“We need somewhere with strong ley line convergence, but also enough space for the ritual circle,” Rafe murmured. “Whatever we do, we’re going to make a bang.”

  “The Shadowglass Tower’s too exposed,” Blair said. “Every magical faction in Nightreach keeps eyes on it. We’d be spotted before we could begin.”

  “That leaves the Obsidian Courtyard, Saint Aldwin’s Crypt, and The Eye.” Vesper marked each with her pencil, the graphite catching on the paper’s rough surface. Her fingers tingled as she wrote ‘The Eye’, something about the name resonating with her Resonant abilities. “What’s the Eye, anyway?”

  “It’s Nightreach’s version of that hideous Ferris Wheel,” Rafe said. “The amount of wards it needs to stay in place is annoying, so no one bothers. It keeps changing shape too often for it to be an economical use of magic. Besides, it’s across the Darkmese. Any ritual performed there would be distorted by the river.”

  Blair pulled out a small notebook, flipping through its pages. “The Obsidian Courtyard’s deep in disputed territory. Three different magical houses claim ownership, and they’re not shy about defending their claims.”

  “Saint Aldwin’s Crypt might work,” Rafe offered. “It’s protected from prying eyes. But the energy there…” He trailed off, frowning.

  “What about it?” Vesper asked.

  “It’s old. Very old. And not entirely stable. The wrong kind of magic could bring the whole place down on our heads.”

  The memory of Selene’s echo flickered through Vesper’s mind—gothic arches stretching towards a vaulted ceiling, stone walls etched with centuries of magical residue, and air thick with ancient power.

  “Wait.” She straightened in her chair. “It could be the place I saw in my echo. Selene was in a place that looked like it could be a ruined cathedral. I know witches use altars in their spells, but the altar almost looked repurposed.”

  Rafe moved closer, his earlier distance forgotten. “Are you sure?”

  “She was standing outside, but inside. A ruin open to the sky.” Vesper closed her eyes, letting the echo’s details surface. “Stone columns, glassless windows…the kind that are curved into points at the top.” She screwed up her nose. “I don’t think I’m making sense.”

  “I get you,” Blair said. “Saint Aldwin’s was a cathedral. The crypt sits at the intersection of several major ley lines.”

  “Selene wouldn’t have chosen it randomly.” Vesper opened her eyes, her conviction growing. “She must have had a reason for trying the ritual there.”

  “The cathedral’s architecture itself acts as a focusing lens,” Rafe added. “Those columns you saw? They’re part of an ancient amplification system. The whole building was designed to channel magical energy.”

  “So, it’s not just a church?” Vesper asked.

  “No. We don’t follow religions like the human world does.”

  “No,” Blair said, rolling her eyes. “You have cults instead.”

  Rafe sighed. “That’s a whole other topic for another day.”

  “We need to go there.” Vesper gathered Selene’s research papers. “If Selene was attempting the ritual there, it had to be for a reason. It’s our best chance to make this thing work.”

  “Then you better figure out how to actually perform it,” Blair said. “Because this is one spell I don’t think anyone should wing.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to make a cup of tea.”

  As Blair wandered off, Vesper looked to Rafe, her attention caught by his subtle shift in position. He’d moved back from the table, one hand pressed against his side. The shadows under his eyes seemed darker than before, and tension lined his mouth despite his attempts to appear casual.

  She reached across the space between them, her fingers brushing his arm. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just tired. It’s been a long few days, hasn’t it?”

  Vesper’s hand lingered on his arm, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles. The excuse sounded hollow—she’d seen Rafe exhausted before, but this seemed different. Something about his encounter with the Nightweaver had affected him more deeply than he was letting on.

  Blair was still clattering about at the kitchenette, giving them a moment of privacy. Vesper wanted to push further, to understand what had really happened during their meeting with the shadow trader. But the tight set of Rafe’s jaw and the way he avoided her direct gaze told her now wasn’t the time.

