TWENTY-SEVEN
Amelia was surprised that sleep had found her.
She wasn’t surprised, however, by the dream that had pulled her from it, eyes snapping open in the fresh light of dawn, heart thudding, skin flushed with heat. She could still feel the phantom trace of lips against her throat, the lingering echo of his voice in her mind.
Low, reverent…sinful.
His words had wrapped around her long after Silas had left her room at midnight, a coil of yearning and restraint. She understood why he hadn’t stayed. She even respected it. But that didn’t stop the ache in her chest, the hollow sense of absence.
She longed for some illusion of control. Over their fates, over time, over the pull that dragged them towards one another even as the world around them cracked at the seams.
The emotions were relentless and confusing, swinging between exhilarating highs and the kind of lows that scraped the soul raw.
How was it possible to feel so safe with someone and so afraid of losing them at the same time? To want him in a way that took her breath away, and yet fearing what that might cost her.
She washed and dressed, before stepping out into the modest common room of Brinkley’s home. The sight that greeted her made her pause, lips twitching in amusement.
Silas was sprawled across the too-small sofa, one arm draped over the edge, so his fingertips brushed the carpet, snoring softly. A thick blanket had been thrown over him, rising and falling gently with his breath.
Brinkley sat in an armchair donning a forest green robe, a book open in his lap and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he quietly read.
He glanced up as Amelia entered, catching her gaze over the top of his frames.
With a conspiratorial wink, he lifted a finger to his lips and gestured towards the slumbering Silas.
Amelia tried and failed to suppress a smile.
Silas looked content. His face was relaxed in his sleep, a few pale strands of hair falling across one eye. Something about him in that moment, the peacefulness and vulnerability, tightened a knot low in her chest.
She wanted to cross the room, kneel at his side, and brush the hair from his brow. Maybe even slip onto the sofa beside him and curl into the quiet strength of his body, just to be held by him. Just to feel, for a little while, like they were safe.
Brinkley closed his book and set it aside, rising from the armchair and motioning wordlessly for her to follow him.
She was led down another small corridor until he was closing the door softly behind her.
She glanced around at the familiar space of his bedroom, loaded with books and knick-knacks that were so very Brinkley . Amelia sank onto the end of his bed, facing him.
“Thank you for letting us stay here,” she said again, hoping to convey her gratitude at having a place to land when trouble found her. “I know it’s not exactly convenient having…” Amelia gestured towards the door, in Silas’ direction. “…Someone in your common room, and another in your guest room.”
Brinkley raised a brow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Arms folding over his robed chest, he studied her with bemused affection.
“Lia, I’ve told you a hundred times, my home is your home.
Though, I must admit, while I didn’t expect you , I certainly didn’t ever expect you to arrive with… him .”
Amelia grimaced. “Yes, I know…”
Brinkley stepped forwards, eyes glinting with mischief and voice dropping low. “I mean, you hate that guy.”
She let out a quiet breath. “That’s a bit strong, Brink.”
He snorted. “Is it? Because, if I remember correctly, and I think I do…our last conversation about two months ago went something like…” He lifted his hands, mimicking quotation marks.
“‘ Finley has been up my ass about this expedition, insisting on four junior scholars when we’ve only been approved for two each…he’s so infuriating, I can’t stand him!
’ Or something to that effect.” His imitation of her voice was so uncannily smug, she scowled instinctively, though there was no real heat behind it.
“Can’t stand and hate are a bit different,” she muttered.
“Mm, fairly certain those are synonyms,” Brinkley said, waving his hand dismissively. “Anyway, tell me how this happened? Why are you with him, and what exactly are you two hiding from?”
Amelia hesitated, her fingers twitching as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.
“We ran into some complications on the expedition,” she began slowly, meeting his eyes.
“The kind that means we need to stick together for now. We…found something. And that something is, um, being hunted. So are we.”
Brinkley’s expression darkened. “You’re not just in trouble, are you? This is real danger? Like last time?”
Amelia looked away, jaw tight.
When she’d first fled her parents’ control, Brinkley had been the one she’d run to.
He’d never pressed her for details, never demanded explanations, just offered her a safe place and quiet understanding.
But he’d seen enough in the tremors of her hands and the fear in her eyes to know she’d been escaping something life-threatening.
This was worse. There was so much more at stake.
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. “Yes, it’s dangerous. We’re trying to work it out, but we just need somewhere to stay while we do.” Amelia looked back to Brinkley, pleading. “I can’t say more right now, and I understand if you’d prefer we leave…”
Brinkley rolled his eyes, cutting her off with a shake of his head. “Lia, what part of our history makes you think I’d ever throw you out on your bony ass when you need help?”
She gave him a look. “My ass is not bony.”
He raised his brows flatly.
Amelia smiled despite herself. “Thank you. And Finley…he’s different than I thought. Different from the version he shows the world.”
Something flickered behind Brinkley’s eyes, something warm and knowing. He tilted his head, voice softer now. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
They ate a simple meal of salted pork and eggs, enough to make Amelia feel marginally more human.
Soon after, they left Brinkley’s home and crossed through East Town towards the edges nearest the Rift. They spoke in low voices about Lyana’s revelations, what they might witness, how the past had failed, and what warnings might be hidden in the echoes.
Their destination was known only in hushed tones.
The Dead Zone. For decades, it had been a place avoided by instinct, nothing grew there, and animals didn’t linger.
The magic which clung to the place was wrong, dense, and cloying, like the air inside the Rift.
Even without understanding its cause, people had stayed away.
Now, Amelia knew the truth. The scorched crater was the site of the last failed ritual. The place where Lyana and Bane had made their final stand…and lost.
She wasn’t sure what she expected to feel. But as they walked on in silence, she realised that the closer they got, the harder it became to breathe. Silas was quiet beside her, his expression shuttered, thoughts likely mirroring her own.
