The cloaked figure passed Blair a folded piece of parchment. Vesper watched the detective’s shoulders tense, her hand twitching toward her enchanted watch. Whatever information the contact shared, it wasn’t good news.

  Cassandra’s corruption of the threads felt like a vice tightening around Nightreach. Each severed connection to the Fold left another neighbourhood cut off, another escape route closed. The silver-haired mage’s actions made no sense—unless they were part of some larger plan. But what could Lucian D’Arco possibly gain by isolating Nightreach? And how had they known exactly when to strike, if not for help from within the Concordat itself?

  Blair tucked the parchment into her coat and rejoined them, her expression unreadable. They set off again, weaving through Nightreach’s labyrinthine streets. The crowds thinned as they moved away from the main thoroughfares, the buildings pressing closer together until their upper stories nearly touched.

  Vesper watched Rafe from the corner of her eye as they walked. His left hand drifted to his right arm again, rubbing absently at the spot where it’d broken. The healers had done their work well—there wasn’t even a scar—but she knew it still troubled him. The way he favoured that side, the slight hesitation before casting certain spells.

  Her chest tightened. He’d thrown himself between her and Cassandra without hesitation that night at Thornhallow. The memory of his body crumpling and the sickening crack as he hit the ground still haunted her dreams. If she’d been faster, stronger, more in control of her abilities, maybe she could’ve done something.

  Vesper looked down at her hands. They seemed ordinary enough, but she’d felt the power surge through them that night, raw and desperate. The force of it had knocked Cassandra back through her own portal, buying them precious seconds to close it. Even now, she couldn’t explain exactly what she’d done or how. The magic had simply answered her call, wild and instinctive.

  Blair led them down a narrow set of steps, the stones worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. The air grew thick with the mingled scents of incense and damp stone. Somewhere ahead, voices echoed off ancient walls—an underground tavern, where Blair’s next informant waited.

  Rafe’s hand brushed his arm again, and Vesper swallowed hard. How much more would he sacrifice to help her uncover the truth about Selene? About herself? The power humming beneath her skin felt like both a gift and a burden—one she was only beginning to understand.

  Vesper ducked through the low archway after Blair, her breath catching at the sight above. Through gaps in the tavern’s ancient beams, Nightreach’s impossible skyline stretched toward the stars. Bridges of spelled glass and wrought iron connected towers that shouldn’t stand, their spires wreathed in perpetual mist. Sigils blazed across the darkness like constellations, casting rippling shadows across weathered stone walls.

  The tavern itself matched Nightreach’s organised chaos. Mismatched chairs clustered around tables that looked salvaged from a dozen different centuries. Candlelight danced across bottles filled with liquids that glowed and shifted colour. A haze of pipe smoke hung near the ceiling, taking on shapes that seemed almost deliberate—birds in flight, prowling cats, unfurling flowers.

  Blair made her way to the bar, her movements precise even in the crowded space. The detective’s dark coat blended with the shadows, but Vesper noticed how the regular patrons tracked her progress. They knew her here.

  Vesper’s fingers found her moonstone pendant, its familiar weight comforting as she settled onto a worn leather stool at a table set back from the bar.

  The bartender nodded at something Blair murmured, his weathered face grave. Vesper watched their exchange, noting how Blair’s hand strayed to her enchanted watch—checking for truth in whatever information passed between them.

  “She relies on that watch a little too much,” she murmured to Rafe, who’d sat beside her.

  “She has a ring, too. Did you notice?”

  Vesper nodded. “And a torch with some kind of spell on it. The gun is oddly normal.”

  “She does have a way with words that has nothing to do with magic.”

  She tore her gaze away from the detective and looked around the tavern. “What is this place, anyway?”

  “The Wayward. A place for those who don’t quite belong, who are travelling between worlds, those without faction affiliations…”

  Vesper nodded. “I like it already.”

  Blair slid onto the stool across from them, spreading the parchment she’d been given at the tea shop across the scarred wooden table. Symbols crawled across its surface in what looked like dried blood—or something worse. The dim tavern light caught the edges of the markings, making them shimmer with an oily sheen.

  “My contact says these started appearing near the old ward boundaries,” Blair said, her voice low. “Always in sets of three, always facing east. Carved on cobblestones, the sides of buildings…”

  Rafe leaned forward, his shoulders tensing as he studied the writing. His fingers hovered over the marks without touching them.

  The symbols tugged at something in Vesper’s memory. She’d seen them before, hadn’t she? Her fingers traced the air above the parchment, following the curved lines and sharp angles. The same patterns had decorated the margins of her grimoire, hidden among the illuminated letters and moving text.

  “Did your informant write these?” Vesper asked. “That looks like blood.”

  “Informants aren’t always on the side of good,” Blair told her. “Sometimes I have to deal with criminals in order to catch something worse.”

  “But a blood mage?” Rafe drawled. “Risky. I hope you didn’t give him any of yours.”

  Blair rolled her eyes and snorted. “As if.”

  “Well,” he added. “These symbols are old. Old and musty. No one uses this kind of magic anymore.”