  She withdrew her hand, letting him keep his secrets for the moment. Whatever burden he carried from his encounter with the Nightweaver, he clearly wasn’t ready to share it.

  “The ritual is one thing, but how about your magic?” Rafe asked, changing the subject. “Did Ash have any suggestions?”

  Vesper pulled the scroll from her pocket, the paper soft and worn at its creases. She held out the parchment to Rafe. “Ash gave me this. It’s a masking spell, but he said it needs adjusting.”

  Rafe took the parchment, his movements careful despite his evident fatigue. He settled into the chair across from her, unrolling the aged paper. His grey eyes scanned the intricate patterns of magical notation, lips moving silently as he read.

  “This is old magic,” he murmured, tracing one of the symbols with his finger. “Clever of Ash to think of it. The basic structure’s sound, but you’re right—it needs modification.”

  “Can you do it?”

  Rafe nodded. “I’ll need something to bind it to. Your pendant—may I?”

  Vesper’s fingers went to the silver chain around her neck, hesitating for just a moment before unclasping it. The moonstone caught the lamplight as she passed it across the table.

  Rafe held the pendant in his palm, studying how the stone’s opalescent surface played with the light. His voice dropped to a whisper as he began the incantation, weaving the masking spell’s protection into the crystal’s structure. Magic rippled through the air between them, making the hairs on Vesper’s arms stand on end.

  The moonstone began to glow with a soft, pearl-like gleam. The light pulsed once, twice, then faded away entirely, leaving the pendant looking exactly as it had before—but Vesper could feel the difference in its magical resonance. He’d woven the new spell with the existing one, and expertly so.

  Rafe extended his hand, the pendant dangling from his fingers. The moonstone caught the archive’s warm light, its surface now holding a subtle shimmer that hadn’t been there before. As Vesper reached for it, their fingers brushed. The brief contact sent a flutter through her chest that had nothing to do with magic.

  Fighting the blush in her cheeks, she secured the chain around her neck, letting the familiar weight settle against her collarbone. The stone felt different against her skin—cooler, with an odd vibration that tickled her senses. Her fingers traced the smooth surface, feeling the layers of protective magic now woven into its core.

  “Do you think it will work?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice smaller than she’d intended. “If Cassandra can still track me…”

  “We’ll test it. The spell should mask your magical signature from anyone trying to track you, but it’s just theory until proven otherwise.”

  Vesper sat quietly at the table, absently touching the pendant, but her attention remained fixed on Rafe.

  He leaned back in his wooden chair, eyes closed, exhaustion etched across his features.

  Her fingers itched to reach across the table, to offer comfort or simply connection, but she held back. The weight of unspoken words hung between them, questions she couldn’t voice and answers he wasn’t ready to give. Instead, she watched as his chest rose and fell with each measured breath, noting how his hand still pressed against his side as if nursing an unseen wound.

  Vesper drew a deep breath, pushing aside her concerns. They had gathered the components—the thorn, the water, and now the crystal. Saint Aldwin’s awaited them. Hopefully, its ancient stones held the power they needed to complete Selene’s ritual. That had to be her focus now, regardless of the questions that nagged at her. the Echo was everything.

  The crumbling spires of Saint Aldwin’s Cathedral pierced the night sky like broken teeth. Vesper shivered, pulling her leather jacket tighter as snowflakes settled on her hair. Her pendant thrummed against her skin, responding to the ancient magic that saturated the ruins.

  Beside her, Rafe’s breath fogged in the frigid air as he studied the cathedral’s façade. His shoulders were tight, jaw clenched—still carrying whatever burden the Nightweaver had placed upon him. Blair stood on her other side, her dark eyes scanning the shadows between the weathered stone columns.

  Vesper’s boots crunched through the thin layer of snow as she approached the massive oak doors. Frost had crystallised along the rotting wood, forming delicate patterns that reminded her of the magical symbols Selene had left across Nightreach. The sound of their footsteps died away, muffled by the snow and the oppressive silence that hung over the ruins.

