She flinched and looked down. “Is that what I did?”

  He knew she meant the Echo, not the mud she’d ended up in.

  “You did what had to be done in that moment,” he murmured. “Shattering the Echo was the only way to stop D’Arco, short of merging with it yourself. You did the best you could with the knowledge you had. But it’s not going to work the same way when we find the pieces.”

  Vesper shook her head, dark hair falling across her face. Her shoulders remained rigid, magic still crackling around her fingers in sporadic bursts.

  He understood. Magic had always made sense to him, followed clear patterns he could grasp and shape. Even without memories of his early years, that connection had always remained steady.

  The magic outside of Nightreach’s walls didn’t care for the precise formulas and careful control. It refused to be contained or directed. Instead, it flowed through ancient paths carved by centuries of use, rising and falling like tides. Vesper’s attempts to force order on that ancient force were never going to work.

  The irony wasn’t lost on him. In Nightreach, her wild magic had been the problem. Here, it was her need for control that held her back. He watched another patch of moss die, forming another perfect circle in the earth.

  “Maybe it would’ve been easier if I’d known the truth about myself from the start,” she murmured. “Wild magic growing up in the confines of a human life. Languages, I understand. Structure, formulas, facts. I do listen. I do.”

  Rafe studied Vesper’s face as she spoke, remembering how she’d looked in the Fold, power crackling across her skin, eyes blazing with opalescent light as reality bent around her. The image of her standing knee-deep in the Darkmese surfaced in his mind, water swirling with impossible patterns as magic thrummed through her body.

  She had no idea what she was truly capable of. Even now, her magic leaked out in waves, making the air thick and heavy. The moss died in perfect circles because her power was too vast to be contained in such a small space. Just as her dreams caused things to float around her.

  A chill crept down his spine. He’d seen skilled mages, and powerful witches, bend reality with centuries of accumulated knowledge, but what lived inside Vesper was different. Raw. Ancient. It wasn’t just about strength or skill. There was something else there, something that made his own magic recoil even as it drew him closer.

  The way she’d shattered the Echo haunted him. Not the act itself, but how natural it had seemed. As if breaking an ancient magical artefact was as simple as breathing. She’d reached out, and the Echo had responded, recognising something in her that called to its very nature.

  “You’re staring,” Vesper said, breaking into his thoughts.

  He couldn’t tell her what he saw when he looked at her now. How sometimes her edges seemed to blur, like reality itself couldn’t quite contain whatever she was becoming. How her magic felt less like a witch’s or mage’s and more like something pulled from the bones of the earth itself.

  It unsettled him. And if he was honest with himself, it terrified him a little too. Terrified him because of how he felt about her.

  Rafe pushed away from the fence, stepping closer to Vesper. Her magic still sparked, but the wild energy had settled somewhat, no longer killing patches of moss at random.

  “Keep trying,” he said. “Whatever Aldrick’s teaching you, however he’s teaching it, it matters.” The words tasted familiar, echoes of conversations he’d had with himself years ago, standing in this same garden.

  Vesper huffed, crossing her arms tighter. But something in her eyes shifted, the frustrated gleam softening just slightly. “Even the part where he throws me in mud?”

  “Especially that part.” He caught her gaze. “Aldrick’s methods are harsh, but there’s always a reason. Sometimes the lesson isn’t what you think it is.”

  She uncrossed her arms, fingers absently tracing the silver pendant at her throat. The moonstone caught the morning light, reflecting hints of opalescent magic that matched the fading sparks around her hands.

  The forest loomed behind her, a dark wall of ancient trees pressing against the edge of Aldrick’s carefully tended garden. Something about the air felt different. Heavier, perhaps, or maybe just more alive with magic than he remembered.

  But he kept his worries to himself. Instead, he nodded once and turned toward the cottage, leaving Vesper to linger in the garden with her thoughts.

  Moonlight spilled through the open window, brushing the edge of the bed in a pale, silvery glow. Outside, the night was unnaturally still, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

  Rafe jerked awake, heart pounding. Sweat dampened his skin despite the cool night air drifting through the window.

  A woman’s voice echoed in his mind. He knew her, or had known her, but couldn’t piece together what she was saying. Every time he almost grasped it, the words faded, leaving him with an annoying feeling of something important sitting just beyond reach.

  The loss carved into his chest. An old wound reopened. His fingers curled into the sheets as he fought to recall even a fragment of the dream, but like always, the memories refused to surface, leaving only the hollow ache of absence.

  He pushed a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, casting strange shadows across the exposed wooden beams. The cottage settled around him with familiar creaks and groans, but something felt off. Wrong.

  The silence pressed in, broken only by his uneven breathing. Six years since he’d last slept in this room, yet nothing had changed. The same books lined the shelves, gathering dust. His old clothes still hung in the wardrobe, moth eaten. Even the faded patch of carpet where he’d once spilled ink remained untouched.

  Rafe stared at the ceiling, trying to grasp the wisps of the dream that danced just beyond reach. A face, perhaps? Or was it just the echo of a voice? The details blurred and shifted, refusing to solidify into anything concrete.

