The antique shop did not feel like a shop anymore.
It felt like a place that had survived a storm and was still holding its breath.
The air was thick and sharp, buzzing with leftover magic. It smelled like burned metal and rain that never touched the ground. The faint white mist of Havenwood curled along the corners of the room, slow and watchful, like it was listening.
Elara lay flat on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling she had looked at a hundred times before—but it felt unfamiliar now. Her body was heavy, like someone had filled her veins with stone. Every breath took effort.
Beside her hand lay the locket.
The Echo Stone was silent again. Cold. Empty.
Useless.
Her mind, however, was anything but quiet.
The King's voice still lingered, like a shadow behind her thoughts. Smooth. Patient. Knowing.Kaelen's presence—faint, distant—felt like a fading warmth she had once held in her palms.And beneath it all, the truth Morwen had revealed about her bloodline, her ancestors, and the choice they had made.
A choice that now lived inside her.
"Elara."
Morwen's voice reached her through the haze. The older woman knelt beside her, skirts pooling on the floor, her face tight with worry she was trying not to show. She pressed a cool, damp cloth to Elara's forehead.
"You did well, child," Morwen said softly. "Better than any of us hoped."
Elara let out a weak groan and turned her head. Even that small movement made her vision blur.
"I almost gave in," she whispered. Her throat felt raw, like she had been screaming for hours. "He was… inside my head. Not forcing. Persuading." She swallowed. "And the locket—it felt like it was tearing me apart."
Morwen's hand stilled for just a second.
"That is the Echo Stone," she said carefully. "It is not just an object. It is a living conduit. Now that it has awakened fully in you, the King can feel it. Feel you."
Elara laughed quietly, the sound hollow. "So I'm basically a beacon for an ancient nightmare."
Morwen didn't smile.
"That was always the price of the Thorne blood," she said. "Power, tied to temptation. The King has hunted your lineage for centuries. You were never invisible to him. Only… dormant."
"Well," Elara muttered, rubbing her temples, "lucky me."
Lyra crouched nearby, her golden eyes sharp as she examined the shattered remains of the grandfather clock. Wood splinters and broken gears littered the floor like bones.
"The breach is sealed," Lyra said. "For now. The King pulled back."
She turned to Elara, studying her with new respect.
"That wasn't beginner's luck. You stood your ground without training. Most people would have broken."
Elara managed a tired smile. "The terrifying vampire Guardian yelling in my head helped."
Her smile faded almost immediately.
"Is he… is Kaelen okay?"
The room went quiet.
Morwen shook her head slowly. "We don't know. The link was weak. But he is resilient. Vane blood always is."
Volkov cleared his throat, straightening his immaculate jacket as if the room hadn't nearly collapsed around him minutes ago.
"Resilient or not," he said, "he remains trapped. And the Echo Stone fragment within the clock is gone. Either destroyed… or taken."
Oberon, perched on a delicate chair that looked like it might collapse under him, sighed dramatically.
"A tragedy, truly," the Fae said. "That fragment amplified the barrier between realms. Without it, the King's whispers will travel farther. Stronger."
Lyra shot him a glare. "This isn't entertainment."
Oberon raised his hands. "Merely observation."
Elara pushed herself upright, her muscles protesting. She ignored the dizziness and sat cross-legged on the floor.
"So let me get this straight," she said. "We lost the artifact. The King knows who I am. Kaelen is still trapped. And now I'm officially on every evil radar in Havenwood."
"Yes," Volkov said calmly. "That is accurate."
She snorted. "Great. Fantastic. Love that for me."
Morwen watched her closely. "You're afraid."
Elara hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. I am."
She stared at the locket.
"He knew my doubts," she whispered. "My fears. He twisted them so easily. What if next time I can't stop him?"
Morwen placed a firm hand over Elara's.
"That," she said gently, "is where your real training begins. Magic is only half the battle. The King feeds on despair, on self-loathing. You must learn control—over your thoughts, your heart."
Volkov stiffened suddenly. His gaze snapped toward the shop's front windows.
"The wards shifted," he said. "Just slightly."
Lyra rose to her feet, teeth flashing. "The Collective."
"They didn't breach the defenses," Volkov continued. "But they're probing. Searching."
"For me," Elara said.
"Yes."
A low growl left Lyra's chest. "My pack will take the outer perimeter. Nothing gets close."
"And I will monitor the ley lines," Oberon added, unusually serious. "Though without the fragment, clarity will be… difficult."
Elara stood slowly, her legs unsteady but holding.
"So," she said, voice steady despite the fear curling in her gut, "we regroup. I train. We find a way to bring Kaelen back. And we stop the Collective before they wake the King fully."
Morwen smiled faintly. "You learn quickly."