  Through gaps in the broken walls, moonlight spilled across the cathedral’s interior. Shards of stained glass crunched beneath their feet, their colours dulled by decades of exposure. The fragments caught what little light remained, twinkling like fallen stars against the snow-dusted floor.

  Ivy had claimed the cathedral’s bones, threading through cracks in the stonework and draping from the vaulted ceiling. The green tendrils seemed to pulse with an inner light, responding to their presence. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the moonlight filtering through the empty window frames.

  The air inside felt thick, heavy with centuries of accumulated magic. Each breath Vesper drew tasted of cold stone and ancient power. Her magic stirred in response, making her skin prickle as if thousands of invisible fingers were trailing across her flesh.

  When had it become winter? she thought. Frost crystals had turned into snow, the seasons changing somewhere between the thorn and the shadow-touched crystal.

  Long shadows fell through the cathedral’s broken windows, painting crisp patterns across weathered stone and rotting wood. Vesper’s fingers brushed against a fallen column, and the contact sent ripples of sensation through her Resonant abilities. But the magic felt…muted. Wrong. Like trying to hear music through thick glass.

  They moved deeper into the nave. Rafe walked ahead, his footsteps careful and measured, while Blair traced the wall with gloved fingers.

  Vesper paused by a crumbling archway, her hand hovering over the stonework. “Victorian renovations.” She gestured to the architectural details. “But the foundation’s older. Much older.” Her fingers traced patterns in the dust, revealing hints of worn carvings beneath.

  Above, the vaulted ceiling had long disappeared, its highest points crashing to the ground decades, or maybe even centuries, ago. Now, the open sky looked down on them as snow fell through the ruined opening.

  Rafe’s voice cut through her thoughts. “No wards.” He frowned, touching a wall where magical protections should have been carved. “A place like this should be covered in them, even if they’re only residual.”

  Vesper nodded, understanding what he meant. Every other magical site in Nightreach bristled with protective enchantments. This cathedral felt stripped bare, as if something had scraped away its magical defences, leaving only the hollow shell of what should have been.

  Vesper followed Blair’s lead, her boots leaving tracks in the settled snow. Ancient stone gave way beneath decades of debris, revealing worn steps that spiralled into impenetrable darkness. The staircase seemed to absorb what little moonlight filtered through the cathedral’s broken ceiling.

  Her pendant grew warmer against her skin as they approached the entrance. The ritual components in her bag clinked softly together—the thorn, the water, and the shadow-touched crystal each pulsing with their own distinct magical signatures.

  “Shall we go down?” Blair asked.

  “I can’t sense any magic up here,” Rafe replied. “If there’s anything left, it’ll be down here.”

  “Alright. Down into the spooky crypt it is.” Blair withdrew a small orb from her coat pocket. At her touch, it filled with soft blue light, casting strange shadows across the weathered stone walls. “Watch your step.” She gestured to where part of the staircase had crumbled away. “Some of these aren’t stable.”

  The temperature plummeted with each step downward. Vesper’s breath clouded in front of her face as they descended deeper beneath the cathedral. The walls pressed closer, decorated with half-eroded carvings that seemed to shift and change in Blair’s magical light.

  Vesper’s magic hummed beneath her skin, responding to the building magical pressure. The sensation reminded her of diving deep underwater—that same sense of weight and otherworldly silence. But unlike the well’s pure energy, this magic felt ancient and undisturbed, like dust settling in a sealed tomb.

  Rafe moved closer behind her, his presence steady and reassuring. “The magic’s different down here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it seemed to echo off the narrow walls. “Older. Whatever stripped the wards above didn’t reach this far down.”

  She nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. While the cathedral above felt hollow and empty, the crypt’s magic remained intact—a thick, heavy presence that made her skin tingle and her pendant pulse with answering warmth.

  “The shadow-touched crystal will help draw the magic out, right?” she murmured. “That’s what it’s for?”