  A chill crept down Vesper’s spine as his finger followed a particularly complex symbol. The air around it felt thick, like trying to breathe underwater. The same sensation she’d felt when attempting to decode certain passages in her grimoire.

  “Look at this one.” He pointed to a mark that resembled a broken triangle with intersecting slashes. “It’s incomplete. Like someone deliberately obscured part of it.”

  “Then they wouldn’t hold any power,” Vesper said. “They’re just marks.” She studied the symbols, fighting the urge to touch them. Something about their arrangement nagged at her consciousness, like a half-remembered dream.

  “They’re appearing in clusters,” Blair said. “Always near magical surges—the kind that make my watch go haywire. Last week, three appeared outside an abandoned shop in Covent Garden—or at least where Covent Garden is in Nightreach. The bartender confirmed what the mage told me.”

  Rafe shook his head, brow furrowed. “I’ve studied ancient magical scripts, but these…they’re different. The structure’s all wrong.”

  “My contact’s been tracking magical anomalies for decades. He’s never seen anything like this either.” Blair’s fingers drummed against the table. “Whatever they are, they predate most recorded magical history.”

  The symbols seemed to shift under Vesper’s gaze, like ink bleeding through paper. She blinked hard, but the sensation persisted. “But they only just started appearing…how long ago?”

  “About two months, I’d say.” Blair folded the parchment with precise movements, tucking it into her coat. Her dark eyes fixed on them both, heavy with warning. “Whatever we’re dealing with, it’s bigger than we thought. More dangerous. If you want to walk away⁠—”

  “No,” Vesper said, perhaps too quickly. Rafe nodded beside her. “You’re the one who should walk away.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their decision settling around them. The tavern’s ambient noise seemed distant, muffled by the gravity of what lay ahead.

  “When I became a police officer, I took an oath,” Blair said. “And when I stumbled through the Fold and survived when my partner didn’t…I took another. Selene O’Connor was murdered and I can’t turn my back on her. Too many die in this place without justice being served. Someone needs to stand up for them.”

  Rafe raised an eyebrow and looked at Vesper. “Wow. That’s a speech, huh?”

  “I want to look into these symbols,” Vesper said, not knowing how else to respond. “They first appeared two months ago.”

  His eyes widened. “When Selene…”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences anymore. I’ve seen too much.” She turned to Blair. “We’re in. We were always in. But are you?”

  “Duh.” Blair rose, her chair scraping against the stone floor. “Let’s find a quiet corner, order some beer, and get to work.”

  Chapter 4

  The corner booth at the Wayward was snug, its worn leather seats carrying the patina of countless secretive meetings. Shadows pooled in the recesses despite the warm glow of enchanted lanterns floating overhead. The table bore countless marks and scratches—evidence of deals, promises, and secrets.

  Vesper’s fingers traced a deep gouge in the wood grain as she waited for Blair to return with their drinks. The mark reminded her of the symbols from the parchment, though these were just ordinary scars from regular tavern life. Still, everything felt significant now, loaded with potential meaning. Hidden marks, incomplete spells, shadows that had sentience, portals…they were all out there. This was her life now, where the fantastical was normal.

  Rafe slouched beside her, his presence both reassuring and distracting. Heat radiated from where their shoulders almost touched. He’d shed his leather jacket, and the sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms marked with faint scarring from the flames he’d borne the brunt of at Thornhallow. The lines seemed to shift and dance in the tavern’s dim lighting, as if they carried magic of their own.

  A burst of laughter from the bar made her jump. The Wayward had filled steadily over the past hour, the evening crowd trickling in from the streets above. The air felt thick with pipe smoke that twisted into impossible shapes before dissipating. Beneath that familiar tavern smell of hops and wood polish lay something older—stone and earth and ancient magic. It reminded her of the library’s restricted section, that sense of contained power waiting to be unleashed.

  “You’re doing that thing again,” Rafe said.

  “What thing?”

  “That thing where you’re trying to memorise every detail like you’ll be tested on it later.” His mouth quirked up at one corner. “The Wayward’s been here for centuries. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “Force of habit.” She’d spent years cataloguing and preserving history. It was hard to switch that off, even when surrounded by magic that defied categorisation.

  Blair wound her way back through the crowded tavern, three glasses balanced in her hands. “House special,” she said, sliding them across the table.

  Vesper lifted the glass, studying how the contents caught the light. It looked like beer, but sparkly. The shimmer reminded her of the way her own magic manifested, those rippling waves of translucent energy. “It’s glittering. Should I be concerned?”

  “Not at all.” Blair settled into her seat, her back to the wall and eyes scanning the room. “Though I wouldn’t drink anything they serve to the less savoury crowd.”

  “Okay then, bottom’s up.” Vesper lifted her glass and sipped, surprised to find it tasted less sparkly and more robust than ordinary beer. “Not bad.”

  Blair set her glass down with a quiet tap. “Right then.” She took out the note from her coat pocket. “Time to have a closer look.”

  Ancient wood groaned as Vesper shifted closer to the table, watching Blair spread the parchment between their half-empty glasses. The symbols looked different now—more sinister under the tavern’s warm glow.

