The back room of Whispers of Time had never felt so exposed.
Elara stood near the center, arms folded tight across her chest, as if that might keep her insides from spilling out. The room smelled like dried herbs and old paper, but underneath it was something sharper—ozone, maybe. Or fear.
She stopped pacing only because Morwen finally sighed.
"If you wear a groove into my floor, I'll make you fix it," Morwen said calmly, still seated, still polishing the same crystal she'd been polishing for ten minutes.
Elara shot her a look. "You're not the one about to be judged by vampires and whatever else you invited."
Morwen didn't look up. "I didn't invite them. I informed them."
"That's worse."
Morwen smiled faintly. "Yes."
Elara's fingers brushed the locket at her throat. It was warm. Not burning—but alert. Like it knew what was coming.
"Are we sure this is necessary?" Elara asked quietly. "Kaelen said most of them avoid each other unless forced."
"They avoid responsibility," Morwen corrected. "This forces it."
Before Elara could reply, a sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Her heart jumped straight into her throat.
Morwen stood, suddenly all business. "Remember—stand your ground. They'll test you. Don't shrink."
"I don't plan to," Elara muttered. "I just plan to survive."
Morwen opened the door.
Cold air rushed in, followed by a presence that sucked the warmth out of the room.
The vampire stepped inside like he owned the space between seconds.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. His eyes—blue-gray and distant—flicked once around the room before settling on Elara.
Lord Volkov.
"Well," he said mildly. "So the rumors have teeth."
Elara straightened. "And you must be the charm everyone warned me about."
One corner of Volkov's mouth lifted. "Sharp tongue. Promising."
Morwen cleared her throat. "Volkov. Try civility."
"I am being civil," he replied smoothly. "I didn't insult her."
"Yet," Elara said.
Volkov laughed softly. "Definitely promising."
Before the tension could settle, the air shifted again—this time warmer, heavier.
Lyra walked in like she expected the room to move for her.
Her golden eyes locked onto Elara instantly, sharp and assessing. She circled once, slow.
"Huh," Lyra said. "You smell human."
Elara raised a brow. "You smell like wet forest."
Lyra barked a laugh. "I like her."
Volkov sighed. "You like conflict."
"Same thing."
Elara opened her mouth to respond, but reality bent.
Light shimmered near the back wall, folding in on itself.
Two figures stepped through as if the air were fabric.
The Fae.
Elara's breath caught despite herself.
They were unsettling in their beauty—too symmetrical, too aware. One of them, a man with silver hair threaded with leaves, smiled directly at her.
Oberon.
"Well," he said lightly, eyes gleaming. "She's brighter than expected."
The locket pulsed.
Elara's spine stiffened. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Whatever you're doing," she said, voice firm. "Stop."
Oberon tilted his head, amused. "Oh, she does have teeth."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Careful, Fae. You're winding her up."
"That's the point."
Morwen stepped forward. "Enough. We're here because the Collective is moving."
The mood shifted immediately.
Volkov's expression sharpened. "Near the standing stones?"
"Yes," Morwen said. "And the lighthouse."
Lyra swore under her breath. "That's too close."
Elara swallowed and forced herself to speak. "They ambushed Kaelen. He's trapped."
Silence slammed into the room.
Volkov's eyes flicked to her sharply. "Kaelen Vane?"
"Yes."
"That's not possible."
"It is," Elara said, anger bleeding through her fear. "I watched it happen."
She told them everything—fast but clear. The pocket dimension. The creature. The portal collapsing.
She didn't mention how Kaelen had looked at her before pushing her away.
She didn't need to.
Oberon studied her closely. "You're bound to him."
Elara bristled. "I didn't ask for that."
"No one ever does," Oberon said. "But he feels you. Even now."
The locket flared.
Pain shot through Elara's chest, sudden and sharp. She gasped, stumbling back.
"Elara!" Morwen snapped.
The power surged before she could stop it.
The candles flickered violently. The air vibrated.
Lyra shifted instinctively, claws half-formed. Volkov stepped back, eyes narrowed.
Oberon smiled—until the pressure slammed outward.
The room shuddered.
Elara cried out as the floor beneath her feet seemed to drop away—
She stood in silver light.
The forest breathed around her.
"Elara."
She turned.
Kaelen stood there, solid and unreal all at once. His eyes searched her face like he was counting her bones.
"You're pushing too hard," he said quietly.
"I had to," she whispered. "They don't listen unless you scare them."
His mouth twitched. "You scared me."
She laughed weakly. "Sorry."
He reached for her—and stopped just short.
Their fingers brushed.
Heat. Real heat.
His breath caught. "You're closer."
"I'm trying to bring you back."
"I know," he said softly. "Just don't lose yourself."
The forest cracked—
Elara screamed as she was dragged back into her body.
Morwen caught her before she hit the floor.
The room was wrecked—books scattered, candles blown out.
Everyone stared at her.
Volkov broke the silence. "Well."
Lyra nodded slowly. "She's dangerous."
Oberon looked delighted. "She touched him."
Morwen's voice was steady. "The bond is active."
Elara pushed herself upright, heart pounding. "So it's possible."
"Yes," Morwen said. "But it will cost you."
A low rumble rolled through the walls.
The standing stones answered.
Far away, something ancient inhaled.
And Kaelen Vane felt it—the pull home.