I hesitated, guilt surging again, but kept my response even, my hand steady as I adjusted the cloth. "I thought it would help us understand. I was wrong." It wasn't enough, didn't touch the depth of my regret, but words failed against the weight of it. Instead, I showed it in the care, wiping sweat from her neck, offering more water, my touches careful, almost reverent in their restraint.
She nodded faintly, exhaustion pulling her under again, but not before a small shudder ran through her, pain etching her face.
The night dragged, each minute a test of will as I tended her. But the wards hummed again, a deeper vibration this time, and I knew the clock had run down. We had to go, ready or not, before the Shardline tore open and brought ruin to our door.
22
XAVIAN
Exhaustion pulled at me, a deep ache that settled in my muscles after hours of tending to Morgan, but I pushed it down, focusing on the task, on carving fresh runes into the walls and thresholds to buy us whatever time we had left. My powers were weak in this godforsaken realm, and reinforcements needed to be done so often that I had no time for much else.
My thoughts kept drifting back to her, lying pale and feverish in the room I'd left her in, the bandages on her stump glowing faintly with the sealing runes I'd sketched into them. I'd saved her life, or what was left of it, but at what cost? She needed weeks, maybe a full month to stabilize enough to even consider crossing, and here I was, scrambling to fortify this crumbling bolt-hole against forces that could tear it open like paper. The air felt heavier now, charged with the residue of the surge, and I could almost taste the disturbance in the Shardline, a faint ripple that set my nerves on edge. Pursuit was coming, inevitable as the rain outside, and all I could do was layer on more protections, hoping to delay it long enough for her to regain some strength.
I moved to the outer perimeter once more, stepping into the overgrown lot adjacent to the building, the same spot where we'd practiced runes earlier under that rare sun. The memory stung, the ease of it now poisoned by what followed, her excitement turning to agony in an instant. Weeds brushed against my legs as I knelt to inscribe a perimeter ward in the dirt, lines intersecting to form a barrier that would alert me to any breach.
Morgan's face flashed in my mind again, the way she'd looked at me with that mix of betrayal and pain, and I clenched my jaw, shoving it aside. Protective instinct surged, sharper than before, a need to shield her from whatever came next, not just because she quieted the blade but because she'd become more, a presence I couldn't afford to lose in this endless exile. If they found her like this, weakened and marked by the surge, they'd take her apart to understand it, and that thought fueled me, making the wards glow brighter as I finished the circuit.
Back inside, I paused, listening to her shallow breaths, reassuring myself she was still holding on before continuing to the rear entrance. The place was a maze of abandoned offices and storage halls, perfect for hiding but riddled with weak points, thresholds where the veil thinned. I reinforced them one by one, carving runes that hummed with latent energy, my mind split between the work and the ticking clock.
A subtle shift in the air stopped me mid-carving, a vibration through the wards like a string plucked in the distance, faint but unmistakable. I froze, hand hovering over the wall, senses sharpening as the ripple intensified, centering on the outer lot. Someone had come through, slipping past the perimeter despite my efforts, the surge's echo acting as a beacon they couldn't ignore. Not a full breach yet, but close, the Shardline parting just enough to let one through.
Exhaustion burned in my eyes, but I moved silently toward the source, keeping to the shadows, my steps measured to avoidalerting them prematurely. One intruder, I could sense that much, the disturbance singular and focused, not the chaos of a hunting pack. Still, it meant the hiding place was compromised, the fragile sanctuary I'd built unraveling faster than I'd hoped. I needed to keep them away from Morgan, assess if ending this here would silence the trail or just summon more.
The lot came into view through a cracked window, the overgrown weeds swaying in the night breeze, and there he was, standing in the center of my perimeter ward, the sigils flickering around him like dying embers. Tall and lean, cloaked in shadows that clung unnaturally to his form, masking his approach until now. Recognition hit me like a gut punch, old hatred rising hot and bitter as I stepped out into the open, dagger ready but not raised. Lirac, one of Nyra's simpering followers, always trailing after her like a dog begging for scraps, his loyalty bought with promises of power he never quite earned. His face hadn't changed much, sharp features twisted in that perpetual smirk, eyes gleaming with the smug satisfaction of a man who'd found his quarry.
He turned toward me slowly, hands loose at his sides, no weapon drawn, as if this were a casual visit rather than an intrusion. "Xavian," he said, his voice smooth and laced with mock surprise, though the triumph in it was unmistakable. "Hiding in this mortal cesspit suits you. All these years, and you've managed to stay off the map. Until now."
I kept my distance, positioning myself between him and the warehouse entrance, my stance controlled, voice edged with contempt. "Lirac. Not much has changed, I see. Still my sister's bitch, running errands while she pulls the strings from her cushy hall."
His smirk widened, unfazed, as he glanced around the lot, taking in the faint glow of the wards I'd just set. "Touchy as ever. Nyra sends her regards, by the way. She's been wonderingwhere her wayward brother vanished to after that messy exile. No traces, no whispers, until those ghastly slaughterings started popping up in the mortal news. Bodies drained, precise wounds, a phantom with a blade. Sounded just like your style, especially with that cursed toy of yours. And then tonight, this surge, ripping through the Shardline like a beacon. Had to come see for myself."
