Elara woke with the taste of smoke in her mouth.
Her body felt heavy, like she had been pulled apart and stitched back together with hands that didn't quite care about comfort. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was—or who she was supposed to be afraid of.
Then the locket burned warm against her skin.
She sucked in a sharp breath and pushed herself upright.
The back room of Whispers of Time looked like it had survived a small war. Books lay scattered across the floor, one of the shelves cracked clean down the middle. Wax dripped like frozen tears from half-melted candles. The air still hummed faintly, as if the magic hadn't finished speaking yet.
"You're awake," Morwen said.
Elara turned her head. Morwen sat on a stool nearby, watching her with an expression that was calm—but not relaxed.
"How long was I out?" Elara asked, her voice rough.
"Long enough for everyone to decide whether you're a miracle or a liability," Morwen replied.
Elara winced. "Let me guess. Mixed opinions."
Morwen huffed. "That's being generous."
Elara glanced around. Volkov leaned against the far wall, arms folded, eyes sharp and unreadable. Lyra stood near the window, restless energy rolling off her in waves. The Fae—Oberon and his companion—were seated far too comfortably for people who had nearly caused a magical explosion.
Elara's stomach tightened. "So. No one died?"
"Disappointing, I know," Oberon said lightly. "But no."
Lyra shot him a warning look. "Don't push her again."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Oberon replied, eyes glittering. "Not when she might push back."
Elara swallowed and forced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled, but she stayed upright.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," she said, meeting their gazes one by one. "But I won't apologize for it either."
Volkov's brow lifted slightly. "Interesting choice."
"I was provoked," Elara continued. "And scared. And yes—I reached for something I don't fully understand. But it worked."
Morwen nodded once. "It did."
Lyra crossed her arms. "You reached him."
Elara's heart stuttered. "You felt that?"
"Every wolf in Havenwood felt that," Lyra said grimly. "Like something snapped—and then reached back."
Silence settled again.
Volkov pushed away from the wall. "The implications are… significant."
"Say it," Elara said.
Volkov's gaze sharpened. "If you can touch Kaelen Vane across realms, then the breach isn't sealed. It's suppressed."
Hope flared so fast it almost hurt.
"So we can open it," Elara whispered.
"Yes," Morwen said. "But not without cost."
Elara looked at her. "What kind of cost?"
Morwen didn't answer right away.
Oberon did.
"Yours," he said pleasantly.
Elara's jaw tightened. "Of course."
The Fae leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. "Every crossing demands balance. Energy. Sacrifice. The portal will take something precious to you."
Lyra growled softly. "You always talk like it's a game."
Oberon smiled. "It's not a game. It's a bargain."
Elara exhaled slowly. Kaelen's face flashed in her mind. His fingers stopping just short of hers.
"What kind of sacrifice?" she asked quietly.
Morwen's voice was gentle but firm. "That depends on how you open the path. Memory. Time. Safety. Anchors."
Elara frowned. "Anchors?"
"Things that keep you human," Morwen said. "Things that tie you to this world."
The locket pulsed.
Hard.
Elara flinched, clutching at it. Her breath caught as warmth spread through her chest—and then—
Darkness folded in.
She stood at the edge of the silver forest again.
This time, Kaelen was already there.
"Elara," he said, relief and tension colliding in his voice. "You shouldn't be doing this."
She stepped closer. "I don't have a choice."
"You always have a choice," he snapped. "You're burning yourself to reach me."
"Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same," she shot back.
He went still.
Then he laughed softly. "You're infuriating."
"I've been told."
They stood too close. Close enough that the air between them felt charged, stretched thin.
"You touched me," he said quietly. "Last time."
"I know."
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Just for a second.
"I almost broke the boundary," he admitted. "If I had—"
"—you'd have crossed," she finished. "And we'd both be in trouble."
His jaw tightened. "I don't care."
Her heart ached. "I do."
She reached up, hesitating—then pressed her palm to his chest.
This time, it didn't pass through.
His breath hitched sharply.
"Elara…"
"I'm going to bring you back," she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "But if it costs me something—"
"Don't," he said fiercely. "Don't trade yourself for me."
She smiled sadly. "You don't get to decide that."
The forest shuddered.
Cracks of darkness crept along the ground.
"Elara!" Kaelen grabbed her wrists. "Something's wrong."
"I know," she whispered. "I can feel it too."
Something ancient stirred beneath them.
Something that had noticed.
Elara woke screaming.
Morwen caught her shoulders, grounding her instantly.
"The King," Elara gasped. "He felt us."
The room went cold.
Volkov swore under his breath. "Then we're out of time."
Lyra nodded grimly. "The Collective will move tonight."
Oberon's smile was gone now. "And so must we."
Elara clutched the locket, fear and determination burning together in her chest.
"Then teach me," she said. "Whatever it costs."
Morwen met her gaze. "Be careful what you offer, child."
Outside, the mist thickened.
