Tyla’s POV
The first real fracture comes without spectacle.
No silver light. No alarms. No sudden hush like the world drawing breath before a scream.
Just a rumor.
It reaches me in fragments—whispers threaded through the west quarter, a healer’s hesitation, an anchor who avoids my eyes. By the time it reaches the palace, it has already hardened into something heavier than doubt.
People are saying the Veil is weakening again.
Not surging. Not failing.
Slipping.
I stand at the window overlooking the lower terraces, hands wrapped around a cup that’s long gone cold, and listen to the city breathe. It sounds the same as it always has. Uneven. Alive. Stubborn.
Arthur finds me there.
He doesn’t speak at first. He never does when I’m quiet like this. He just steps close enough that I can
