Vesper caught Marina’s slight smile, barely visible beneath her composed expression. The witch had achieved her goal—not preventing security measures, but planting seeds of doubt about Vesper’s credibility. Those seeds would grow until she had enough power to overthrow Beatrice.

  “This meeting is dismissed.” Beatrice’s words rang with finality. “The Concordat has its task.”

  Beatrice gestured Vesper toward an alcove as the council members filed out of the chamber, dismissing Rafe with a wave of her hand. Tapestries depicting ancient magical battles hung on either side, their threads seeming to shift and move in the dim light.

  “That could have gone better.” Beatrice’s voice dropped low.

  “We shouldn’t have burst in like that,” Vesper said. “But we were just attacked. I’ve never been attacked before. It’s…quite shocking.”

  “I understand.” Beatrice smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “But you believe us?”

  The High Witch nodded. “But Marina’s influence runs deeper than I’d like to admit. Half the Concordat now questions your account.”

  “Oh…”

  “Vesper, I won’t lie to you,” Beatrice’s blue eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity. “your next trial is absolutely crucial. Success would force even Marina’s supporters to acknowledge your worth. Failure would give her all the ammunition she needs to rise in power.”

  The weight of unspoken questions hung between them. Beatrice stepped closer, her silver hair catching the light from a nearby crystal sconce.

  “If there’s anything else—anything at all—you haven’t shared about these attacks, now would be the time. The Concordat can protect you, but only if we know everything we’re dealing with.”

  Vesper thought of the grimoire hidden away, of the strange markings that had appeared on her skin, of her Resonant abilities. Her throat tightened. The High Witch’s offer of protection seemed genuine, but Marina’s display of influence had made one thing clear—the Concordat’s loyalties were divided.

  “Thank you,” Vesper managed. “But I’ve told you everything.”

  Beatrice’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes suggested she knew Vesper was holding back. “Very well. Be careful, Miss Ainsley. Politics aside, someone clearly wants to interfere with these trials.”

  “Have you found out anything about the first trial?” she asked. “Why you couldn’t see?”

  Beatrice’s face hardened. “Outside interference blocked our view of your visions. A feat that should have been impossible, given the ancient wards protecting the trial chamber.”

  Vesper’s stomach twisted. Beatrice was admitting there was sabotage.

  “The labyrinth showed you something important.” Beatrice’s voice dropped lower. “Something someone didn’t want us to see.”

  Vesper thought of Selene in the library, deliberately hiding the grimoire where only Vesper would find it. The memory felt sharp, dangerous—a secret that could get her killed if the wrong people learned of it.

  “I saw fragments,” Vesper said carefully. “Nothing clear enough to make sense of. The trial was about picking true magic from false. I was able to leave the labyrinth by following the path of truth.”

  Beatrice’s piercing blue eyes studied her face. “You’re learning quickly. Both magic and politics.” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. The High Witch straightened, her formal demeanour returning. “Your next trial is not far away. I suggest you prepare well.”

  Vesper nodded, her mind already racing ahead to what fresh dangers the next trial might bring. She’d passed the first through raw talent and instinct. But Marina’s display of power in the council chamber made it clear—she’d need far more than natural ability to survive what was coming.

  The crystal sconces flickered as if responding to her thoughts, casting dancing shadows across the ancient tapestries. In their shifting light, the woven battles seemed to move, an endless cycle of magic and conflict playing out in silence.

  “And if sabotage occurs again?”

  Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. “We are working to ensure it does not.”

  “Thank you, High Witch.” Vesper stepped away from the alcove. The chamber had emptied during their conversation, the massive table now surrounded by vacant chairs. She scanned the room for Rafe, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  He wasn’t in the corridor outside, either. Only a few lingering council members stood nearby, deep in whispered conversation. Rafe had vanished.

  Rafe lingered in the dim corridor, his boots scuffing against the centuries-old stone as the council chamber door clicked shut behind him. The faint murmur of Beatrice’s voice filtered through, but he couldn’t make out her words to Vesper.