Later, alone in her room, the world finally went quiet.
The house settled around her. The floor creaked softly. The mist pressed against the window like breath on glass.
Elara sat on her bed, the locket warm against her chest now—too warm.
She closed her eyes.
She tried to think of Kaelen. His voice. His presence. The way he felt steady even when everything else fell apart.
But another voice slid in smoothly.
You miss him.
Her eyes snapped open.
The room looked the same. Empty. Safe.
Her heart pounded.
You fear losing him more than death.
"No," she whispered.
The locket pulsed once.
And now I know his name.
The warmth turned sharp, burning against her skin.
Elara clutched the locket, breath shaking.
Outside, the mist thickened.
And somewhere, very far away, something smiled.
The warmth of the locket did not fade.
Elara sat frozen on the bed, fingers digging into the metal until it hurt. Her breath came uneven, shallow, like the air itself was thinning.
I know his name.
The King's voice did not echo this time.
It rested inside her head.
"No," she whispered again, louder now, as if volume could chase it away. "You don't get to touch him."
Silence answered her.
Too complete. Too calm.
Her heart pounded harder, and exhaustion finally dragged her down. She lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, eyes burning but refusing to close.
Don't sleep, she told herself. If I sleep, he'll follow.
But her body betrayed her.
The room dimmed. The edges softened. The mist outside the window pressed closer, seeping through cracks that weren't there. Her thoughts slowed, sinking like stones into deep water.
And then—
She was standing in the forest.
Havenwood's trees rose tall and close, their branches knitting together overhead. The air smelled damp and sweet, like rain that never fell. Pale light filtered through the leaves, wrong and directionless.
"Elara."
She turned.
Kaelen stood a few steps away.
He looked whole. Unchained. Untouched. His dark coat hung neatly from his shoulders, his expression calm, almost gentle.
Relief hit her so hard her knees weakened.
"Kaelen," she breathed, running toward him.
He didn't move.
Something about that stopped her.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
Her smile faltered. "I felt you. You're alive. I can get you out."
His eyes darkened. "This isn't where I am."
The forest shifted.
The trees bled into shadow, their trunks stretching and twisting until they became stone pillars slick with moisture. Cold crept into her bones.
"This is where he can reach you," Kaelen continued. "You need to wake up."
She shook her head. "No. I won't leave you again."
Pain flickered across his face—real pain this time.
"Elara," he said softly, urgently, "listen to me. He's learning how to wear my face."
The world cracked.
Kaelen stepped back, his shape blurring, stretching unnaturally. His shadow moved before he did.
"Elara," another voice echoed, layered over his.
The King stepped out of Kaelen's shadow like it had been waiting for him.
She screamed—
And woke up gasping.
Her room was dark. Silent.
The locket burned hot against her chest.
Tears slid down her temples, soaking into the pillow.
"He touched you," she whispered into the empty room. "I won't let him."
Far away—
Very far away—
Kaelen opened his eyes.
He hung suspended in a place without walls, bound by chains made of light and shadow. They wrapped around his wrists, his throat, his chest—tight enough to remind him they were there, loose enough to let him breathe.
Barely.
The realm around him pulsed like a living thing. Dark water stretched endlessly beneath his feet, reflecting nothing. Above him, fractured light flickered like a dying star.
He felt her.
That was the cruelest part.
Her fear brushed against his senses like a knife. Her resistance followed, sharp and bright.
"She's stronger than you think," Kaelen murmured.
Laughter rolled through the void.
"You say that like it matters," the King replied.
The chains tightened.
Kaelen clenched his jaw, pain flashing white behind his eyes.
"She will break," the King continued calmly. "All bloodlines do. And when she does, she will open the door you sealed."
Kaelen lifted his head, eyes burning. "You underestimate her."
The King stepped closer, his form shifting, never settling.
"I don't underestimate," he said. "I wait."
A pause.
"I visited her dreams."
Kaelen strained against the chains, fury surging. "Stay out of her mind."
"Or what?" the King asked pleasantly. "You will glare harder?"
The chains dug deeper.
"But I will admit," the King mused, "your presence complicates things. She anchors herself to you."
Kaelen went still.
"That can be… corrected."
The light around them dimmed.
The King smiled.
Back in Havenwood, dawn crept in quietly.
Elara sat at her window, knees drawn to her chest, eyes red but dry. She hadn't slept again. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him waiting.
The locket lay open in her palm.
Cold now.
Empty again.
But she knew better.
"He's not done," she whispered.
Outside, the mist pulled back just enough to reveal the forest.
And for a moment—just a moment—she thought she saw a figure standing between the trees.
Watching.
Waiting.
She closed the locket slowly.
And the mist moved closer.