Still nothing.
She folded forward, her forehead hitting the steering wheel, and screamed. The sound filled the car, raw and broken and terrible. She screamed until her throat burned, until her voice cracked, until there was nothing left but harsh breathing and the taste of copper in her mouth.
The engine suddenly roared to life, magic giving her this one last gift.
Through blurred vision, she saw Thaine's hand lowering in the space between worlds. Then he was gone. The shimmer was gone. There was just trees and sky and the normal world that didn't know she'd been gone for months, that didn't care that her heart was shattered, that would expect her to just continue as if nothing had happened.
She put the car in drive, but her vision was too blurred with tears to see. She had to pull over after barely making it out of the parking lot, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt. She beat her fists against the steering wheel until her hands ached, needing the physical pain to match what was tearing through her chest.
A couple walked by, glancing at the woman having a breakdown in her car, then quickly looking away. The normal world, where people politely ignored visible grief.
Briar drove home through tears that wouldn't stop, taking wrong turns because she could barely see, having to pull over twice more when the sobs made it impossible tocontinue. By the time she reached her house, she had nothing left. No tears. No voice. No energy.
Just an emptiness that she was convinced would never be filled.
She sat in the car for a long moment, staring at her ordinary house in her ordinary world, trying to remember how to be ordinary again. Trying to forget the feeling of thorns and shadow and a possessive voice whispering her name in the darkness.
The keys were heavy in her hand. Real. Cold metal with worn edges from years of use. She turned them over once, twice, then finally climbed out. Each step toward the house felt heavier than the last, her feet reluctant to carry her back to this life. What would she say when Allegra asked where she'd been? How could she explain the things she'd witnessed, experienced, lost?
She couldn't.
Briar climbed the steps to the porch and stopped. She stared hard at the peeling paint on the door frame, at the doorbell that David had promised to fix a lifetime ago, and the welcome mat that said "Home Sweet Home" in faded cursive.
Everything was exactly as she'd left it months ago, no, two weeks ago—time was a broken thing now, fractured between worlds—but everything about it felt distant. It was too small, too bright, too simple. As if she were seeing it through different eyes, eyes that had seen impossible things and could never quite focus on the mundane again.
She still had her key but using it felt wrong, so she knocked instead, the sound sharp in the quiet afternoon.
Footsteps approached, quick and eager. The door flew open and Allegra stood there, vibrantly alive, color in her cheeks and a glow about her that had nearly been snuffed out. The sight of her sister's health should have filled Briar with joy. Instead, she felt nothing. A hollow acknowledgement that the bargain had worked.
"Oh my God, finally!" Allegra practically shrieked, throwing her arms around Briar. "Mom said you went on some last-minute trip but that's so not like you and you didn't even text and—" She pulled back, eyes narrowing. "You didn't bring me anything."
"What?"
"From your trip. Two weeks and you didn't bring me back anything? Not even like, airport chocolate?"
Briar stared at her sister. Airport chocolate. As if she'd been to Europe or Vegas or somewhere that sold souvenirs instead of bleeding on ancient stones while magic tore through her body.
"I... forgot."
"You forgot." Allegra stepped back, arms crossed. "You disappear for two weeks without saying goodbye, don’t evencall.Mom acts all weird and secretive about where you went, and you justforgotto bring me something?"
Their mother appeared in the hallway behind Allegra, and the temperature seemed to drop. She looked older, grayer, but her eyes were sharp and alert and afraid.
"Briar." Not a greeting, but a statement. An assessment.
"Mom."
"Allegra, why don't you go put the kettle on? Your sister probably wants tea."
"She probably wants to explain where she's been," Allegra muttered, but she headed toward the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, their mother stepped forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "What happened? How are you here?"
"He let me go."
"Let you go?" Her mother's eyes darted toward the door, as if expecting to see fae warriors stalking down the suburban street. "Or did you escape? Are they going to come looking for you?"
Briar fought the urge to frown. Not 'are you okay?' Not 'I'm so glad you're safe.' Just immediate fear about what Briar's presence might bring. If she had ever doubted her mother's priorities, they were devastatingly clear now.