  “Yes,” Rafe said, a note of pride in his voice. “You learn fast.”

  She smiled. “Research is my superpower.”

  The staircase curved sharply, and Blair’s light revealed elaborate archways stretching into the darkness. The crypt opened before them, a labyrinth of stone passages and burial chambers.

  Blair’s magical light cast deep shadows across rows of burial alcoves. Names and dates carved into the stone caught Vesper’s attention—some written in languages she didn’t recognise, others worn away by centuries of decay.

  “Ashworth,” Blair murmured, pointing to an elaborate tomb. “And there—Blackwright. These are some of Nightreach’s oldest families.”

  The residual magic brushed against Vesper’s senses like cobwebs, each tomb holding its own distinct signature. Some felt warm and protective, while others carried a sharp, dangerous edge that made her pendant flutter against her skin.

  Carved symbols decorated the arched ceilings, their patterns reminiscent of the ones Selene had left across Nightreach. But these were older, their meanings lost to time. The magic they held felt raw and untamed compared to modern spellwork.

  As they ventured deeper, the magical signatures grew stronger. They pulsed against Vesper’s awareness like heartbeats, each one unique yet somehow connected. The air itself seemed to thicken with centuries of accumulated power.

  Blair paused before an intersection of tunnels, her light revealing more burial chambers stretching into darkness. “Greymore.” She gestured to their left. “And Dunstan.”

  The names carried weight, even to Vesper’s limited knowledge of magical history. These weren’t just burial chambers—they were repositories of power, the remains of each family member’s magic preserved within the stone walls.

  “Why would all this be down here unattended?” she asked. “The cathedral is in ruins… Surely it couldn’t be because of the Schism?”

  Rafe’s expression darkened at her question. “The Great Schism tore apart more than just allegiances. Some of the oldest families turned on each other. The city itself became a weapon. Houses became living entities. Remains were stolen and channelled for power. Mages and witches were trapped in foundations. Many were drowned in the Darkmese. All kinds of nasty stuff.”

  The weight of history pressed down on Vesper as she processed his words. Her fingers traced the edge of a nearby tomb, and an echo rippled through her consciousness—flashes of fire, screaming, the clash of spells against ancient stone. She pulled back, steadying herself against the wall.

  “You alright?” Blair’s hand touched her shoulder.

  “Yeah.” Vesper blinked away the lingering images. The residual magic had preserved more than just power—it held memories of the violence that had torn Nightreach apart. “It’s just so sad…the awful things people do to one another.”

  “Yeah, the last thing anyone needs is the Great Schism part two,” Blair murmured.

  “Let’s look for the ley lines,” Rafe said. “I can’t see that Selene would’ve used this place to draw from the remains. She wasn’t like that.”

  “That’s what happens to someone’s magic when they die?” Vesper asked. “It stays in their bones?”

  “Some does,” Rafe told her. “It’s the accumulation of a lifetime of magic use. But what makes someone magical…that goes away.”

  She reached out toward a crypt, her fingers brushing against a carved relief, and the world tilted sideways. The echo slammed into her consciousness with the force of a tidal wave. The crypt’s weathered walls melted away, replaced by pristine stone illuminated by floating orbs of light.

  Robed figures moved through the space, their ceremonial garments adorned with intricate silver threading that caught the light. Their chanting filled the chamber, a haunting melody that made the very air vibrate with power. The ley lines beneath the crypt pulsed in response, sending waves of energy coursing through the stone.

  She watched as they gathered around a central altar, their movements precise and practised. The energy built until it crackled visibly in the air, arcing between the ceremonial circles carved into the floor. The chanting reached a crescendo, and the ley lines surged⁠—

  The vision fractured, splintering into fragments of other moments. Different robes, different ceremonies, different powers being channelled through the ancient stone. Each snapshot carried its own weight of memory and magic, pressing against her mind like layers of sediment built up over centuries.