The kitchen felt too small after everything Thane and Stellan revealed. Too many eyes watching, too many questions I don't have answers for. I told them I needed to lie down—not entirely a lie. My head throbs with the weight of names I don't understand: Scarborne, Council, sanctuary.
But instead of going to my room, I find myself in the upstairs hallway, drawn to the place where everything changed.
I don't mean to go back to the door. My feet take me anyway.
The door looks ordinary now. Just painted wood and tarnished brass, hiding cleaning supplies and cobwebs like it always has. Like the impossible room beyond never existed. Like I imagined the crown, the voice, the way the mist sang when I touched ancient metal.
But I didn't imagine it. I can still feel the echo in my chest—not pain exactly, but awareness. Like something sleeping has cracked one eye open and is watching.
The second my fingers brush the wood grain, the air shifts.
Something remembers me.
And something responds.
The sigil blooms to life beneath my palm, glowing faint as breath fog on glass, then brighter. Silver lines trace patterns that hurt to look at directly—not because they're harsh, but because they're familiar in a way that makes no sense. Like trying to remember a song from childhood that you've never actually heard.
The Ether slides down my arms, drawn to the mark like iron filings to a magnet. I watch, fascinated and terrified, as tendrils of mist rise from my skin to dance around the glowing symbol.
I did this. Somehow, without thinking, without trying—I called it back.
"Do you know what that is?"
The voice cuts through the stillness, quiet and unreadable. I spin around to find Thane at the top of the stairs, silver eyes fixed on the sigil—not on me. His usual controlled composure has cracked slightly, revealing something I don't fully recognize.
Hunger, maybe. Or fear.
"No," I say, pulling my hand back. The light fades but doesn't disappear entirely. "I don't know what any of this is."
He moves closer, each step deliberate. "That mark... I've seen drawings of it. Sketches in books older than kingdoms." His gaze flicks to mine. "But never real. Never responding."
"Responding to what?"
"To you." He stops just out of arm's reach, close enough that I can see the sharp angles of his face in the sigil's dying light. "You shouldn't be able to reveal that. That magic is sealed to bloodline."
"I didn't reveal it," I say, defensive. "It responded."
Something flickers across his expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. "That's what makes it dangerous."
The word sits heavy between us. Dangerous. Like I'm something to be contained, controlled, eliminated.
"Is that why you're really here?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "To decide if I'm dangerous?"
He doesn't answer immediately. Just studies me with those unsettling silver eyes, like he's trying to solve a puzzle that keeps changing shape.
"I was sent," he says finally, "to investigate the surge. To assess the threat."
"And did you volunteer?" I press.
Silence. Which is answer enough.
"So what's your assessment?" I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. "Am I the threat you were expecting?"
"No." The admission seems to surprise him as much as it surprises me. "You're something else entirely."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Thane leans against the wall, some of the formal distance leaving his posture. For a moment, he looks almost... tired. "I expected someone power-hungry. Someone who would try to use their awakening to claim what they thought they deserved." His gaze finds mine. "Instead, I find someone who's spent weeks trying to convince herself she doesn't deserve anything at all."
