Stenrik catches me—one hand on my elbow, the other at my waist, holding me upright before I can hit the floor.
“You’re bleeding,” he says, his voice tight.
I touch my nose. My fingers come away red. The magic took something. Blood, energy, something I can’t name. My legs feel like water.
“Sit.” He guides me into the desk chair. I collapse into it. “What did you do?”
“I asked for answers,” I manage, my voice shaky. “I got them.”
“What did you see?”
I turn to him, my mind racing to process the images. “It’s not one test,” I say, the words tumbling out. “It’s three. It showed me. We keep failing the first one. Just… the alignment. We have to be in perfect sync before we can even try the next part.”
He processes this, his gaze fixed on the now-innocent book. “Stage One. Synchronization.”
“And the next one,” I say, remembering the cold anxiety, one figure turning away. “The next one is about truth. Complete vulnerability. Showing who we really are, not who we pretend to be.”
I look up at him. He looks back at me. We both understand. Stage One is mechanics. Stage Two is where it gets hard.
“So tonight,” I say, my voice still shaky but gaining strength. “We try Attempt Two. But we don’t just show up hoping it works. We have...” I check the clock. “Eighteen hours. We practice.”
“Practice the synchronization before the ceremony,” he says slowly. “The breathing. The rhythm.”
“Exactly. We practice until it’s automatic. Until we can do Stage One without thinking about it.”
“Until trust is unnecessary for the mechanics alone.”
“And then we add the trust for Stage Two.” I wipe the blood from my upper lip. “Will that work?”
He’s quiet for a moment, studying me. “It might. It’s more than we had before.”
“It has to be enough. We only get three chances. Tonight is number two.”
“And if tonight fails?”
“Then we have one more chance. At the solstice.” I lean back in the chair, exhausted. The magic took more than blood—I can feel something missing, some small piece of myself that went into the vision. “At least now we know what we’re up against.”
“Knowledge is not the same as success.”
“I know. But it’s better than guessing.”
He looks at the Chronicle, then back at me, concern evident in the way his ear twitches. “The vision. What did it cost you?”
“I don’t know yet.” And that’s the truth. “But whatever it took, it was worth it. We needed to know.”
“Perhaps. But no more experimenting with the Chronicle. We cannot afford to lose you before the ceremony.”
“Agreed.” I try to stand, wobble, and he steadies me again. “Okay. New plan. First, I need to stop bleeding. Then we practice. Deal?”
“Deal.”
STENRIK
Rianne has been asleep for hours, curled in the children’s section, her jacket bundled as a pillow. I’ve been reinforcing the barriers, but I find myself checking on her more often than is strictly necessary.
The foundation stone’s voice echoes from below: “WHAT’S NORMAL IN THIS SITUATION? THE CAT’S EATING SHADOWS AND KEITH HAS A 401K!”
Rianne stirs, stretching. She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes.
