“Such sadness,” the woman crooned. “Such exquisite loneliness. You could spend the rest of your life trying to prove your worth to those who will never understand you—or you could stop. With us, you would have nothing to prove. You would have a family that wants you, Isla. One that sees all that you are—the brilliance, the flaws, the thirst for more. I know this evening has been ... unpleasant. But we are only showing you that we accept you, the good and the bad. We would value you as no one else ever has.”
For a moment, the perverse words almost broke through. Isladidwant that—to be seen, to be wanted, to stop fighting for every scrap of respect. To have someone say she was enough. But not like this. Not in darkness.
She’d rather face the world alone than stand beside people who thrived in shadow.
She forced herself to remember facts—Andrew’s nervous hand closing over hers, Juliette’s irrepressible laughter, George’s kindness, even Edmund’s quiet patience as he swept the floor of broken clay pots. They were kind people, her people, in their strange, new, mismatched way.
They might not stay beside her forever—but if they were still alive, they would come for her. Andrew had said only recently that he wouldalwaysrescue her. Something deep in her chest told her he hadn’t been lying.
The new direction between them was unexpected, fragile, but it was real. And it was worth clinging to—a spark of hope worth kindling against the dark.
Isla shook her head. “I will never join you.”
Silence.
It stretched long enough that she could almostfeelthem speaking around her—words exchanged without sound, the air pulsing faintly as if charged with thought.
“I think,” came another man’s voice, cool and measured, “we’re too late to recruit her. The emotions I read from her are quite determined to refuse your offer.”
The older woman sighed, the sound one of mild disappointment. “Yes, I suspect you’re right. Such a shame. She would have made a fine addition.”
A pause—then, briskly, “Well. I have a dinner engagement this evening, and I do so hate to be late. Leave her here for the night.”
Her tone lightened as if she were discussing the weather. “I can see that you have strained yourself enough this evening and you won’t be able to extract any more memories. Do you have a memory prepared to soften her resolve for the information we need? I want her hope removed piece by piece, so that by the morning, she’s willing to talk about other matters.”
“I know just the one,” the first man replied, a quiet satisfaction in his voice.
“Splendid,” the woman said. “I am going to leave now. Once I’m gone, bring the others in and inform them how to use it, then go and get some rest. A touch of fear can do wonders for compliance. I’ll attend to her myself in the morning—once she’s ready to tell us everything our clients require.”
Isla felt a shiver run down her spine. How were they going to use her memories topressure her into obedience? Footsteps shifted closer. Isla flinched as cold, gnarled fingers gripped her chin, nails biting cruelly into her skin.
“You should have joined us, my dear,” the woman murmured. “But no matter. Your tears will tell me everything I need by morning one way or another ... and after that, I shall have no further use for you.”
The touch withdrew, and Isla was left trembling in the dark. Voices spoke low, and somewhere beyond the blackness, she heard the faint scrape of a door and the echo of a retreating tap—the old woman leaving for herdinner.
And then, too soon, a prickling sensation filled the air—static, electric. The faint scent of ozone stung her nose. A storm was coming. Her childhood nightmare. They were going to make her relive it.
Chapter Nineteen
The world swam back into focus in fragments of pain. Edmund groaned, his head lolling forward, the Austin’s frame cold and solid against his shoulder. For a moment, all he heard was the ringing in his ears and the slow drip of rain through the shattered windshield. Then memory struck—the spin, the flash of ice, Juliette’s frightened cry still echoing in the air.
Juliette.
He forced himself upright, blinking through the haze. Juliette sat motionless in the driver’s seat, her pale face drawn tight with strain. Green vines coiled around her arms and chest, constricting with every shallow breath. Her eyes met his—wide, terrified, but still sharp with purpose—and she jerked her chin toward the back seat.
“Quick ... Edmund ... Andrew—needs you,” she rasped.
She thought of the others first. Selfless. Braver than most soldiers he’d known.
He twisted in his seat, pain flaring from the lump on his head where he must have hit it on the dashboard. Andrew was slumped, his face tinged blue, the vines cutting into his throat. Outside, two shadows moved closer—rough voices, boots crunching.
“Best check the others,” one called. “Orders were to make sure they’re done for.”
Edmund’s jaw tightened. The storm in his blood stirred.
Focus. Breathe. Feel the current.
He had lived this rhythm many times before, even though he could not remember such events through his own eyes, it felt familiar. His father, an Aqua Summoner, was gifted enough to read fragments of his own past lives. Those memories came to him in flashes—sporadic, emotional shards rather than full histories—and he had passed them on to Edmund as best he could. Through his father’s retellings, Edmund had heard of battles throughout the centuries they had fought together under different names, in different armor, across different ages: trenches, alleyways, ancient fields. Always war. Rarely memories of the softer things—moments of peace or love—which never seemed to break through as clearly. The weapons changed, but the instinct remained: protect. Strike true.
