That a year is long enough for everything to fall apart.
So I keep my mouth shut and follow the shadowed shapes ahead, silver glinting where they move.
Pretending they know where they’re going.
Because if I stop pretending, I might start believing we don’t.
Chapter 9
Wes
The corridor of mirrors stretches before us, endless and identical. Each one gleams in the dim light, their surfaces rippling like disturbed water. The hunger hums low under my skin, restless. I’ve never felt magic like this—thick enough to taste, thin enough to starve on.
Why didn’t it feel like this in the Ashen Oath Chamber?
The sight makes my chest tighten with something close to recognition.
I’ve seen this before. In Bree’s memories, bleeding through the bond when she was trapped while we wandered through this place trying to find her. In Seth’s fragmented accounts of how he found his way out. I never told the others. I couldn’t. I needed something just for me in the endless darkness.
“They’re all the same,” Jace mutters beside me, his hand tight on one of his blades. “How the hell are we supposed to know which one—”
“That one.”
Stellan’s voice cuts through the murmur of unease. He’s stopped ahead of us, staring at a mirror with an ornate frame carved with twisting horns that curve inward like a crown.
The horned mirror. Bree’s.
My throat goes tight. I can feel it even from here—the faint hum of her Ether clinging to the glass like perfume that won’t fade. It smells like her. Vanilla and something that makes my chest ache.
“That’s the one Seth came through,” Stellan says quietly. His gray eyes are fixed on the mirror. “The one we found her standing in front of that morning.”
Rhett moves forward, drawn like we all are. “So we go through that one.”
But the familiars glide past it without stopping.
My chest tightens—wrong, that’s wrong—but they keep moving, deeper into the corridor. Their shadow-forms flow like water around the base of Bree’s mirror and continue down the row.
“Wait.” Theo’s hand shoots out, catching Rhett’s arm. “They’re not stopping.”
The familiars pause several mirrors down. Their shapes thicken, almost solid, like they’re waiting for us to catch up.
“Why aren’t they taking us through hers?” Jace’s voice is tight with suspicion. “If that’s her mirror, why—”
“Because she’s here,” Stellan says, his gaze shifting to where Bree lies unconscious against Gray’s back. “They’re taking us somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”
Thane steps forward, his silver eyes narrowing as he studies the familiars. “They’re following something. An instruction.”
“From her?” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
“She’s alive.” Theo’s words are certain. “The familiars are hers. They wouldn’t lead us wrong.”
The familiars pulse once—impatient—and drift closer to the mirror they’ve chosen. It looks identical to all the others. No horns, no ornamentation. Just smooth glass reflecting our exhausted, filthy faces.
My hunger twists, sharpening. I can feel the pull of the mirror the familiars chose, but it’s different from Bree’s. Her mirror hums with silver light, with warmth. This one feels neutral. Like a doorway rather than a destination.
Stellan’s gaze cuts to me, sharp. For a moment I think he’ll argue. Then he nods once. “They’re hers. They won’t lead us wrong.”
Thane moves first, stepping up to the mirror. His hand hovers over the glass, and I watch his jaw tighten as he makes contact. The surface ripples outward from his palm, liquid and impossible.
