“I was just—” I clear my throat, backing toward the door. “Needed some air. Gonna run the perimeter.”
“Gray, wait—” Rhett starts, but I’m already turning away.
“It’s fine,” I say without looking back. “Just needed to clear my head.”
I leave them standing there—Rhett confused and sated, Bree watching me with those too-calm eyes.
As I reach the hallway, one thought cuts through everything else, sharp and certain:
That wasn’t Bree.
The realization settles cold and heavy in my chest, and something wild and desperate claws at my ribs. I need to move. Need to run. Need to get as far away from that wrongness as possible before it chokes me.
I walk quickly through the kitchen, past the lingering scent of what just happened, and slip out the back door into the garden. The pre-dawn air hits my skin, and I don’t make it more than a few steps before the shift takes me.
The change comes easier now than it did in the beginning—bones stretching and realigning without the sharp agony I remember from those first times. White fur ripples along my limbs as I drop to four legs, and suddenly the world explodes into scents and sounds that make everything clearer. I run through the garden and into the forest beyond, paws hitting soft earth and fallen leaves as I follow instincts that lead me exactly where I need to go.
The chamber.
The chamber calls to me like a wound that won’t heal.
I find myself at the top of the stairs without consciously deciding to come here. The space feels different than it did that morning we found Bree standing at the mirror.
“This fucking chamber,” I breathe as I head down the stairs.
As I reach the bottom, I see it—the mirror stands against the far wall, the mirror Bree was touching. Its surface reflects nothing but darkness.
As I approach it, I expect to see my reflection, but instead there’s nothing but black.
Weird.
All the ash piles are gone. Every trace of the failed attempts, the broken dreams, the people who reached for something and found only death—erased like they never existed.
Weeks ago, this place was a graveyard. Now it looks like it’s been waiting.
The temperature drops immediately, cold seeping through my skin and settling in my bones. My breath fogs in the suddenly frigid air, and something deep in my chest responds to the change—something that’s been stirring ever since Bree touched the crown.
The mirror’s surface ripples like disturbed water. I’m still standing directly in front of it, close enough to see my own reflection staring back. But there’s something else there too. Something moving behind my image, dark and indistinct.
That’s when I hear it, a murmur. Desperate. Coming from somewhere else in the chamber.
I follow the sound, moving carefully around the outer edge of the circular space. The voice grows clearer as I get closer—a woman’s voice, frantic with desperation.
“I can’t—why can’t I—where’s my other half?”
I find her on the far side of the chamber, pressed against one of the mirrors with both palms flat against the glass. She’s maybe forty, dressed in traveling clothes that look like she’s been on the road fordays. Her dark hair is disheveled, and there’s a wild edge to her movements.
“They said it was open again,” she mutters, pressing harder against the mirror. “That the Ether restored the Oath. Where are you?”
“Hey,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle her. “Are you okay?”
She whirls around, eyes wide and desperate. “You can see me? You’re real?”
“Yeah, I’m real.” I take a careful step closer. “What are you trying to do?”
“The Oath,” she says, turning back to the mirror. “I felt it awaken. Felt the pull all the way from the mountains. My other half is supposed to be here. She’s supposed to answer.”
Footsteps echo from another part of the chamber. A man emerges from the shadows between two mirrors, and everything about him radiates power. His movements are too fluid, too controlled, and for just a second his eyes flash with an inner light—silver and predatory.
