But that was most certainly new.
A flicker of something—an almost-image. A blurred room, the shape of a person.
“Do it again.” His mother’s voice.
It was a charcoal drawing of a memory, swiped over, smeared into something unrecognizable.
And then it was gone.
He looked down at the twisted body, and his eyes caught on a small piece of metal embedded in Benjamin’s wrist. August snatched the dagger from the ground, crouched, and drove the tip of the blade into Benjamin’s arm, working it beneath the thin piece of metal to pry it free. It resembled the strange caern the apothecary had given him in Bedwyck.
He turned it over in his hand, studying the blood-smeared engraving before closing his fist around it.
What now?
He stared at the opening back to his world, feeling completely off balance. He needed to get out of here. This place was devouring him.
But his feet didn’t budge, and his thoughts twisted, changing course in an instant.
Did he really need to leave? At least on this side of the veil, it would be a painless death. Better than the drawn-out suffering on the other side. The incessant throbbing, the awful tightness in his chest. He couldn’t feel any of it here.
It was a blissful relief to be numb. Why would he ever want to leave? It was so quiet here.
This place felt . . . right.
He sank to the floor and let his eyes drift shut. The relief of sitting, of surrendering, swept everything else away like ash.
ThenFelix’s words rang out inside his head.It won’t stop. Fallowmoor will fall. Then it’ll come for Haverglen.
August forced his eyes open. It would be so much easier to run and hide. This felt impossible. But the tear was his mistake. If he didn’t close it, it would keep spreading. Keep killing.
Alright, time to go.
August stood, then took a moment to brace himself for the pain before stepping back through the tear.
He expected to return to the same peaceful house he’d left behind, expected the faint sounds of distant snoring to greet him from the cellar.
But instead, August returned to chaos.
The creaking of wood shook Felix awake, and when he found the mattress beside him empty, he cursed and sat up.
“Marlow,” he hissed as he fumbled with his prosthetic, and by the time he had it firmly back in place, she was already on her feet. When they reached the top of the stairs, they both came to an abrupt halt.
Felix wasn’t surprised to see the tear in the veil. He figured the coward had run.
However, the four ministry officers forcing their way through the front door were quite the shock.
A ferocious gust of wind threw him backward, and he hit the wall with bone-jarring force, the impact splintering the wood with a sharp crack and sending down a shower of debris.
Felix crumpled to his hands and knees.
Cheaters.
The room lit up with the pale pink of wielder fire.
Felix jumped to the side, barely avoiding the fireball. It burst against the wall behind him and caught on the aging wood. Flames lapped up the wall, the heat intense against his skin.
He cursed, searching for Marlow, relieved to see she was on her feet, unharmed.