East Town faded behind them as they crested a gentle hill, silence pressing in. The usual sounds of midday, birds, wind, the murmur of voices, had vanished behind them.
Before them stretched the remains of a ruined world.
Though time had softened the edges, nature reclaiming the outskirts with overgrown grass and twisted trees, the heart of the destruction remained untouched.
They reached a dilapidated wooden fence, hanging with charms meant to repel lingering magic, but they were faded, their power long gone. Beyond the barrier, the land dipped into a crater, magic pulsing faintly beneath their boots.
The moment they stepped over the threshold, Amelia felt it. It was slipping out of time, into a pocket of history where the world had stopped. A place haunted not by ghosts, but by what the magic remembered.
They stood side by side at the crater’s edge.
“This is where it happened,” Amelia said quietly.
Silas nodded, jaw set. “It’s bigger than I thought.”
“I don’t think it was,” she replied, gesturing to the sections beyond the crater that had withered away. “I think it’s been spreading slowly, like a rot. Like the Rift.”
The remnants of what might have once been homes lay in crumbled heaps, stone scorched and twisted like melted wax.
Tendrils of residual magic rippled and glowed faintly in the midday air, looking like dark violet threads on the earths surface.
Silas crouched, brushing his fingers over one of them, wincing as it throbbed beneath his skin.
“It’s so strong,” he murmured. “I can feel it reaching out to me.”
Amelia closed her eyes, inhaling slowly.
“Let’s try it,” she said, facing him. “Like we did with the mage. Maybe we can connect again with them…with Lyana and Bane.”
Silas glanced at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
“I know, but we need to find out what happened.” She extended her hand.
He hesitated before reaching out, clasping it.
The moment their fingers touched, the magic responded. The air thickened, and the violet threads began to stir, swirling at their feet like smoke catching wind. The bond between them hummed faintly in her chest.
They stepped forwards, climbing carefully down the mound of ruined earth and into the crater, until they were surrounded by the magical energy, until it twisted and writhed around their ankles.
Magic surged.
It felt ancient, angry.
The world around them shifted.
Darkness descended, not the black of night, but a dense, overwhelming void, filled with the sound of rushing wind. Amelia felt the air trap in her throat as a primal fear gripped her. She could hear them.
Their cries, whispers. Pleas for help, for escape.
Shapes formed in the space between heartbeats.
Wind whistled around them, pushing her hair across her face, tickling at her skin. And then a vision appeared before them.
They stood in the centre of a small township, surrounded by buildings.
And there they were.
Two figures racing down the road, towards where the crater now lay.
The female had hair like flame that streamed out behind her, the male with dark hair and a darker expression, his black cloak flapping like wings.
Their hands were joined, their expressions grim and determined under the white glow of the full moon above them.
The woman cried out and stalled in the middle of the road, falling to one knee, her face contorting in agony.
“Lyana!” The male fell before her, grasping either side of her face, tilting her head up. They looked at each other with expressions of grave terror.
“We’re out of time, Bane.”
Bane’s head shook. “We aren’t far, we can make it to the Rift.”
Lyana made another noise of pain, doubling over. “No,” she gasped out. “It’s now or never. It’s calling us. We don’t have long.”
“But, this town,” Bane said hurriedly, “these people—”
“Will all die if we fail,” Lyana insisted.
Bane let out a breath, a rough curse word, and then nodded. He grabbed Lyana under the arms and dragged her to her feet. They faced each other in the middle of the street.
Amelia watched, her heart hammering. The pair were like them . Two souls tethered, drawn together by fate.
“They’re starting the ritual,” Silas said softly. Amelia felt his hand clamp tighter around hers as they looked at the pair before them, as they saw a glimpse of their own future.
The vision rippled. The figures began chanting, magic pouring from their bodies into the land, their arms shaking with the force of the power rippling out from them. For a moment, it seemed to work. Cracks in the air itself began to seal, the world repairing.
But something shifted.
The man was looking at Lyana, a love so clear and profound etched on his every feature.
And Amelia saw it.
A split second of hesitation, of second thought.
A pulse of dark purple magic flared wild and bright.
The pair broke apart, staggering back, emitting matching sounds of pain.
The bond between them was visible to Amelia, a blazing line of light connecting them, and she watched in horror as it shuddered, and then snapped.
The woman’s cry echoed with agony beyond physical comprehension.
The man collapsed, and with him, the ritual collapsed too.
A violent burst of magic erupted outwards, ripping through the village like a star imploding, taking Lyana and Bane with it.
Just like that, they were gone. Vicious images slammed into her brain.
The Monoliths, glowing, their differing exteriors vibrating as though shrieking with their own form of pain.
The Rift, growing exponentially, slowly taking over.
Magic across the land pulsing, angry and unstable, worsened by the implosion, by the failure.
Amelia cried out as pain stabbed into her chest, the echo of the broken bond slamming through her like a fist.
Silas reared back and they were both falling backwards to the earth, breaking the link. They gasped, collapsing onto the ruined ground.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Silas said breathlessly, “their bond…it broke.”
Amelia stared at the glowing lines of violet magic shimmering above the soil, haunting her with the promise that they were next. “It broke because he wasn’t willing to complete the ritual. I saw it on his face…she was the sacrifice, and he…couldn’t do it.”
“So, if that happens to us,” Silas said quietly, looking morosely at her, “we lose everything, both of us get taken. We fail, and more people suffer.”
She looked at him then, truly looked. Not just the dirt on his cheek or the sweat on his brow, but the way his fear mirrored hers. And how close they stood to the same edge the last pair had fallen from.
Her lip trembled.
“We can’t let that happen,” she whispered.
Silas nodded. “We can’t.”