The door creaked open then, pulling me out of my thoughts, and there he was, stepping inside with a plastic bag dangling from one hand, his coat slick with rain. Water dripped from his hair, darkening the strands that fell across his forehead, and he shook it off like a dog, scattering droplets across the floor. He looked tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that had become familiar, but his eyes were clear, no trace of that unnatural blackness. "Brought food," he said, his voice low and rough as always, setting the bag on the makeshift table near the lantern. "Nothing fancy. Sandwiches, some fruit. Better than the canned crap."
I stopped pacing and crossed my arms, leaning against the wall to keep some distance, though the room was small enough that it didn't make much difference. "Oh, joy. Another gourmet meal in captivity. What, no candlelight this time?" My tone came out sharper than necessary, but it was habit by now, a way to keep things from getting too comfortable. He didn't rise to it, just pulled out a wrapped sandwich and tossed it my way. I caught it, unwrapping it to find ham and cheese on stalebread, but it was edible, and hunger won out over pride. I took a bite, chewing slowly as he settled onto the edge of the cot, unwrapping his own.
We ate in silence for a minute, the only sounds the rain pattering against the warehouse roof and the occasional creak of the building settling. I glanced at him, noting the way his shoulders slumped a bit, less rigid than when we'd first clashed in here. He was still dangerous, still the guy who'd dragged me off the street, but the constant edge had dulled, replaced by this uneasy coexistence. I hated how human he seemed sometimes, how his weariness made him less of a monster and more of a man trapped in his own mess.
"So," I said finally, breaking the quiet as I finished half the sandwich and set the rest aside. "You've been dropping all these tidbits about your world, but you never actually explain it. Not really. If I'm supposed to be connected to it somehow, don't you think it's time to fill in the blanks? Or are you still playing the mysterious asshole card?"
He paused mid-bite, his gaze lifting to meet mine, a flicker of irritation crossing his features before he swallowed and set his food down. "It's not simple to explain. Velrith isn't some far-off land you can map out on paper. It's... layered. Behind what we call the Shardline. A veil, thin in places, that separates the mortal world from ours. Not entirely separate realms, exactly, but overlapping, woven together in ways that don't always align."
I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a bit despite myself. "Overlapping? Like, right here, right now? So if I reach out..." I extended my arm toward the empty air between us, waving my hand dramatically. "Am I touching somebody in your world? Some ghost bumping elbows with invisible people?"
He snorted, a sound halfway between amusement and frustration, and shook his head sharply. "No. The Shardlineisn't a window you poke through. It's more like... echoes. Places where the worlds bleed into each other, but not everywhere, not all the time. You might stand in a street here, and in Velrith, it's a hall of stone, but you can't just reach across. It takes power, rituals, or weak points to cross. And even then, it's not safe. The layers shift, sometimes align, sometimes tear. That's why exiles like me end up stuck, powers muted because the connection's frayed."
I rolled my eyes, though a spark of curiosity flickered in my chest. "Okay, fine, not that simple. Give me a picture I can actually wrap my head around. If it's layered over this world, why haven't I noticed? Why doesn't everybody know about it? And don't give me that vague 'it's hidden' bullshit."
He rubbed at his temple, a gesture I'd come to recognize as him fighting impatience, and leaned back against the wall. "Because most mortals are blind to it. The Shardline filters things, keeps the worlds from colliding too violently. But it's not perfect. Thin spots exist, old places where the veil wears down, like that church you mentioned, or parks with ancient stones. That's why you get those sensations, the dreams of halls and humming. Echoes bleeding through. Velrith is there, always, but accessing it means stepping behind the Shardline, through a rift or a gate. It's not like walking down the street and turning a corner."
I paced a couple steps, processing that, my mind racing to poke holes in it. It sounded insane, like something out of a bad fantasy novel, but after seeing his eyes go black, feeling that barrier push me back, I couldn't dismiss it outright. Still, I wasn't about to let him know that. "And you want to go back there? Drag me along, I assume, since I'm your walking pacifier for that damn blade. What happens if we do? You get your powers back, turn into some lordly prick, and I end up in a worse cage?"
