The thought lingers as I reach for a towel with numb fingers. The linen is cold against my skin, and I blot the water from my face slowly, as if scrubbing away the truth could make it less consuming. But the burn remains—beneath the surface, beneath the silence.
I drop the cloth and reach for my gloves. The satin slides over my fingers like a memory—familiar and necessary. A ritual I’ve done so many times, it no longer feels like a choice. Only now, the gloves don’t just hide me. They hold me together.
A second skin. A wall. A weapon.
My eyes lift to the mirror. What stares back is not a girl undone, not the woman who drowned in the hands of someone who shouldn't matter. It’s the version of me that survives. That endures. That wears her silence like armor and wields her past like a blade.
I inhale—slow, steady. One breath to hold the pieces in place. One breath to remember who I am. And then I turn to leave the bathing chamber.
But I freeze.
There, just beyond the threshold of firelight, a figure stands in the far corner of my room, wrapped in shadow as if the dark itself refuses to let them go. My breath catches. The heat I just tried to bury turns ice cold.
I don’t move. I don’t speak.
For a moment, I don’t even breathe. And when I finally do, the word barely escapes me. A whisper carried on fear and instinct.
“Who are you?”
The figure moves, stepping into the light. A woman emerges,ethereal and haunting. Her eyes, a pale, chilling blue, lock onto mine with an intensity that shocks my core. Her dark hair flows like liquid night, cascading over her shoulders and down to her waist. Around her neck, a silken scarf floats as if stirred by an unseen breeze, its edges vanishing into the shadows. Her gray gown shimmers faintly, the fabric seeming to dissolve where it meets the floor.
She is stunning, almost unnervingly so.
I step forward, unable to resist the pull of her presence.
“Are you real?”
My voice comes out barely above a whisper, the words fragile and uncertain. I wonder if she’s part of one of my visions—a fragment of something shared between us, tangled in the strange threads of our abilities.
A smile tugs at her lips, soft yet enigmatic. Warmth blooms in my chest, chasing away the lingering chill, though my magic recoils in her presence. A tendril of it reaches out, hesitantly brushing her hand.
The sensation is fleeting, yet unmistakable—she feels solid, real.
"He cannot have it," she whispers.
Her words strike me like a bolt of lightning. My eyes snap to hers, the weight of her warning pressing heavily against my chest.
"Who?" The question slips from my lips, barely more than a breath. "What is it he cannot have?" I step forward, bracing for the answer.
She retreats into the shadows, her expression shifting to one of urgency.
“He cannot have it. It is not his to claim.”
Her voice trembles with fear, the words laced with an unspoken desperation. Before I can say anything, the door creaks open behind me. I turn quickly, startled, to see Jason standing in the doorway. He steps inside cautiously, shutting the door behind him.
“Lailah…” His voice is soft and steady, but I can sense a heaviness in it.
I glance back, half-expecting to find the woman still there, butshe’s gone. The room feels colder now as Jason moves closer, his gaze darting between my face and the space around me.
"Who were you talking to?".
I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. The chill the woman left behind clings to me, but I force it down, straightening my posture.
"No one." I keep my voice quiet but firm and look away, refusing to let him see the crack in my composure. "It doesn’t matter."
Jason moves through the room with a quiet intensity, checking every corner and shadow as though he expects danger to leap out at any moment. He even opens the door to the bathing chamber, peering inside.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my confusion growing as I watch him.
