Avery
The path down to the cliffs is treacherous in the dark. Rocks jut out at odd angles, slick with sea spray and whatever moisture the clouds have been crying all day.
Eventually, the Drowned Tower emerges from the darkness like a black finger pointing at the sky.
It’s five stories of ancient stone, half-eaten by the sea and time. The torches in its windows burn steady and golden, defying all logic, as if this place exists on a different plane than everywhere else on the island.
I’m almost to the stone causeway when I see Tobias standing at the start of the bridge, his dark coat blending with the shadows.
Fog crawls around him like he’s a poet standing at the gates of hell, soft edges wrapped around a mind that’s seen far too much, and my pulse kicks harder with every step toward him.
When I’m finally in front of him, he swallows hard, his fingers flexing at his sides.
“You came,” he says, so softly that he’s barely audible over the waves crashing against the rocks below.
“You told me to.” I take a deep breath, suddenly aware of how isolated we are. It would be so easy for someone to push me off these cliffs and claim the tide took me, or to say I couldn’t handle the grief anymore and jumped on my own.
He gestures at the causeway, bringing me back into focus.
“We have about four hours before the water starts rising. Stay close behind me, and I’ll show you where to step.”
His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me, then they curl into his palms instead, as if the wrong word will send me running.
“Thank you.” I give him a small smile, hoping to relax him, even though I’m far from relaxed myself.
He exhales, and heat twists through my stomach that has nothing to do with grief and everything to do with him.
Stop it. He’s Council. Yes, he’s young for Council, but he’s here to investigate Oliver’s disappearance. This can only end badly.
That doesn’t stop me from noticing the moonlight catching the silver in his dark, tousled hair, or his shoulders relaxing when I smile at him, or the way he’s looking at me like I’m precious and worth protecting.
He holds my gaze a beat too long, then he nods once, turning and stepping onto the causeway.
The stone is slick beneath my boots, worn smooth by centuries of waves and feet. Iron handrails are hammered into the rock, but they’re rusted and unreliable.
“There’s a gap coming up.” He stops and turns to face me, extending his hand. “It looks wider than it is, but the landing stone is uneven.”
Trying not to overthink it, I reach forward and take his hand.
His grip is warm and firm, steadying me as I step over the gap. My boot hits the uneven stone, and I wobble, but he’s already pulling me forward, his other hand catching my elbow until I find my balance.
“Okay?” he asks, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“Okay,” I reply, and he releases me immediately, stepping back like the contact burned him.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine.” My face heats, and I’m grateful for the darkness. “Thank you.”
He nods, not meeting my eyes, then turns to continue across the causeway.
When we reach the tower, he leads us through the entrance on the fourth floor. The interior smells like salt and old stone, and then I’m thinking about Oliver, remembering the night we came here for the Forge Party at the beginning of the year.
“Some doors only open for the worthy ones who know the right words.”
It sounded like he was talking about the rumored ghosts that haunt the tower.
But he wasn’t talking about ghosts at all, was he? He was talking about the passages, right there in front of everyone, and none of us understood.
“Avery?” Tobias stops on the stairs, and his hand lifts like he might reach for me again, then falls back to his side.
“I’m fine.” The lie comes automatically. “Just... memories.”
He nods as if that explains everything, then leads us down the spiral staircase to the third floor, pushing open the heavy door that leads inside.
Old furniture from when the tower was a functioning lighthouse fills the space.
A faded couch with stuffing coming out in places sits near the wall, and a stone table scarred with decades of carved initials is in the center, surrounded by chairs that look like they might collapse if you breathed on them too hard.
Tobias moves to the window and stares out at the dark water. The moonlight catches his profile, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw and the tired hollows beneath his cheekbones. He looks younger from this angle. More fragile.
His shoulders are rigid, and when he finally speaks, he doesn’t turn to face me.
“Before we do this, I need to explain something.”
My stomach tightens, and I stop breathing for a second. “Okay.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you because I don’t want to help.” His hands grip the windowsill, as if he needs support. “I’ve been avoiding you because Helen’s been monitoring my movements since we arrived on the island.”
I lean forward, wishing he’d show me his face. “Why would she care about you talking to me?”
“I don’t know.” He finally turns, and his haunted eyes are watching me carefully, as if he’s scared I’ll run. “But she warned me to keep my distance from you. She said you were of particular interest to the investigation.”
Of particular interest.
What does that mean? Why would the Council care about me? I’m no one important. I’m just Oliver’s emberlinked partner, the girl left behind when he disappeared.
“Do you think she knows about my memories being wrong?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“If she does, she didn’t tell me.” He crosses the room toward me, and each step is slow, like every inch closer is another rule he’s breaking. “But I’m going to help you. I owe you that much.”
I tilt my head, confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“The Forge Party in the Obsidian Caves. The hellhounds.” He stops talking, years of pain and regret crossing his face.
“You were right there next to me, and then you weren’t.
I tried to find you, but then one of those things came at me, and it was a second away from killing me.
So, I fire traveled out of there… and you almost died because of it. ”
My lungs tighten, and for a second I’m back in the caves, remembering the screaming, the red eyes in the dark, the panicked crowd, and being separated from Tobias.
I knew he and Helen left. Everyone did, and most of us understood why, since the Council isn’t full of warriors.
They’re politicians, scholars, and witches gifted with unique magic that they use to maintain order in the supernatural world.
They have others do their dirty work—witches like Kieran who are trained for battle, or the shifter guardians that witches created centuries ago to protect us from vampires.
