The storm raged on, rain pounding us into the mountainside, lightning cracking like it was tearing the sky apart. I knelt in the mud, the mark on my chest pulsing, a faint but persistent reminder of her—my shadow, my twin, still alive somewhere beyond the shattered mirror. The dagger hung heavy at my hip, its hum quieter now but not silent, like a warning that refused to fade. The bond with Lucian burned—his heartbeat, my resolve, our shared defiance—but it couldn’t erase the image of her hand on his throat, her smile in my face, the city beyond the Veil calling me *home*.
Lucian pulled me to my feet, his hands steady despite the blood streaking his face, his silver eyes fierce. “We need to move,” he said, his voice rough over the wind. “This storm’s hers—she’s still playing games.”
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