He stood there, motionless while Eamon died, then turned his back on me.
They walked away together, disappearing into the dark mouth of the tunnel, leaving me to drown in the silver.
I woke screaming.
The sound tore through the silence of my flat, a ragged, ugly noise that scraped my throat raw. I bolted upright, gasping, skin slick with sweat, hands clutching the duvet until my knuckles turned white.
Home. I was home.
I stared at the familiar cracks in the ceiling, the grey light of dawn filtering through the curtains. My chest heaved, trying to drag in air that felt too thin.
Trust him. The words lingered, a ghost in the room.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the nausea rolling in my stomach. My arrival here was a void, a missing stretch of time that refused to surface. Memories of the past hours arrived in jagged shards, smeared like wet ink on a page.
The explosion of light. The overhead walkway groaning as it collapsed.
Then Mira’s face—pale and terrified—looming over me through the rain outside the mill. The flashing blue lights of the patrol cars were a rhythmic, blinding assault.
Mira had shouted at someone—Darian, perhaps.She cannot give a statement. I am taking her home.
The journey remained a blur of movement, smelling sharply of antiseptic. I remembered the weight of her hand on my shoulder, guiding me through the door of the flat and towards the bedroom. She had moved me like a doll, pulling the duvet up to my chin and lingering until my breathing steadied.
Stay inside, Selene. Avoid the news. Try to sleep.
Now, I looked at the empty side of the bed.
Riven’s scent was fading, buried beneath the damp, heavy smell of fever-dreams and grief. He had left me. He knew where Eamon was and what Varessia planned. He stood by while she killed my father, doing nothing to stop it.
Trust him.
I twisted the sheets in my fists. "Go to hell," I whispered to the empty room.
I pushed the covers off. My limbs were filled with lead. My magic—the force that had torn a building apart yesterday—had burned itself out, leaving only a cold, hollow silence in its wake.
I needed to shower. I needed to scrub the sensation of silver from my skin.
I swung my legs out of bed and stood up. The room spun. I caught myself on the dresser, breathing hard.
On the side table next to my bed lay the scattered debris Mira must have salvaged from my pockets: my keys and my phone. Beside them, sat the books Eamon had given me.
I tried to stand fully,but my body locked up.
Every muscle seized in the aftermath of the adrenaline crash. I ached everywhere—my ribs, my legs, the hollow space behind my eyes where the tears gathered.
But the worst pain was in my shoulder.
The scar throbbed—a dull, steady misery that felt like a toothache in the bone. It hadn’t hurt like this in days, not since Riven started training me.
Now, with him gone—with the distance stretching between us across the city—the mark screamed. It was lonely. It missed its shadow.
I hated it. I hated that my own skin mourned a traitor.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, keeping one hand on the wall to stay upright as the hallway stretched out, warped by dizziness.
I reached the shower and cranked the tap as far as it would go, not bothering to test the temperature.
Steam filled the small room instantly, billowing up in white clouds. It coated the mirror, erasing my reflection. Good. I couldn’t face the eyes that had watched him die.