  Her head ached as she studied the markings. The curves and lines seemed to writhe beneath her gaze, refusing to settle into recognisable patterns. She rubbed her temples, trying to focus through the building pressure behind her eyes.

  “I’ve got contacts who specialise in ancient texts,” Blair said. “We could take it to them, but I’m not sure they could help. Not if it’s ancient magic…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

  Rafe leaned forward, his shoulders casting shadows across the parchment. His fingers traced the air just above the symbols, following invisible threads that Vesper couldn’t see. Magic rippled from his touch, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

  “These aren’t random,” he muttered. His expression shifted from concentration to recognition. “See how the lines connect? They’re fragments of a larger working—like pieces of a broken mirror reflecting different parts of the same spell.” His finger moved between three particular marks. “If we could align them properly, match up the corresponding elements…” He sat back, running a hand through his hair. “It might show us something that’s been hidden.”

  Vesper watched his movements, noting the tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes kept darting back to specific symbols, as if drawn by an unseen force. Whatever these markings meant, they unsettled him—and that worried her more than she cared to admit.

  Rafe shifted in his seat, dark eyes finding hers across the table. “Look closer.” His voice dropped lower, meant only for her. “If these were tied to Selene’s magic, you might see something I can’t.”

  The careful phrasing made Vesper’s chest tighten. He couldn’t openly discuss her nature as a Resonant, not with Blair watching their every move. The detective’s analytical gaze missed nothing, and they still weren’t sure how much they could trust her with.

  Vesper’s fingers hovered over the parchment. The symbols pulsed beneath, like a heartbeat waiting to sync with her own. Magic crawled across her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. Her grey eyes caught the lantern light, reflecting it back with an opalescent sheen.

  “I…” The word stuck in her throat. What if she made things worse? Her powers were still new and unpredictable. One wrong move could destroy their only lead.

  Rafe’s hand found her knee under the table, a gentle squeeze of reassurance. The warmth of his touch steadied her, but also drew her towards him.

  She drew a deep breath and leaned closer to the symbols. The unfinished magic called to her, but answering that call meant stepping further into a world she was only beginning to understand. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene in the middle of a tavern, or worse, drag it into the Fold like she had with Rafe’s townhouse.

  Vesper reached toward the parchment, her fingers trembling slightly. The magic inside her stirred, responding to an unseen call. The symbols blurred, their lines becoming fluid, dancing beneath her touch. Her breath caught as the markings took on a subtle luminescence, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

  Power coursed through her veins, both familiar and strange. The sensation reminded her of touching the grimoire for the first time—that same electric connection, that spark of recognition. Her vision swam as fragments of memory washed over her: Selene’s laugh, the scent of old books, warm tea shared on rainy afternoons.

  The magic sang through her bones, carrying whispers of her friend’s presence. Her hand jerked back from the parchment, breaking the connection. The room spun for a moment before settling.

  “It’s Selene.” Her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “The magic—I can feel her in it.”

  Rafe’s hand squeezed her knee again, grounding her. His eyes held understanding, having witnessed her reactions to magical resonance before. “Makes sense. Could be a trail she left behind, knowing someone might need to find it.”

  “But how is this possible?” Vesper asked. “Selene didn’t draw these marks. The informant did.”

  Blair’s fingers traced the edge of her watch, a habit Vesper had noticed whenever the detective encountered something that didn’t fit her understanding of the world. “Maybe your friend found a way to encode her magic into these symbols, no matter who draws them. This place is strange like that.”

  “The symbols appeared two months ago,” Vesper said, piecing it together. “Right after…” The words caught in her throat. “They’re not just appearing randomly. They’re being revealed.”

  Rafe shifted beside her, his shoulder pressing against hers. “Like a delayed spell. One that only activates under specific conditions.”

  “Or when specific people are in position to find them,” Blair added. “If it’s one thing I’ve learned from my years in this place, is that nothing ever happens randomly. There’s always a reason.”

  The pressure behind Vesper’s eyes intensified. The symbols on the parchment seemed to pulse in time with her quickening heartbeat. She could feel Selene’s magic reaching out to her, trying to tell her something. But the message remained frustratingly unclear, like a book written in a language she could almost, but not quite, read.

  It was so Selene, though. Encoding a message in an incomplete, forgotten language. It was something they’d shared, learning ancient dialects like they were collecting Pokemon cards.

  “There has to be more,” Vesper said, forcing herself to look away from the parchment before the magical resonance overwhelmed her. “These symbols are appearing across Nightreach. If we could find them all, map their locations…”

  “We might be able to piece together what Selene was trying to tell us, if anything,” Rafe finished. “It may be as simple as completing the spell.” His hand found hers under the table, fingers intertwining. The touch sent a different kind of spark through her, one that had nothing to do with magic.

  “Complete the spell…complete the message.”

  Rafe’s gaze shifted to Blair, who had gone very still, one hand resting on her silver watch. “Those enchanted items of yours—the watch and ring. They’re designed to detect magical signatures, yes? We might be able to use them to amplify the trace.”

  “Sure,” Blair replied. “If we find one of these spots, could you activate the spell? Track its signature?”