And far away, Kaelen Vane braced himself—because the world was about to break open.
The air inside the antique shop vibrated with restrained power.
It wasn't loud. It didn't crack or spark. It pressed—heavy and watchful—like the room itself was listening.
Outside, Havenwood's mist drifted lazily past the windows, deceptively calm. Inside, ancient grudges and fragile alliances occupied every inch of space.
Lord Volkov lounged against a carved Victorian settee, long fingers steepled, his expression polished into aristocratic detachment. Lyra paced near the back wall, unable—or unwilling—to stay still. Oberon, the Fae, perched sideways on a writing desk as if the tension amused him.
Elara stood beside Morwen, shoulders squared, the locket resting solidly in her palm.
It felt heavier than before.
"So," Volkov said at last, his voice smooth, aged like expensive liquor. "Let us confirm our understanding before we descend into chaos. The girl's power is bound to the locket. The locket is bound to the King's prison. And the King is no longer sleeping as deeply as it once did."
His gaze flicked to Morwen. "And your solution, it seems, is to train an untested mortal to wield a force that even Kaelen Vane himself struggled to restrain."
Morwen didn't flinch. "Elara Thorne is not untested. She is untrained."
Lyra stopped pacing. Her golden eyes flashed. "And she already did what Kaelen couldn't—or wouldn't—when the Drakon hound crossed the veil. That wasn't luck."
Volkov lifted a single finger, silencing her with ease. "A single eruption of uncontrolled power does not equal capability. It proves volatility." His gaze slid back to Elara. "And volatility gets towns destroyed."
Elara's jaw tightened.
Dangerous, he had called her.Liability.
Before she could speak, Morwen stepped forward, her presence suddenly sharper—older.
"Elara carries Thorne blood. Direct lineage. Her bond with Havenwood's ley lines is instinctive, not borrowed. Yes, it is raw. But raw magic can be shaped."
"By whom?" Oberon chimed in, voice light but eyes sharp. "You, Morwen? Your talents lie in salves and charms, not the refinement of soul-deep power."
Lyra bared her teeth in a grin. "And your talents usually involve glitter, illusions, and catastrophic flirtation."
Oberon sighed, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. "Cruelty, Lyra. Pure cruelty." Then his gaze slid to Elara, assessing. "Still… there is something delightfully unbalanced about her magic. Very Thorne. Very old."
Elara exhaled slowly and stepped forward.
"We can argue bloodlines and egos all night," she said evenly, "or we can focus on stopping the Collective and getting Kaelen back. Because unless someone has a better idea, that's the goal."
Silence followed.
Even Volkov looked at her differently now—curiosity slipping through the cracks of his composure.
"She's right," Lyra said finally. "Posturing won't help. What do we know about reopening a breach?"
Morwen folded her hands. "Ancient texts speak of convergence rituals—points where ley lines intersect strongly enough to thin the barrier between realms. Artifacts amplify the effect."
"And mistakes destroy cities," Volkov added coolly. "Control is not optional."
Elara met his gaze without blinking. "Then I'll learn control."
The locket pulsed once, warm and steady.
Morwen nodded. "Grounding is only the beginning."
Volkov straightened. "While she trains, the rest of us must delay the inevitable. The Collective has been circling the standing stones. They're searching for a weak point."
"They're after the King," Elara said quietly.
All eyes turned to her.
"Not just the locket. Kaelen said it was tied to the prison."
Oberon's playful air vanished. "The Sleeping King," he murmured. "An entity older than Havenwood itself."
"A corruption," Morwen said softly. "If awakened fully, it would not rule. It would consume."
Lyra's fists clenched. "So the Collective thinks they can control it."
"They always do," Volkov replied. "And they are always wrong."
Elara's focus sharpened. "Then what about Kaelen? Is there a way to reach him without tearing the realms apart?"
Morwen hesitated.
That hesitation felt like a blade.
"There are… legends," she said at last. "Of an artifact capable of acting as a tether. A bridge between realms. But it was lost long ago."
"Lost where?" Elara asked.
Morwen met her gaze. "Possibly fragmented. Possibly scattered across realms. Possibly within the same pocket dimension where Kaelen is imprisoned."
Elara dragged a hand down her face. "So we're looking for a magical walkie-talkie across dimensions."
Lyra snorted despite herself. "I've had worse missions."
Volkov exhaled slowly. "This alliance is fragile. The risks are extreme."
Elara looked around the room—at the ancient witch, the wolf-shifter, the immortal aristocrat, the dangerous Fae.
"At least we're honest about the odds," she said. "Which means failure isn't an option."
Her fingers closed around the locket.
"For Havenwood," she added quietly. "And for Kaelen."
Something passed between her and Morwen—understanding, fear, resolve.
Outside, the mist thickened.
And far away, beyond fractured realms and ancient prisons, Kaelen Vane waited—unaware that the game had already begun to change, and that the woman bound to his fate was stepping deeper into a war that would demand far more than courage.