His expression darkened, but he didn't snap like he might have a week ago. Instead, he met my gaze steadily. "Going back isn't simple either. The exile was meant to be permanent, sealed with the curse. But Virelya's reacting to you, quieting in ways it never has. That could be a key, a way to cross without shattering everything. Risks are high, though. The one who betrayed me, they'd sense it. Pursuit, maybe worse. And the crossing itself... it could unravel you if you're not prepared. But answers about you? They're more likely there than here. This mortal world's too diluted, records scattered or lost. Velrith has archives, relics that could trace whatever you are."
I stopped pacing, crossing my arms again as a chill ran through me, not just from the drafty room. "Whatever I am? Still circling that, huh? Come on, spit it out. You've been poking at my dreams, my weird feelings, like I'm some puzzle. What's your best guess?”
He hesitated, his jaw tightening, and for a moment I thought he'd brush me off like before. But then he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Nothing fits cleanly. Could be a lost bloodline, distant kin from Velrith exiled generations ago, magic dormant until something woke it. Or contact with a cursed object, tainted by the Shardline, imprinting echoes on you. Maybe old exposure to something powerful, a rift you wandered near without knowing. Hell, you could be an anomaly, some fluke where the layers crossed wrong and marked you. But none of it explains why Virelya rejects you yet quiets near you. It's not straightforward, Morgan. That's why I need to figure it out."
Skepticism surged in me, mixed with annoyance at how neatly he avoided certainty, but underneath it, that damn curiosity stirred again, pulling at threads I'd ignored my whole life. The dreams, the strange pulls toward old buildings, they suddenly felt less like imagination and more like clues I hadn't wanted to see. I hated how it made sense in a twisted way, hatedeven more that talking to him like this felt almost normal now. "Great, so I'm a mystery box. And your solution is to haul me through this Shardline, into a world full of backstabbing, curse-casting nutjobs and magic that could 'unravel' me. Sounds like a blast. Why not just let me go and solve your curse some other way? Or is that too logical for your brooding exile vibe?"
He stood then, closing the distance a bit, though not enough to crowd me, his eyes intense but not threatening. "Because you're tied to this now, whether you like it or not. And yes, we are going back. Not tomorrow, but soon. I won't drag you blind, but staying here risks more blackouts, more exposure. More… massacres like before. If I can figure you out there, maybe I can break the curse."
I held his gaze, the air between us thick with that complicated tension, no longer just fear but something messier, a reluctant openness that scared me almost as much. He was still dangerous, still the controlling bastard keeping me here, but in moments like this, he seemed almost reachable, human in his frustrations and uncertainties. I didn't trust it, didn't want to, but the walls were cracking, and the idea of crossing into his world felt less like an abstract nightmare and more like an inevitable step, pulling us both toward whatever answers waited on the other side.
15
XAVIAN
The sun hung high that morning, cutting through the usual haze of clouds like a blade through fog, and for once the city didn't feel like it was drowning in its own shadows. I'd woken to the light slanting through the warehouse's cracked windows, turning the dust motes into drifting sparks, and the warmth of it seeped into the room in a way that made the air feel less stagnant, less like the weight of my curse pressing down. It had been weeks since a day like this, clear and bright without the rain's constant murmur, and I found myself staring out at the industrial sprawl beyond, the rusted silos and overgrown lots bathed in gold. Morgan was still asleep on the cot, her breathing steady, one arm flung over her eyes as if to block out the unfamiliar brightness. Watching her like that stirred something I didn't care to examine too closely, a quiet pull that had nothing to do with Virelya and everything to do with how she'd carved out space in this grim routine of ours.