I tightened the grip on my dagger, calculating the angles, whether a quick strike would end this without alerting others. Killing him might buy silence, but if he'd already reported back, it would only confirm the trail, drawing more. He was calm, too calm, standing there with that intrusive gaze sweeping over the warehouse as if he could sense Morgan inside, vulnerable and recovering. "What do you want, Lirac? Come to gloat, or is this Nyra's way of testing if I'm still breathing?"
He chuckled softly, stepping closer but stopping when I shifted, keeping the space between us. "Gloat? Maybe a little. It's been entertaining, imagining you scraping by in this world, powers clipped, feeding that blade like a starving rat. But the magic surge... that's new. It was powerful enough to feel from our side, like something woke up. Nyra will be very interested to hear what you've found. Hiding a secret in there, are we?"
"Lapdog Lirac, sniffing for scraps. That’s what my sister used to call you, did you know that?” I sneered. “Tell her whatever you want. It won't change the fact that she's the one who bound me to this curse. But if you think you're walking out of here with tales to whisper in her ear, think again."
Lirac tilted his head, eyes narrowing with that false amusement, as if savoring the tension. "Threats from an exile? How quaint. You've been isolated too long, Xavian. The slaughterings were sloppy, drawing eyes even here. And this surge? It's like you lit a signal fire. Nyra's been patient, letting you rot, but now... well, you've piqued her curiosity. What is it,exactly? A relic? A ritual gone wrong? Or did you finally find something to quiet that endless hunger of yours? She's going to love dissecting this."
I stepped forward, closing the gap slightly, my voice a controlled growl. "Dissect all you want from afar. You're not getting inside, and you're not leaving with anything useful."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smugness never left his face, his gaze flicking past me toward the warehouse again, intrusive and knowing. "So protective. That's not like you. Hiding more than just yourself in there, then. Interesting. Nyra will want details, of course. It's been years since she could pick up even a trace of you, brother-in-exile. But you've been a bad boy, Xavian. Stirring up the Shardline, drawing us right to your door. She'll be thrilled to finally close the loop."
The taunt landed, personal and ugly, stirring the old resentment, the betrayal that had started all this. I weighed the dagger in my hand, the temptation to end him here strong, but logic held me back. His death would echo too, another ripple confirming our location, summoning reinforcements before Morgan could even stand. He knew it, standing there calm and untouchable, the real threat in the words he'd carry back, the net tightening around us. "Get out," I said, voice flat with restrained fury. "Crawl back to her and whine about what you found. But know this: if she comes for me, she’ll regret it.”
Lirac laughed again, a soft, grating sound, before stepping back, the shadows coiling around him as the Shardline began to part for his retreat. "Oh, she'll come. You've given her the perfect excuse. See you soon, Xavian." And with that, he faded, slipping through the veil like smoke, leaving the lot empty but the air thick with the certainty of compromise.
I stood there for a moment, the wards humming faintly around me, but the damage was done. The clock had run out,our hiding place exposed, Nyra's reach closing faster than I'd feared. Exhaustion crashed over me, but urgency sharpened it into focus. Morgan needed to be ready, or we'd face them here, with her broken and me fighting on fumes. I turned back to the warehouse, the protective drive burning hotter, knowing we had no choice now but to run, to cross before they descended in force.
23
MORGAN
The pain was a deep, throbbing heat that radiated from the stump of my wrist and up my arm, settling into my shoulder like a weight I couldn't shrug off. It wasn't the sharp, screaming agony from before, when everything had blurred into fire and whispers, but a dull burn that pulsed with every heartbeat, reminding me of what was missing. I lay on the cot, staring at the cracked ceiling of the warehouse room, the lantern's dim light casting uneven shadows that danced like mocking ghosts. My body felt heavy, drained, as if the blood I'd lost had taken more than just fluid—it had sapped my strength, leaving me weak and shaky, my breaths shallow and labored. The bandages wrapped tight around the end of my arm were stained with faint red spots, but they held, sealed by those glowing runes he'd traced into them. I could still feel their warmth, a strange, tingling heat that kept the wound from unraveling further, though it did nothing for the phantom sensations, the way my missing fingers itched or twitched in my mind, as if they were still there, still mine.
I shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at the injury, and memories from the hazy drifts surfaced unbidden.He'd been there through it all, Xavian, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos of pain and fever. I remembered the cool cloth on my forehead, the way he'd wiped away sweat and blood with careful strokes, his fingers rough but restrained, never pressing too hard even when I thrashed weakly. The cup of water lifted to my lips, his hand supporting my head so I could sip without choking, his voice murmuring low instructions to breathe, to stay with him. There had been a tenderness in those moments, hidden under his usual gruff focus, like he was handling something fragile, something he feared breaking further. It sat uneasily in my mind now, that care, clashing with the man who'd kidnapped me, tested me, pushed me to touch that cursed blade. How could the same hands that had severed part of me also tend to what remained with such quiet attention? It stirred confusion in me, anger tangled with an unwilling gratitude, making my chest tighten as I lay there, waiting for him to return.
The door creaked open then, pulling me from the haze, and there he was, stepping inside with that tense urgency I'd come to recognize, his coat still damp from whatever he'd been doing outside. His eyes found mine immediately, scanning my face, my bandaged arm, as if assessing how much I'd faded since he left. He looked worn, shadows under his eyes deeper than before, his movements sharp, like he was carrying news that weighed on him. The room felt smaller with him in it, the air thicker, and I pushed myself up on my good elbow, ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness that washed over me. Weakness tugged at my edges, but my mind was clearer now, the fever broken enough to think, to speak without the words slurring into nonsense.
