“I didn’t,” Flora said. “It doesn’t possess people.”
No one answered at first. We all just looked at each other, like maybe the injuries wouldn’t count until someone else admitted theirs first.
“I uh…tweaked my ankle while we were running,” Delilah said. “Could use a wrap or something?—”
“You hurt yourself?” Whit asked, eyes snapping toward her.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Calm down, Ward.”
I sat on the floor, back against the far wall, legs stretched out in front of me while Milo curled up beside me like a warm, anxious furnace. My hands were still trembling. I kept telling myself it was the adrenaline—normal, temporary, fine—but my breath kept catching in the back of my throat like I hadn’t fully come back to myself yet. Like a part of me was stillout there in the dark with whatever the hell that thing had been.
The Gloamstrider.
God. Just thinking the name made my skin crawl.
Beau crouched in front of me, eyes scanning my face with that quiet intensity he got when he was worried. I didn’t like being looked at like I might break. But I didn’t want him to stop, either.
“You good?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded automatically, even though I wasn’t sure it was true.
He didn’t move; just kept watching me. Then—gentle as anything—he reached out and took my hand.
“You don’t have to say yes if you’re not good,” he murmured. “I saw your face out there.”
I gave the question a moment to breathe. The fire in Flora’s stove was starting to crackle, the smell of herbs lifting into the air like some kind of spell, soft and sharp all at once. I stared at the place where our hands touched—his big calloused fingers wrapped around mine, thumb moving over my knuckles.
“I thought we were gonna die,” I said finally.
His jaw tightened. “Me too.”
“And I think I knew it was coming,” I whispered. “Not tonight. But…that something was going to happen. I felt it. Like…I don’t know, like a tide pulling in.”
Beau didn’t speak, just nodded once.
“But the Shadow Painter—it saved us, I think,” I said. “I mean…right? That was…it was crazy.”
Beau sat beside me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his warm, broad chest. “I saw it too, Noelle,” he said. “You aren’t crazy. In fact…I don’t think you ever were.”
Shane had been pacing in a slow, erratic loop near Flora’sbookshelves—half trying to calm himself down, half trying to get a signal on his phone. He kept holding it up to the ceiling like a lightning rod, muttering curses under his breath.
“God, what is this place, a Faraday cage?” he grumbled, turning in a tight circle. “How the hell do you live like this?”
“I don’t like being watched,” Flora said, not even looking up as she poured hot water into a row of mismatched mugs. “And if you think that little glowing rectangle can help you right now, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Shane flopped into a threadbare armchair with a dramatic sigh. He leaned his head back, legs spread wide, phone clutched in one hand. “This is literally my nightmare.”
Then he blinked.
Sat up a little straighter.
Squinted across the room—right at me.
“Uh…hey, Noelle?” he said slowly, eyebrows creeping up.
I turned just enough to look at him. “What?”
He pointed.
