Chapter 45
AUGUST
Her breath came first. Warm, even. Soft where it ghosted against my chest, like the world had stopped moving and only she remembered how to breathe.
Lily was still tucked beneath the curve of my arm, her bare leg tangled with mine, her fingers resting lightly on my stomach—like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hold on or let go.
The fire at the center of the encampment had long since burned down to its coals, casting a low amber glow over the canvas walls.
Beyond it, the forest sighed, a quiet wind slipping through the trees. The war outside was waiting.
But for now, we had this.
She shifted slightly in her sleep, the soft slide of her skin against mine making my pulse tighten—not with desire, but with the ache of knowing I couldn’t lose her.
Not now. Not ever. It was the kind of feeling that lodged deep in the chest, sharp and alive, the kind that made you abandon reason and rewrite your fate.
She was fire to my ice, breath to my lungs—my reason for stepping out of my father’s shadow and into the light of who I could become.
For whatever reason I needed her more than I needed my father’s acceptance.
I pressed my lips to her hair, breathing her in—woodsmoke and wildflowers and something entirely her own. I tightened my arm around her. Just enough to feel the shape of her shoulder beneath my palm.
She stirred.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I said, softly.
“You didn’t.” She blinked up at me, eyes soft and unreadable in the dim light. “I don’t think I was really asleep.”
We were quiet for a moment. Just breathing. Just being.
Then, slowly, she pushed herself up onto her elbow. The blanket slipped from her shoulder, revealing the marks I’d left—small reminders of everything we hadn’t said with words. She didn’t move to cover them.
“What happens now?” she asked.
I exhaled. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
A half-smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t hold.
“I have to go back,” she said. “I can’t stay here, pretending this is over. Ysella’s still out there. The others who were taken. . . we don’t know if they’re alive or already—” Her words broke, and she looked away.
I sat up, bracing my elbows on my knees. “We’ll find them. Whatever it takes.”
She looked at me then—really looked. “You say that like it’s simple.”
“It’s not.” I reached for her hand, brushing my thumb along her knuckles. “But you’re not doing it alone.”
She blinked. “August—”
“I mean it.” I turned to face her fully, my fingers lacing through hers. “I don’t care what my father thinks he made me into. I don’t care what he’ll do when he finds out I helped you. I’m done living in his shadow.”
Her breath hitched.
“I watched him destroy people,” I said. “Erased them like they were nothing. And I believed it was necessary. Righteous.” I looked down at our joined hands. “Then you showed up. And you didn’t just survive—you fought. You made me see it. All of it.”
Her hand tightened in mine.
“I was meant to be his weapon,” The words tasted like ash. “But now. . .” I met her eyes. “I want to be yours.”
A beat of silence. The air was too full, too charged.
Then Lily leaned in, pressing her forehead to mine. “You’re not a weapon,” she whispered. “You’re the reason I’m still here. The reason Weavers will survive.”
I closed my eyes.
“I want to believe that.”
“Then believe it,” she said. “Because I do.”
We stayed like that for a while. No fire. No movement. Just quiet breaths shared between two people who’d seen too much and still dared to hold each other in the dark.
When she pulled back, I saw it—the resolve in her eyes, sharp and clear. The kind of determination that didn’t fade with sleep or soften with time. It had hardened in the fire. And now it burned with purpose.
“We need to speak with Adeline. We cannot wait any longer. Things must be put into motion,” she said.
“Lily, I would feel much better about this if you stayed here.”
She sat straight up then. Her long hair fell over her shoulders. “Absolutely not. I will not stay behind.”
It was one of the many reasons I had fallen for her—her fire, her unshakable conviction. She never yielded, never softened her truth to make others comfortable. It was that defiance, quiet but relentless, that undid me, piece by piece.
I brought my palm to her cheek, cradling it. “You, my impossible girl. How could I deny you anything? Every part of me follows where you lead.”
Her eyes softened as she leaned into my touch, a brief moment of surrender before duty reclaimed her spine.
“Come on,” she said, quiet but firm. “There’s no more time to waste.”