And the look on Tobias’s face isn’t one of a person who made that choice easily—even though we barely knew each other at the time. It’s the look of someone who’s been drowning in guilt, replaying it every night since.
“Then make it right.” I hold his gaze, my eyes wide, my heart hammering. “Help me now.”
“I will.” He exhales and nods once, like I’ve given him an order he’s grateful for. “But whatever we find, we keep it between us. If another Council member finds out, they have the power to make us both disappear.”
Like Oliver, Callie, Professor Thaddeus, Logan, and Jade.
How long is this list going to get?
“Okay,” I say, my breaths coming faster now. “Just us.”
He studies me for a long moment, and whatever he reads in my expression seems to satisfy him, because tension drains from his shoulders.
“Sit down.” He gestures at the couch. “This will work better if you’re relaxed.”
Relaxed. Right. Because I’m totally capable of relaxing while a man I barely know, whose hands won’t stop trembling and whose voice makes my pulse do things it shouldn’t digs around in my head.
I sink onto the worn cushions anyway, and Tobias drags one of the rickety chairs over, his knees almost touching mine when he sits.
“For this to work, I need to—” He stops and tries again. “I have to put my fingers on your temples. It’s how I access the deeper memory layers. It’s purely…” He pauses again, his gaze locked on mine, looking at me like he needs my permission to speak. “It’s the standard technique.”
“I understand,” I say, and all I can do is keep my eyes on his as he calls golden fire into his hands and leans forward.
Then, suddenly, he stops, his hands hovering on either side of my face, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his palms and hear that his breathing’s gone shallow.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “This isn’t like when I questioned everyone about the Halloween Ball. Then, I was searching through a single night’s worth of memories. Now, I’ll be going deeper, for longer. Once I’m in, I’ll feel what you felt and see what you saw.”
“Yes,” I say, surprisingly steady. “I’m sure.”
He takes a deep breath and gently settles his fingers against my temples, as if he’s terrified of breaking me.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, leaning closer to me so naturally that I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it. “Think about the Halloween Ball.”
I take a deep breath and do as asked, allowing my thoughts to drift back to the Starflare Ballroom.
The music was too loud, which was fine, because I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
The dancing was worse—watching Oliver’s hand on Jade’s waist as he smiled at her like she was the only person who mattered in the world.
I lasted about twenty minutes before I gave up and started drinking, because watching him fall for her was easier when everything was blurry and the fire wine burned enough to give my pain a different source.
Heat spreads from Tobias’s fingertips into my mind, and it’s like sinking into a warm bath.
The tension in my neck loosens first, then my shoulders, then the knot behind my ribs that’s been there since the emberlink started healing.
His magic is soothing as it enters, slow and careful, like he’s asking permission from every nerve ending before moving deeper.
“Relax.” He sounds far away now, soft and tender. “Let me in.”
I try to stop holding everything so tightly. Three years of practiced composure, and now I’m supposed to just... let go.
I slow my breathing and try to steady my heart rate. My fingers are curled into fists against my thighs, and I have to consciously peel them open, one finger at a time.
Relaxing becomes easier as he moves through my thoughts, gentle but thorough.
It’s like someone’s running their fingers through tangled hair to work out the knots, trying not to hurt me.
Every memory he touches opens for him, and it’s more intimate than I expected, like being undressed one layer at a time.
When he reaches a memory of Oliver kissing me on the cheek—just a friend-kiss, casual and meaningless to him—his magic stutters, pulling back like he’s touched a hot stove.
“Sorry,” he says, soft and strained. “I didn’t mean to…” His thumbs stroke once against my temples before he catches himself and goes still.
He must have felt my pathetic, desperate hope that one day Oliver’s casual kiss would land on my mouth instead of my cheek, and now he’s apologizing as if he’s the one who should be embarrassed.
“Keep going,” I manage, and his fingers press a fraction harder against my temples.
As he continues, I focus on the warmth of his hands, his uneven breathing, and his thumbs that occasionally brush my cheekbones in tiny movements he doesn’t seem aware he’s making.
He moves through Oliver and me studying in the library, Oliver laughing at someone else’s joke, and Oliver looking right through me while I stood there aching for him to see me.
Time stretches and compresses. The only constants are Tobias’s soothing touch and the strange, swirling sensation of him moving through my memories.
Somewhere in the middle of it, I have a realization that makes my breath catch.
The emptiness didn’t start when the emberlink bond broke.
It started years ago. Maybe it was the first time Oliver looked at another girl instead of me, or the first time I realized that being his friend would never be enough.
Maybe even before that, when I first learned that wanting someone doesn’t mean they’ll want you back.
I’ve been empty for so long that I forgot what it feels like to be full.
But right now, with Tobias’s hands on my temples and his magic moving through my mind, I don’t feel empty. I feel seen. Really, truly seen, for the first time in my life, by someone who isn’t flinching away from what he finds.
Finally, after what feels like hours, his hands slide away from my face.
My skin feels cold and exposed where his fingers were, like a bandage was ripped off a wound that hadn’t finished healing. At the same time, I feel lighter. It’s like he took some of the weight with him when he pulled away.
When I open my eyes, his pupils are blown wide, and his lips are parted. He’s watching me like he’s waiting for me to regret letting him in, but I don’t regret it. That’s the strangest part. I let him see the most pathetic, desperate parts of my soul, and I don’t feel ashamed.
“What did you find?” I ask, forcing steadiness into my tone that I don’t feel.
“Your suspicions were correct. They shouldn’t have been, but they were.” He leans back in his chair and runs both hands through his windswept hair, his eyes locked on mine. “Your memories have been altered.”