Things had eased between us in the days since our last real talk, not into anything soft or trusting, but into a rhythm that didn't grate as much. She no longer flinched when I entered the room, and her sarcasm had taken on a sharper edge, almostplayful at times, like she was testing boundaries without pushing for a fight. I'd stopped looming over her every move, giving her space to pace or read the few tattered books I'd scavenged, and in return, she hadn't tried to bolt or turn a shard of glass into a weapon. But she was still trapped here because of me. The tension simmered under it all, a reminder that this wasn't friendship or anything close. Still, the sun outside felt like an opportunity, a chance to test what I'd been mulling over since she pressed me about her dreams and those echoes she carried. If she had some tie to Velrith, some latent spark, maybe I could coax it out in a small way, see if it meant anything practical. Not a full crossing, not yet, but something basic, controlled. A rune, perhaps, traced in the dirt to see if she could sense its shape or stir its energy. If it worked, it might give us both answers. If it didn't, well, at least the day wouldn't be wasted in this box.
I nudged her foot with my boot, keeping my voice low. "Wake up. We're going outside."
She stirred, blinking against the light, her hair a tangled mess around her face as she sat up. For a second, confusion clouded her eyes, then suspicion sharpened them. "Outside? As in, fresh air and not these four walls? What's the catch, warden?”
I ignored the jab, tossing her the jacket I'd brought back a few days ago, a worn thing that fit her well enough. "No catch. But you're not running off. We'll stay close, somewhere I can keep an eye on things. I want to try something. See if those sensations of yours amount to more than dreams."
She caught the jacket, slipping it on as she stood, her movements fluid despite the wariness in her posture. "Try something. Right. Because that's not vague at all. At least tell me what’s in it for me?"
I met her gaze, holding it steady. "Sunlight. And runes. Basic ones. If you're connected like I think, you might be able to feelthem, maybe even wake a spark. Nothing dangerous. We're not diving into the Shardline today."
She arched an eyebrow, but there was a flicker of interest there, buried under the skepticism. "Runes. Like the carvings on the door? Fine, I'll bite. Better than rotting in here." She pulled on her shoes, and I could see the shift in her, that reluctant curiosity pulling her along, much like it had during our talks. It made her seem more alive, less like the defiant captive and more like someone chasing her own answers.
We stepped out into the day, the warehouse door groaning behind us. The air hit me first, crisp and carrying the faint scent of warmed metal from the nearby lots, mixed with the green tang of weeds pushing through cracked pavement. No rain to muffle sounds, no gray veil over everything. The sun warmed my skin, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones, and for a moment, I almost forgot the blade at my side. Morgan paused just outside, tilting her face up to the light, eyes closed as if savoring it, and I watched the way the sun caught in her hair, turning stray strands to copper. She looked freer like that, less haunted, and it tugged at me in a way I hadn't expected, a quiet awareness of her that went beyond suspicion or necessity.
I led her to a secluded spot not far off, an overgrown lot hemmed in by chain-link fences and abandoned machinery. Tall grasses swayed in the breeze, dotted with wildflowers that had no business blooming in this decay, and the ground was soft underfoot, patches of bare earth exposed where the weeds thinned. It was controlled, easy to watch, with no easy escapes and plenty of space to work without drawing eyes. "Here," I said, stopping at a clear patch of dirt. "This'll do."
She glanced around, arms crossed but with a hint of that spark in her eyes. "Charming. So, runes. Show me what you mean, oh mysterious one."
I ignored her again and crouched down, drawing a small knife from my pocket and using the tip to etch a simple shape into the earth, a basic ward rune. It was nothing potent, just enough to test if she could sense its flow or nudge it awake. The lines came easily, curved and intersecting, and as I traced them, I felt the faint pulse of energy stirring, a thread of the Shardline's echo bleeding through. "This is a simple holding rune," I explained. "It channels intent into a barrier. Copy it with your finger, follow the lines exactly. Don't force it. Just feel for any pull, any warmth or hum. If there's something in you, it'll respond."