  His chest felt tight, empty. He recognised that voice from somewhere important, he was sure of it. But like everything else from before Millbrook, it was just gone, stuck behind some mental door he couldn’t figure out how to open.

  Rafe startled at a soft rustle down the hall, followed by a dull thud. His muscles tensed, magic crackling beneath his skin. Not from outside…from Vesper’s room.

  He slid from the bed, bare feet silent against the worn floorboards. The cottage’s familiar layout meant he knew exactly which boards would creak, and he avoided them as he crept down the darkened hallway.

  He heard another sound, a faint creak from behind Vesper’s door. His heart picked up speed. After everything that had happened in Nightreach, his instincts screamed danger at any unusual noise. That damned rock, the Echo, had changed everything.

  Moonlight spilled through the hall window, casting strange shadows across the wooden panels. Rafe paused outside Vesper’s door, magic pooling in his palms. The sound came again. Softer this time, but unmistakable.

  He pushed the door open.

  But Rafe let his magic fade as he took in the scene before him. Moonlight spilled across suspended objects, each frozen in place as if time itself had stopped. A book drifted past his face, pages rustling softly.

  Vesper lay curled on her side, dark hair spilling across the pillow. Her face remained peaceful, at odds with the chaos surrounding her. Even in sleep, raw power radiated from her in waves that made his skin prickle.

  A pen bobbed past, followed by scattered papers that swirled in lazy circles. The chair beside the bed had risen several inches, perfectly balanced on two legs. Even the blanket at the foot of the bed rippled as if caught in a gentle current.

  Rafe stepped into the room, careful to avoid the floating objects. The move hadn’t settled her magic as he’d hoped. If anything, it seemed more unstable here. The raw power flowing through the ley lines called to her Resonant abilities in a way even the Echo hadn’t.

  He took a careful step forward, ready to wake her if needed, but her breathing remained steady, her expression unchanged. Whatever dreams moved through her mind hadn’t yet turned to nightmares.

  Kneeling beside the bed, he watched the way her magic threaded through the air. Maybe shattering the Echo hasn’t broken anything. Maybe this was what she truly was.

  “Vesper,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

  She didn’t stir, though her expression shifted slightly. Whatever dream held her seemed deep. A faint furrow appeared between her brows, and the floating objects began to float higher.

  Rafe reached out, placing his hand gently on her arm. Her skin felt warm beneath his touch, thrumming with contained energy. “Vesper,” he spoke again, keeping his voice low.

  The moment Rafe’s hand touched her arm, Vesper’s eyes snapped open. Grey irises flashed opalescent in the darkness, and magic crackled through the air. The suspended items plummeted, crashing against the wooden floor. Books sprawled open, papers scattered, and the chair clattered onto all four legs.

  Rafe’s heart jumped at the sudden noise. His fingers tightened instinctively on Vesper’s arm, though he forced himself to relax his grip when she pushed herself upright. Her dark hair fell in waves around her face, and her chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths.

  Her gaze swept across the scattered items before she dragged a hand over her face. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with sleep. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

  Rafe watched exhaustion pull at her features, the way her shoulders slumped as she exhaled. Her magic pulsed around them both, wild and untamed in a way that made his own power stir in response.

  “Why does it keep happening?” Vesper’s fingers twisted in the blanket. “Every night, it’s like I can’t…” she trailed off, frustrated.

  Rafe leaned against the edge of the bed, arms resting on his knees as he considered the possibilities. “You drained yourself completely in the Fold.” His voice came out softer than intended. “Used everything you had when you shattered the Echo. It could be magical burnout.”

  But even as he spoke the words, doubt niggled at the back of his mind. He’d seen burnout before. Mages who pushed too far, too fast and paid the price. This felt different. The way her power moved, the way it responded to the ancient magic in the ley lines…

  “Or maybe something else happened when you broke it.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “The Echo wasn’t just any magical artefact. It was conscious, aware. And you were connected to it when it shattered.”

  Her fingers flexed against the blanket, and he caught the faintest tremor running through them.

  “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and everything will be normal again,” she whispered. Her gaze remained fixed on her hands, as if they belonged to someone else. “But it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

  The question hung between them. Rafe’s chest tightened at the uncertainty in her tone. He’d promised to help her, to guide her, but watching her struggle made him question whether he truly understood what they were dealing with.

  Moonlight caught the silver pendant at her throat—the one he’d bought for her in the Bizarre. It seemed like ages ago now, before the Echo, before everything changed. Before he’d watched her tear apart one of the most powerful magical artefacts in existence.

  “Get some rest.” He kept his voice gentle, though the words felt inadequate. “Aldrick may be a right bastard, but he knows more about magic than anyone I’ve met. If something’s wrong, he’ll figure it out.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

  “No,” Rafe agreed, “but it’s true.” He pushed himself to his feet, careful not to disturb any of the fallen items. “We’ll figure this out. Whatever it takes…but you should try and get some rest.”

  She sighed. “Despite the anti-gravity?”

  “Yes, despite that.”

