Nova drops to her knees, magic still sparking at her fingertips. I fall beside her, one knee down, body tense. Ready if they return.
Blood drips from a gash on my forearm. Her face is pale, eyes dilated. Magic burns across her skin like fever.
“Tell me you’re still in there,” I say, watching her face for signs of whatever tried to take her.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes stay fixed on something I can’t see, pupils blown wide, violet irises just thin rings around black. Her magic still sparks across her skin in uneven pulses—not controlled, not focused. Dangerous.
“Nova,” I say again, sharper this time. “Look at me.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. Recognition flickers, then holds.
“I’m here,” she says, voice rough. “It’s me.”
I don’t relax. Not when the air still feels thick and watching. Not when shadows still shift at the edges of the clearing with purpose. The constructs might be gone, but whatever dragged her here is still present—waiting for us to lower our guard.
“We need to move,” I say, checking the gash on my arm. Deep, but not critical. It will heal quickly. “This place wants you back.”
She nods, tries to stand, but her legs buckle. I catch her before she hits the ground. Her skin burns hot against mine, magic leaking from her pores.
“First, containment,” I mutter, easing her down.
I pull my knife, slice my palm, and let blood drop to the earth. Old magic, rough but effective. I draw the circle around us quickly and dirty, smearing blood in sharp lines. Just enough to hold while I get her stable.
The ward fire catches with a hiss when I strike the match. Blue flames lick along the blood-marked perimeter, pushing the shadows back a few feet. Nothing spectacular—just a soldier’s tool.
Nova watches with unfocused eyes as the ward settles. Then something breaks inside her.
Her body convulses, a violent shudder that has nothing to do with cold. Her breathing fractures into harsh, uneven gasps. Not crying—something worse. Something that comes from somewhere deeper than tears.
I don’t hesitate. Don’t think. I pull her against my chest, one arm tight around her back, the other hand at the base of her skull. Bone-deep, loyal pressure to hold the pieces of her in place while she fractures.
She shakes against me, fingernails digging into my arms hard enough to draw blood. I don’t flinch. Don’t pull back. Just let her break without scattering.
“It wanted me,” she whispers against my collar, voice cracked and raw. “Not just to use me. To become me.”
My jaw tightens. My arm locks tighter around her.
“It doesn’t fucking get you,” I say, voice flat with certainty.
She trembles once more, then goes still. Her breathing evens, though her magic still pulses erratically beneath her skin.
The ward fire flickers, weakening. Time’s up.
I stand, lifting her with me. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Her head drops against my shoulder, body limp but conscious.
The forest presses closer. Shadows coil at the edge of the ward’s fading light, waiting.
We don’t have time to fight our way out.
I shift her weight, freeing one hand. My fingers slide inside her jacket, finding the hidden inner pocket she thinks no one knows about. The small silver disc is exactly where I expected.
Fae slip coin. Emergency extraction. One use.
Her eyes widen. “You knew.”
“I know what backup looks like.”
I flick the coin with my thumb. It hovers above my palm, vibrating, then spinning. Symbols etch across its surface in glowing lines.