  A whisper of magic traced along the wall, leaving a crimson trail in its wake. Marina Sinclair emerged from the shadows, her dark robes rustling against the flagstones.

  “Quite the performance in there.” Marina’s perfectly manicured nail traced a sigil into the stone. “Though I wonder if you truly understand what you’ve stumbled into, protecting her. The trials are not to be trifled with.”

  “I understand plenty.” Rafe shifted his weight, positioning himself between Marina and the council chamber door.

  “Do you?” Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Tell me, what do you remember of the night your parents vanished? The exact shade of the protective circle they cast? The words of the spell that took your memories?”

  Ice slid down Rafe’s spine. What circle? What spell? He couldn’t recall anything clearly through the haze that clouded his past.

  “The Concordat keeps meticulous records.” Marina’s fingers danced across the wall, leaving more traces of magic in their wake. “Perhaps we could discuss them. Privately.”

  “And what’s the price of this…discussion?”

  “Just a conversation. Away from prying eyes and ears.” Marina glanced meaningfully at the council chamber door. “Unless you’re not interested in learning what really happened that night?”

  Rafe’s jaw clenched. Every instinct screamed that this was a trap, yet the promise of answers about his past pulled at him like a hook beneath his ribs. If there was a way he could repair his fractured memories and not include Vesper, then it was a tempting offer indeed.

  “The High Witch couldn’t help you, but I might be able to,” Marina purred. “Isn’t it worth a simple discussion to find out?”

  “Fine. Where?”

  “Just down the hall.” Marina’s magic faded from the wall as she glided past him. “My private study is warded against prying eyes and ears.”

  Rafe followed Marina down the winding corridor, past portraits of witches and warlocks whose eyes tracked their movement. The air grew thick with old magic, pressing against his skin like cobwebs.

  Marina’s private study opened into a circular chamber lined with leather-bound books. Pale light filtered through stained-glass, casting prismatic shadows across an ancient mahogany desk. The door sealed behind them with a whisper of magic.

  Marina settled into her high-backed chair, her fingers trailing across an array of crystals arranged with deliberate precision. Each stone pulsed with a different frequency of power—amethyst, citrine, smoky quartz. The arrangement tickled at something in Rafe’s memory, but the pattern slipped away before he could grasp it.

  “Your dedication to young Vesper is quite remarkable.” Marina’s hands never stopped moving between the crystals, each touch sending ripples of magic through the air. “Taking on an untrained practitioner, mentoring her through these trials… It speaks to your character.”

  The crystals’ rhythmic pulse seemed to sync with Marina’s words, creating a subtle resonance that made Rafe’s thoughts feel sluggish, syrupy.

  “Such nobility.” Her voice held a hypnotic quality. “Protecting someone who, until mere weeks ago, was a complete stranger. Standing before the council, vouching for her claims…”

  “She needed help, and I was equipped to give it to her,” he replied.

  “For a fee, I presume?” Marina’s fingers danced across a rose quartz, sending another wave of magic washing over the room.

  “No fee.”

  “Well, it’s admirable, really. Such unwavering support for one so new to our world without recompense. It’s not often I come across a mage who performs a service for free. In fact,” she tapped the quartz with a long nail, “I never have.”

  Rafe shook his head—the fatigue of fighting off the attack in the Bizarre was catching up to him. He reached for a drop of magic, the spark helping to clear the fog from his thoughts. “Enough games, Marina. Why am I here?”

  “Such impatience.” Her fingers stilled on the crystals. “Very well. Tell me, does the name Millbrook mean anything to you?”

  The word struck like lightning. Rafe’s hands clenched at his sides as fragments of memory flickered through his mind—a village green, a stone church spire, the scent of wood smoke.

