Before I can piece together a coherent thought, Brynn makes a choked, strangled sound and collapses. She hits the damp earth with a thud, her body curling into a tight ball. She clutches at her chest, her face a mask of agony.
“Brynn!” I’m at her side in an instant, dropping to my knees. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It… snapped,” she gasps, her knuckles white where she grips her own clothing. Tears stream from her eyes. “My connection… to her… it’s gone. It’s like something… somethingtoreit out of me!”
I stare from my sister, writhing in a pain I can’t see, to the empty space where our ancestor was just violently… unmade? My mind spins, echoing with Helena’s final, insane words.
What in the seven hells just happened?
15
BRYNN
The pain almost feels physical, like a jagged hook tearing through my spiritual center. Like a piece of my very architecture has been ripped out, leaving a raw void where something essential used to be. My connection to Helena—a constant, subtle pressure in the back of my mind for months—is gone. Not faded or distant. Annihilated.
Esme’s face is a pale blur above me, her voice a distant echo through the roaring in my ears. I’m on the cold, damp ground, my body curled into itself, trying to contain an agony that has no source and no end. My hands are fisted in my hoodie, knuckles white, as if I can physically hold myself together.
Then other hands are on me, cool and steady. My mother. Her scent of dried herbs cuts through. “Breathe, Brynn,” she commands, her voice a low, firm anchor. “Breathe with me. Now.”
I don’t remember how I get from the graveyard to the infirmary, but I come back to myself on a narrow cot in a quiet side room. The sharp, clean smell of antiseptic has replaced the dampearth. My mother sits beside me, her hand resting on my forehead, her thumb making slow, soothing circles on my temple.
“She’s gone,” I manage, voice rough. “Helena. It was like something… took her.”
My mother’s expression tightens. “I don’t know, darling. No one truly understands the spirit realm. We just learn to live with what it gives… or takes.” I wonder if she’s thinking of my father, the way he vanished and never found his way back to us even in spirit form. She clears her throat softly, as if to steady herself. “But, Brynn… three spirits? All this time, you were connected to three?”
I can only nod, the movement making my head throb.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug. “Figured I'm allowed to have, like, one thing that's just mine… This place is basically a supernatural fishbowl, everyone watching everyone else’s every move all the time.”
She gives a long exhale, then pulls me upright, wrapping her arms around me. I lean into her, my face buried in her shoulder. As I breathe in her scent, the tears I didn’t know I was holding back finally fall.
Over her shoulder, I see Ezekiel and Angus. They linger near the foot of my bed, like the world’s most depressing welcome committee. Their spectral forms are insubstantial, but there. They are silent, but their sorrow is a palpable weight in the room… especially Ezekiel’s, Helena’s husband. I can practically feel his cold, heavy blanket of grief. They lost her, too.
Mom holds me for what feels like hours, though the clock on the wall says it's only been fifteen minutes. The pain’s faded from I'm-dying to more regular sucks-to-be-me levels.
And Helena's last words keep playing on repeat in my head.Flesh to flesh... soul to soul... The dragon and the darkblood... become one.
It sounds like madness. Utter, complete madness. But itlooked like she literally got yanked out of existence to deliver that message… so maybe I should pay attention?
Meanwhile, the council will debate strategies. Esme will prepare for a likely suicidal ritual. Dayn will try to reason with a world that only understands violence. And I’ll sit here, nursing a wound no one else can see.
No. I won’t.
The numbness begins to recede, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Grief is a luxury. Helena didn’t get ripped out of existence just for me to sob in the infirmary. She was trying to tell us something vital… and maybe, just maybe, I should trust her. Or at least give her the benefit of the doubt. Something that the council, in their infinite, stubborn wisdom, is unlikely to do.
Gods know, this whole thing needs a different perspective.
But first, I need to visit someone.
I pull away from my mother’s embrace, my resolve hardening. Her eyes search mine, questioning the sudden shift.
“I need to go to the dungeons,” I say, my voice steady.
Her brow furrows. “Brynn, you need to rest?—”
“No,” I say, swinging my legs off the cot. The room tilts for a second, but I steady myself. “I need to talk to Chad.” And maybe this time actually listen to what he has to say.
