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Stone shelves ringed the banks, pocked with muddy puddles rimmed in pale mineral crusts that cracked under their boots. The air smelled metallic, almost sweet, like wet iron on the tongue.

A rush of cool air rose from the water, brushing Wren’s overheated skin, but it didn’t ease the dryness in her throat. If anything, it made her swallow harder.

Silas strode toward the pools, pace picking up with every step. Wren followed, unease trailing after her like a snagged thread she couldn’t tug smooth. Behind her, Tommick scampered to catch up, stick knocking against the stone as he ran. He veered toward the nearest puddle.

“No—” she started, but Silas was faster. He caught the boy’s shoulder gently, guiding him away.

“Those’ll be stagnant,” he said lightly. “You’ll want this one.” He led Tommick right to the basin’s edge.

The boy grinned and dropped to his knees, laying his stick beside him. His cupped hands dipped into the water. The first swallow softened his face with relief.

He turned back toward them and nodded eagerly, clear water dribbling down his chin, going back for another scoop. The second gulp was different. A shine drifted across his eyes. Tommick leaned lower immediately, his mouth at the surface. He guzzled water as if he might swallow the whole pool. Wren’s mark throbbed once—a warning pulse within her skin.

“Tommi,” Branwynn called, voice thin with worry. She started toward the pool, but the boy didn’t stop. “That’s enough, dear.”

He drank like he’d been hollowed out—gulping, shaking, water slicking down his arms and soaking his shirt. His small frame trembled as if fighting something holding him there. His fingertips dug into the stones at his feet, white with effort.

At the middle of the pool, a shadow shifted beneath the glassy surface. A ripple shivered outward and from the shadowed deep, a shape formed. Water rose into a tower, lengthening upward until tendrils split, forming liquid limbs.

A face composed itself from the shimmering liquid. Features gathered as the water drew together—a child’s shape pulled into being. Curls. Round cheeks. Small hands. Tommick’s own outline, but wrong. Eyes too bright. Smile too wide.

The mimic lifted one dripping hand. The real Tommick’s body jerked upright like a marionette until he was standing in the water lapping at the pool’s edge. His eyes were still glassy, unfocused, his lips slack.

“No!” Branwynn screamed. She didn’t hesitate, running toward the shore, but she was too far.

The mimic’s hand closed around Tommick’s. In one violent tug, they went under. Water burst upward in an arc, settling they’d never been there at all. The boy and the monster vanished into the darkness below. Everything froze.

“TOMMI!” Branwynn’s shriek echoed against the stones.

Wren lunged toward the bank—

Orzen was faster.

His sword and belt hit the gravel with a heavy thud. He dove into the water, driven by pure instinct and raw terror. His body hit the surface in a clean arc and the darkness swallowed him.

Branwynn threw herself toward the bank, skirts tangling at her feet, but Jessa seized her around the waist. “Orzen’s got him!” Jessa begged, dragging Branwynn back as she kicked and sobbed, still clawing toward the water. When she couldn’t get closer, she sagged in Jessa’s arms, face contorted in grief.

Silas’s gaze never left the water, his brows drawn in tight focus.

The water stilled—flat and indifferent—as if nothing had ever broken its surface at all. Like neither boy nor man had ever existed.

Wren’s breath hitched, a chill creeping up her spine with every second that passed, and she found herself praying to whatever gods would listen. Silence pressed in, but Branwynn’s sobs tore through it, jagged and helpless. Wren’s own heartbeat thundered like a kicked drum inside her ribs.

Then, light. A faint flicker deep below—orange and blooming—like flame trapped beneath fogged glass. The water exploded outward, spraying across the bank.

Orzen burst from the surface with a ragged gasp, one arm locked around Tommick’s limp body. Water streamed from them as he hauled them both ashore. He shoved Silas aside without looking, clearing space with a panicked, feral force.

“He’s not breathing!” Orzen’s voice cracked. His eyes snapped to Wren like she was the only thing that could keep the world from ending right there. “Wren—help!”

She dropped to her knees beside Orzen, heat still radiating beneath his skin from his weaving. Her trembling palms found Tommick’s chest. Spirit surged through her before she could even call for it. It slid inside him and met only darkness.

Not emptiness. Not death. Clogged threads. Swollen. Strangled. Black sludge gummed between them like wet tar, sticking, smothering, choking off the shimmer of his life.

Wren’s breath hitched. “No, no, no—come on—”

She pushed deeper, but Spirit snagged on the corruption—caught on it like shards of broken glass embedded in the threads. She could rip it free, tear it out, burn it clean—but it wouldn’t fill his lungs. It would only remove the damage.

“Jessa!” Her voice cracked, gaze searching the bank desperately for her friend. “I can clear it, but I need your Air weaving.”