  “I see it does.” Marina rose from her ornate chair, her robes whispering against the floorboards. “Such a quiet little place. Barely a dot on the map of Cornwall. The sort of village where everyone knows everyone else’s business.” She circled the desk, each step measured and deliberate. “Except, of course, when a teenage boy appears out of nowhere, with no memory of how he got there.”

  Cold sweat beaded on Rafe’s forehead. He’d spent years trying to trace his path to that village, but the trails always went cold. He never knew how he’d found his way there.

  “The villagers found you on All Hallows Eve,” Marina continued, drawing closer. “Interesting timing, wouldn’t you say? The veil between worlds at its thinnest, when old magic runs strongest.” Her perfume carried notes of night-blooming jasmine and something darker, more acrid.

  Rafe’s heart hammered against his ribs as Marina traced her fingers along the edge of her desk. The crystals’ pulse matched his racing heartbeat.

  “Your mother kept a garden.” Marina’s voice held the cadence of someone leafing through memories. “Roses and moonflowers. Your sister helped tend them.”

  The word ‘sister’ hit him like a physical blow. Rafe steadied himself against a bookshelf, his fingers brushing leather-bound spines.

  “I don’t have—” But the denial died on his lips as a fragment of memory surfaced—small hands pressing seeds into dark soil, childish laughter, the scent of earth and growing things.

  “Your family’s cottage stood at the edge of a silver birch grove.” Marina moved closer, close enough that her robes brushed against his boots. “The windows had blue shutters. Your father painted them every spring.”

  Another memory stirred—the sharp smell of paint, his father balanced on a ladder, whistling as he worked. The image was so clear, so precise, it stole his breath.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I know many things, Rafe.” Marina’s fingers ghosted over his sleeve. “I know about the treehouse your father built. The way your mother sang when she worked her spells. The little wooden animals your brother carved⁠—”

  “Brother?” The word felt like glass in his throat.

  Marina’s smile held triumph. “Oh yes.”

  Rafe’s magic stirred beneath his skin, responding to his turmoil. These weren’t false memories—they rang too true, fitted too perfectly into the gaps in his past. He found himself leaning toward Marina, drawn by the promise of more revelations about his forgotten family.

  The scent of Marina’s perfume wrapped around Rafe like tendrils of smoke. She traced her fingers across his shoulder as she moved past, each touch sending sparks of memory dancing through his mind—fragments of his past that felt achingly real.

  “The Concordat possesses ancient magic for retrieving lost memories.” Marina’s voice held the soft certainty of someone offering salvation. “Spells locked away in our deepest vaults, known only to a select few.” She paused at a shelf, selecting a leather-bound tome with practised grace. “I could help you recover what was taken, piece by piece. It wouldn’t be easy—it’s quite the painful process—but it can be done.”

  Rafe’s temples throbbed. The weight of the day’s events—the attack in the Bizarre, the council meeting, and now these overwhelming glimpses of his past—pressed against his skull. Through the study’s stained-glass windows, he caught sight of the setting sun painting the sky in deep purples and blues. “What do you want in return?”

  Marina’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Such a direct question. But then, you mages always did prefer the straightforward approach.” She traced her fingers along the book’s spine. “I want you to step aside. Let the trials proceed without your…assistance.”

  Rafe’s magic pulsed beneath his skin, fighting against the crystalline resonance filling the room. “You want me to abandon Vesper?”

  “Abandon is such a harsh word.” Marina set the tome on her desk with deliberate care. “I’m merely suggesting you allow events to unfold naturally. The trials have their own momentum, after all. Their own purpose.”

  The fragments of memory Marina had awakened clawed at Rafe’s concentration. A treehouse. Blue shutters. Siblings he couldn’t quite remember. Each detail felt like a missing piece of himself, dangling just out of reach.

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you’ll never know the truth about your family.” Marina’s fingers drummed against the book’s cover. “About why they really disappeared.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “About whether they’re still alive.”