  Rafe lingered in the doorway, watching as Vesper settled back against the pillows. His own dream pressed against his thoughts, that achingly familiar voice that slipped away the moment he tried to grasp it. The same hollow emptiness echoed in his chest, a void where memories should have been.

  “It’s different now,” she said. “I don’t feel the same anymore.”

  “Me, either,” he replied, though the words felt hollow. “I’m just across the hall if you need me.”

  Vesper nodded, even as her fingers still twisted in the blanket.

  Rafe stepped back into the hall, pulling the door closed with a soft click. The darkness pressed in around him, broken only by strips of moonlight through the windows. Each step back to his room felt heavier than the last.

  He went back to bed, but couldn’t get comfortable. The shadows from the ceiling beams looked the same as always, but his thoughts kept racing. Every creak of the cottage made him tense, listening for more sounds from Vesper’s room.

  That voice from his dream whispered at the edges of his consciousness, louder now he was back at the scene of the crime. A warning? A memory? The frustration of almost remembering clawed at his chest, but like always, the harder he reached for it, the faster it slipped away.

  She was someone from his past, that much was clear. Being here…it brought back everything he’d tried to push away.

  Sleep refused to come. Rafe stared into the darkness, knowing that whatever was happening to Vesper’s magic, this was only the beginning. The thought settled like lead in his stomach as the night stretched endlessly ahead.

  It was supposed to be over, but here they were…back at square one.

  Chapter 11

  In Thornhallow’s highest tower, Ember paced her study, stepping over fallen books and scattered papers. Morning light streamed through the high stained-glass windows, casting fractured colours across the long stone table buried under reports and coded missives. The city stirred faintly beyond the walls, but Ember had barely slept.

  Her fingers traced over Owen’s latest report, the parchment still crisp despite her reading it a dozen times through the night. The evidence was undeniable—a magical pulse beneath Saint Aldwin’s occurring every four hours and seventeen minutes without fail. Too precise to be natural, too consistent to ignore.

  The silver lines on her palm caught the morning light, and Ember turned her hand over, examining the faint pattern that had appeared after the ascension ritual. They formed a pattern like branching roots, or perhaps the tributaries of a river. Sometimes they seemed to shift when she wasn’t looking directly at them.

  “What are you trying to tell me?” she whispered to the empty room.

  The manor responded with a subtle change in the air pressure, the magic in the walls contracting slightly around her. Since becoming High Witch, Ember had felt Thornhallow’s presence more keenly. It watched, listened...and judged.

  Ember sighed and gathered her copper-red hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She reached for the pot of tea she’d brewed hours ago, now stone cold. With a flick of her fingers, flames danced from her fingertips to warm the ceramic, the water inside bubbling.

  Fire magic. The one thing that had always come naturally to her, even before she understood what magic was. If only the rest of her duties as High Witch were so straightforward.

  She poured the tea and lifted the Council’s latest proposal regarding the dead zones in Nightreach. Conservative solutions, as expected from Deirdre. Nothing that addressed the root cause.

  Ember set down her teacup with a faint clink against the saucer. Her morning ritual of tea, reports, and preparation for the day’s council meeting had become her anchor in the chaos of her new role. She reached for the leather cuffs lying on the edge of her desk, ornate bands etched with protective sigils that had become part of her daily attire since the ascension ceremony.

  As she secured the first cuff, a cold shock ran through her system. The skin of her left wrist was bare—the blood oath she shared with Marina Sinclair had vanished.

  Ember’s breath caught in her throat. She turned her wrist over, pressing her fingers against the unmarked skin as if she could will the living thread back into existence. Blood oaths didn’t simply vanish. They were permanent until fulfilled or broken through death.

  “Marina,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. Marina couldn’t be dead—Ember would have felt it. The severing of such a bond would have been violent, painful. It could only mean she’d fulfilled the terms of the oath, which was also impossible. The Fold had devoured D’Arco as it’d collapsed, but the Echo fragments were still scattered. There was still work to do.

  Ember sank into her chair, mind racing. Had Marina found a way to sever their bond? Or had something more sinister happened?

  The silver mark on her palm flashed with sudden heat, and the manor seemed to draw closer around her, the walls contracting slightly as if in concern.

  Ember tried to recall when she’d last felt the blood oath’s presence. With everything consuming her attention—the ascension ceremony, complex rituals, countless magical currents she’d navigated since becoming High Witch—she hadn’t noticed its disappearance until now.

  She closed her eyes, mentally retracing the past weeks. The oath had been there before her ascension, a constant reminder of her connection to Marina and all the pieces left in play. But after? Ember couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had vanished.

  “There should have been pain,” she murmured, rising from her chair to pace the room again. “A blood oath doesn’t simply fade away.”

  The silver lines on her skin rippled like water disturbed by a stone, and Ember glanced down at the mark. Thornhallow seemed to be listening, its ancient magic humming through the walls.

  If the oath was broken, Marina could be in danger or worse. But there were other possibilities, none of them comforting. Marina could have found a way to sever it herself. Or perhaps something had interfered with the magic binding them together.

  Ember moved to the door, her decision made. She pulled it open to find Lydia Booth, one of the few witches she trusted implicitly, standing guard.