Outside the tent, a few Weavers stirred near the edge of camp, silent figures draped in their white linen.
They looked almost spectral, cloaked in mist and magic, as if they were caught halfway between this world and another.
One of them—Syra—stood apart from the rest, her silver-threaded braid catching what little light was peaking over the horizon.
She turned as we approached, her sharp eyes sweeping over Lily, then settling briefly on me. I couldn’t read her. I wasn’t sure I ever would.
“You’re leaving,” Syra said, not a question.
Lily nodded. “We need to get to Adeline before the unraveling. There’s not much time.”
Syra looked between us for a long moment before dipping her chin. “Then we’ll open the way.”
A nearby bonder raised her hand, fingers flicking through the air as if stitching invisible lines.
The space shimmered, light bending and weaving in on itself until the forest behind her seemed to tear open, revealing a different landscape entirely—rolling hills and familiar stone buildings in the distance.
Oxford. My breath caught. We were going directly to the city's outskirts.
Two other Weavers stepped forward to stand beside Syra—Mira and one I didn’t know, a tall woman with earth-colored eyes and ink running down her wrists like veins.
“We’re coming too,” Mira said, glancing at Lily. “If we want to change how they see us, we need to be seen. Let them witness who we really are.”
Lily didn’t hesitate. “Good. We’ll need you.”
The portal pulsed once—an inhale held between worlds—and we stepped through.
The shift hit like wind in the lungs. Cold, damp, and far too familiar. We stumbled out into a small grove just beyond Oxford's edge, the earth still wet from yesterday's rain, a soft mist curling at our feet.
I took a breath. So did Lily.
She turned to the others, handing out hooded capes. “We’ll split up once we reach town. Mira, Thessaly, and I will go to Adeline. August, find Garrick. He’ll know what Elias is planning.”
I nodded, the ache in my chest growing sharper. Garrick would help. He always had. If we failed today, if we couldn't rescue Ysella and the others before the unraveling, the fear would spread like wildfire. More Weavers would die. The hunt would become a massacre.
As we made our way toward the edge of Oxford, the sun began to rise, spilling light through the trees like molten gold. We moved quickly, cloaked in silence, until the edges of town came into view.
It was strange how unchanged it all looked.
Chimneys still smoked. Shop signs still creaked. But there was a weight to the air now. A tension that hadn’t been there before. People glanced over their shoulders more often. Conversations halted when strangers passed. Fear wasn’t loud, but it was there.
And yet, when Mira slowed to kneel beside a hunched figure on the street—a woman clutching her child, both pale with fever—something shifted. Mira didn’t say a word. She simply pressed her hand to the child’s forehead, and a soft light bloomed between them.
The woman gasped. Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re one of them,” she whispered. “A Weaver.”
Mira met her gaze without flinching. “Yes. But not the kind they’ve told you about.”
Others watched. Some stepped back. But no one screamed. No one ran.
They were seeing it now—magic that healed, not harmed. Truth, not propaganda. One by one, the lies began to crack.
I caught Lily’s hand and pulled her close. “Promise me you’ll be careful. If anything goes wrong, don’t wait—run for the woods. There’s an old hunter’s cabin due north. I’ll find you there by nightfall.”
“See you soon,” she said as her lips met mine.
I watched her disappear into the crowd with Mira, then turned toward the market district where I knew Garrick would be starting his rounds.
The familiar streets were foreign now, every shadow potentially hiding a Hunter, each face a possible threat.
I kept my hood up and my pace steady, just another early morning worker heading to his trade.
The scent of coal smoke and baking bread filled the air as I navigated the narrow lanes, my mind racing through what I would say to convince others to help us. How do you ask someone to risk it all for people they've been taught to fear?
I found Garrick outside the ironmonger’s shop.
He raised a brow as I approached. “Took you long enough.”
“We need your help,” I said.
He studied me, then he nodded slowly. “You’re going to burn the whole thing down, aren’t you?”
“No. We’re going to unravel it—thread by thread.”
Garrick let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Then we begin.”