’t ,” Eamon called out.

She turned to him slowly. His coat flapped in the wind like something alive, and his jaw was tight, eyes darker than she’d ever seen them.

“I have to,” she said softly.

“No, you think you have to. That’s not the same.”

“Eamon, I felt it. The dream. The place. This… pull.”

His voice dropped. “And you think it’s leading you to answers?”

Her jaw tightened. “Yeah. I do .”

He took a step toward her, hands out. “Girl, you don’t know what’s past that line. You think Grayridge’s bad? The Veil’s worse. There are laws over there older than god, and none of ‘em are kind.”

“I see it. I’ve always seen it. This was never just about hiding from them. It’s about knowing who I am. ”

“Ev—”

Then it happened.

A blur. A rustle. Too fast. Too wrong.

A figure dropped from the rooftop behind Eamon—glamoured, sharp-edged, shifting like oil over glass.

Evryn’s scream ripped out before her brain caught up.

“ EAMON! ”

He spun too late. A blow landed, something hard and electric that dropped him to one knee. His hand went for his weapon, but another figure materialized behind him—two more, teeth flashing in the half-light, not human, not right.

Veil mercs.

House-branded ghosts.

She recognized the flash of House Sablewing colors—black and blood-red. Messengers. Memory thieves. Hitmen in ceremonial armor disguised as leather jackets and shadows. She remembers Eamon teaching her about them.

They grabbed Eamon too fast. One pressed a hand to his temple and whispered a word. Eamon’s eyes rolled back.

“No—NO!”

Evryn ran forward, the Threshold humming behind her like a warning.

The lead merc looked up. His gaze skimmed over her face—then paused.

His head tilted. Recognition flickered in his eyes.

Evryn didn’t think. She turned and ran .

Straight into the shimmer.

Crossing the Veil wasn’t like stepping through a door.

It was like being turned inside out.

Her bones went weightless. Her skin burned. Her thoughts felt slippery, like she was trying to hold onto water.

And then she dropped. Hard.

Her knees slammed into soft, moss-covered ground. Air rushed into her lungs like she'd been drowning.

The sky was wrong here—bruised lavender with black clouds curling at the edges. Trees stretched tall and skeletal, their trunks glowing faintly, covered in silver lichen that pulsed in time with no rhythm she could name.

The ground beneath her hands whispered.

Not with words, but with memory.

Welcome home.

She staggered to her feet, breathing hard.

Eamon was gone. Taken.

Her only tether to the world she knew had just been ripped from her life.

And here she was, alone in a forest that hadn’t seen sunlight in centuries, her Sight flashing on instinct, making everything look too clear.

Branches curled like claws. A cathedral’s spire jutted from the hilltop like a broken fang in the distance.

The Veil didn’t want her here. But something else did .

She stumbled down a slope, following a flicker in the fog—a light that didn’t flicker like fire, but pulsed with intent. Her charm glowed faintly against her chest.

She didn't know how long she walked. Time was thin here. Warped.

At some point, her legs gave out and she collapsed near a stream that whispered names she didn’t recognize.

Her breath caught.

There was someone up ahead.

A figure. Standing at the water’s edge. Not the one from her dream. A stranger. Hooded. Tall. Still.

Evryn didn’t move. Her hand crept to her knife.

The figure turned slowly.

A woman—storm-gray eyes, silver hair woven into a long braid. Her face was lined with age and power, her presence immediate and full.

“Daughter of shadow,” the woman said, voice like cracked ice. “You should not be here.”

Evryn’s voice was raw. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

Evryn stood. Shaky. Bruised. Gutted with fear. But not broken.

“They took someone from me.”

The woman looked her over. Not cruelly. Just… measuring.

“Then you will need allies. Come. There are worse things in these woods than me.”

“Who are you?”

The woman smiled without warmth.

“Once, I was called Thalia Shadeborn. Now? I suppose you can call me your last option.”