The moment Amelia’s shadow fell across the threshold, Cassius swung his legs off the bed, his intent to leave as clear as the polished marble underfoot.

“Stay,” I commanded, my voice quiet but firm enough to catch his gaze. “You’re part of this now. You need to hear it.”

His eyes flickered to Amelia before locking back onto mine. A slow, deliberate nod was his only answer. He settled back on the bed, a silent compromise. He was here to stay.

Amelia crossed the room with purpose, the legs of her usual chair issuing a sharp, deliberate scrape against the floor as she dragged it from my desk. She positioned it directly before us. The rustle of her dress was the only sound as she sat, her posture immaculate, her presence filling the space between us.

“Tell me about Lyra,” I prompted, leaning forward until my own feet dangled above the floor, a child waiting for a story.

“She’s made her home in Riverwood,” Amelia began, her tone all business. “A peculiar combination of a blacksmith’s forge and an alchemist’s study. The clang of the hammer and the bitter scent of reagents in one place. She even imbues her weapons with her own preparations.”

“An artist of war,” I murmured, a flicker of admiration cutting through my focus. “To fuse alchemy and smithing requires a reservoir of mana most mages couldn’t fathom.”

Amelia affirmed this with a sharp nod. “She also moves like a ghost. Never stays in one place for long. It’s clear she’s running, though the ‘what’ remains a mystery.” She paused, her brow knitting. “This is the longest she has remained anywhere.”

“And why there? Why now?” I asked.

“My best guess?” Amelia’s eyes were distant. “Whatever she’s running from simply hasn’t found her yet.”

“Has she made connections? Friends? Lovers?”

“Her client list is more notable than her companions,” Amelia continued, a walking archive, methodical and unshakable.

“She frequently accepts commissions from a renowned healer named Adler, and she just completed a significant piece for Duke Noctis Theonor, Riverwood’s military commander.”

The name landed with weight. “A healer and a warrior,” I mused. “Is there any record of her being a mage? Any indication of how she channels her power?”

Amelia’s professional mask slipped, just for a moment, replaced by a flicker of something grave, something ancient. She chose her next words with precision. “She isn’t a mage, Thalia. She is, however, one of the three coin holders.”

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing in on us. “Coin holders?” I echoed, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

“Three individuals prophesied to unite and prevent the return of K’tthar. A seer forged the coins in an age long past, specifically for this era.”

Cassius, a statue until now, finally broke his silence. “K’tthar has been sealed for centuries,” he said, his voice rough with disbelief. “That seal was woven with magic beyond mortal comprehension. Who would even try to undo it?”

A ghost of a voice slithered through my memory, a phantom whisper promising oblivion. A cold dread, familiar as my own heartbeat, settled in my stomach. “My father,” I answered, the words tasting like poison. “The king. And his advisor, Blair.”

“Impossible,” Cassius argued, shaking his head. “No human, not even an elf, could unravel those wards.”

“It’s not impossible,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, the memory of my own death a raw, impassable chasm in my mind. “In my last life… they succeeded.” I forced myself to look away from his confusion, back to Amelia, clinging to the mission. “Who are the others? The other coin holders?”

She leaned forward, her expression a stark portrait of gravity. “The second is Adrix, a powerful mage who co-manages the information guild in Riverwood with Duke Noctis. The third is a young man named Finnian. He’s a cartographer, a reader of ancient tongues. There is a power in him, but it sleeps.”

“So they’re all in Riverwood,” I pieced together, my mind racing. “Adrix works with the Duke. Finnian works for the Duke. But Lyra… Lyra is on the outside.”

“Their fates are meant to be linked,” Amelia affirmed. “Your task is to be the hand that guides them together.”

“A business relationship,” Cassius suggested suddenly, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Offer Duke Noctis a contract so lucrative he can’t ignore it. Build trust through commerce.”

A slow smile stretched across my face. It was brilliant. A wedge, driven by coin and craft, to get close without raising suspicion. “But I can’t reveal myself. We’ll need a proxy. A discreet middleman.”

“I will handle it,” Amelia stated. She then added, a glint in her eye, “And Thalia? While you’re at the library, I suggest you research Pillard Forest.”

A knowing smile touched my own lips. Classic Amelia. A breadcrumb offered, a path illuminated just enough, sharing only what fate would permit. Her gaze flickered to Cassius, then settled on me, the sharpness in her eyes softening into deep-seated concern.

“Thalia,” she said, her voice lowering, becoming achingly human. “You are on the right path. You must trust your instincts. Act when they guide you, and things will fall into place. Even so…” She paused. “I worry. How are you, truly?”

I let the sincerity of her question settle over me. “I’m okay,” I answered, the conviction a new, solid thing inside me. “Truly. I understand now. Everything happens for a reason. I have you,” I met her gaze, “and now,” my eyes drifted to Cassius, a surprising warmth spreading through my chest, “I have him. I’m not alone anymore.”

She gave a slow, searching nod, weighing my words.

“And you, Amelia?” I asked gently. “How are you?”

Her shoulders gave a nearly imperceptible flinch. Her expression hardened into a brittle mask of indifference. “I’m fine.”

“No,” I countered softly. “You’re not. I know you.”

Her gaze fell to her lap, where her hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles were white peaks.

“Please,” I whispered.

“I am doing… as well as can be expected,” she began, her voice cracking. “I have faith. But the burden of watching the darkness gather on the horizon… it’s heavy.” Her voice dropped, frayed with unshed tears. “I saw you die, Thalia. The Fates made me a spectator to your murder, forbidden to intervene. Sometimes I wish…” She trailed off, unable to finish. “I just wish I didn’t have to carry it all alone.”

As the first tear traced a path through her composure, Cassius met my eyes. In his gaze was a profound understanding. He rose without a sound, a shadow detaching from the wall, and retreated through the adjoining door. He looked back over his shoulder, giving me a soft, compassionate smile. Then, his presence faded as quietly as it had appeared.

I slipped off the bed and moved behind her chair. Wrapping my arms around her, I rested my chin on her shoulder. She immediately seized my forearms, her grip not one of comfort, but of a drowning woman clinging on for help. A shuddering sob broke from her chest, followed by another, each a small, heart-wrenching gasp.

We remained that way for a long time, the silence broken only by the sound of her grief. There is nothing more I can do, I thought, a wave of helplessness washing over me, except this. Except be here.

Gradually, the storm subsided. The desperate grip on my arms loosened. I slowly released my embrace and knelt beside her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice still trembling. A fragile calm had settled over her, like the quiet after a hurricane. “I… didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“Take the rest of the day,” I insisted gently. 

She considered this. “I will rest soon. But first, the guild. We can’t afford delays.” She paused, her expression becoming serious again, her duty reasserting itself. “There is one more thing.” Her words trailed off as her gaze flickered to the nightstand, where my old, broken dagger once sat, lingering for a fraction of a second. Her eyes met mine again, conveying a silent, unnerving warning. “I hope you find what you’re looking for at the library,” she said. “Just…be careful. Some doors in the library open both ways. And not all of them close behind you.”