  Rafe’s breath caught. The possibility that his parents might be alive had haunted him for years. He’d chased every lead, explored every theory, but always hit dead ends. And now Marina was offering answers—for the simple price of walking away from Vesper.

  But Rafe remembered the raw power that had erupted from Vesper during their training, the way her shield had shimmered with that strange opalescent light. If Marina wanted him gone, it meant Marina wanted Vesper. It meant she knew.

  He wanted to tell Marina he didn’t want his memories if it meant abandoning her. That Vesper meant more to him than he cared to admit. But he couldn’t do it. He had a brother and sister…and they might still be out there.

  “I need time to think.” Rafe straightened, forcing himself to step back. “And I should get Vesper home before dark.”

  “Of course.” Marina replaced the book with deliberate care. “The offer stands. When you’re ready to remember everything—your family, your true heritage—you know where to find me.”

  Rafe scowled, not trusting himself to speak. The fragments of memory Marina had stirred up rattled in his mind like loose coins. He needed distance to sort through it all, to determine what was real and what might be Marina’s manipulation.

  “Just remember,” Marina called as he reached for the door handle, “some opportunities come with an expiration date.”

  The study door closed behind him with a soft click, and Rafe leaned against the cool stone wall, drawing in a steadying breath. He needed to focus on getting Vesper safely back to the townhouse. Everything else—the memories, Marina’s offer, the growing complications of his past—could wait until tomorrow.

  Rafe pushed away from the wall and strode through Thornhallow’s winding corridors.

  He found Vesper in the entrance hall, perched on a window seat. Late afternoon light caught in her dark hair, casting shadows across her face as she gazed out across the hearth. The sight of her steadied him, even as guilt churned in his stomach. How could he consider Marina’s offer when Vesper needed his help?

  “We should head back.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “It’s not safe after dark.”

  Vesper looked up, her grey eyes catching his. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He turned away, unable to meet her concerned gaze. “Just tired from earlier. It was quite the chase.”

  “You look pale.” Vesper stood, reaching for his arm. “Where were you?”

  “Nowhere important.” Rafe moved toward the heavy oak doors, forcing himself to ignore the hurt that flashed across her face. “We need to go.”

  Vesper hesitated, then fell into step beside him. The massive doors creaked open, spilling them out onto Thornhallow’s front steps. Rafe’s shoulders tensed as they descended, feeling Marina’s presence somewhere above.

  They walked in silence through the grounds, past ancient oaks and carefully tended herb gardens. The wards shimmered around them as they passed through, stepping from Thornhallow’s domain back into the heath. Vesper opened her mouth as if to speak again, but Rafe quickened his pace, letting the growing darkness swallow whatever words she might have uttered.

  Vesper slumped over her desk, papers strewn across every surface. Crumpled attempts at discovering a cypher littered the floor around her feet. The grimoire sat innocently before her, its blue cover gleaming in the lamplight, taunting her with its secrets.

  “Come on, you bloody thing.” Her fingers traced the spine for the hundredth time that night. No shimmer of recognition, no magical surge, nothing. Just the same dull hum it had maintained since bonding to her.

  The clock on her bedside table clicked past midnight. In mere hours, she’d face her second trial at Thornhallow Manor, and here she sat, making zero progress with the one thing that might give her answers about Selene’s death. Also, why everyone was so desperate to get their hands on a Resonant.

  Her eyes burned from strain as she flipped through the pages again. The text shifted and swirled, refusing to settle into anything readable. The strange symbols that had appeared on her skin when she first touched the book hadn’t returned, despite her desperate attempts to recreate the moment. Thankfully, she hadn’t ended up on another trip to the Fold, though it was a hollow achievement.

  Vesper pressed her palms against her eyes until spots danced in her vision. The pendant Rafe had bought her at the Bizarre clinked against the desk as she leaned forward. Its protective magic pulsed gently, a reminder that she wasn’t completely defenceless. But it did nothing to ease the knot of anxiety in her stomach.