EPILOGUE
They were north of Ivory City, in her old childhood home.
She moved like clockwork behind Halpert, her steps precise, her face expressionless, body and mind complying with everything asked of her.
Somewhere nearby, her parents lurked, issuing their own orders.
She complied.
Her brain worked overtime, spitting out magical formulae until her nose would bleed, writing on chalkboards until her fingers ached.
Figure it out , they told her.
So, she would.
But buried beneath the spell, beneath the cold runes etched into her soul, a single thought rose like a fragile spark in the darkness.
Silas wouldn’t want me to obey.
It flickered.
Small. Faint.
But still burning.
Midnights, it was stronger, his voice an echo, begging her to return to herself.
And somewhere, deep inside the silence of her true mind, Amelia began to whisper her own name, over and over…
Trying not to forget who she was.
Trying not to forget who she loved.
Trying not to forget how to fight.
She whispered other things, urging her voice to become stronger, her free will to find a way to break loose, to tear against the bars that held her captive.
The spark waited.
She whispered it. Willing the whispers to turn to screams. For the silence to grow louder. She knew who she was, Amelia would not let herself forget it. She would not let herself forget him .
The storm would return.
I am the storm.