The dust I brushed from my clothes was a pointless delay. “We can’t wait,” I insisted, my eyes locked on the fading pinprick of light ahead. “We have to follow it.”

Cassius was already in motion, melting into a faint path that snaked through the undergrowth. He drew the hood of his cape over his head, a shadow preparing to hunt shadows. Every grasping branch, every rustle in the dark, sent a tremor through me. “I hope,” he murmured, his voice a low counterpoint to the whisper of unseen things around us, “that we have seen the last of tonight’s creatures.”

A sliver of moonlight cut through the canopy, illuminating the fine hairs on my arm. “Cassius,” I said, my voice hushed. “The moon is full.” The words of the man from the tavern slithered back into my thoughts. “I wonder if it’s true what he said… that she only comes out on a full moon.”

His eyes, sharp even in the gloom, found mine. “It could be.”

The path ended without warning, spilling us out at the foot of a cliff. A steep, flattened trail cut a sharp line through the tall, wild grass that whipped at our legs. The wind seemed to want to tear the words from my lips. “Do you really think she cursed the town?”

“I can’t be certain,” he replied grimly, his gaze scanning the rock face above. “But if she did, she’s a threat we can’t afford to underestimate. Our guard stays up.”

“It has to,” I conceded, the simple truth of it a cold weight in my stomach.

As we began the ascent, my thoughts circled back to the elf. If she was the monster they claimed, what could we possibly offer to sway her? I dismissed the thought with a shake of my head. She would help us. We just had to find her price.

My gaze settled on Cassius’s silhouette against the night sky. A fierce, unfamiliar heat bloomed in my chest—a protectiveness that startled me. For his sake, I would do almost anything, so long as no innocent paid the cost. When had he become this important to me?

“Cassius,” I said, my voice softer than I intended.

“Yes, Thalia?”

I scrambled to walk alongside him, the loose shale crunching under my boots. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before I found the courage to ask, “What were you going to say earlier? In the woods.”

His breath hitched. The muscles in his jaw corded, and his gaze fixed on a treacherous root in the path ahead as if it were the most important thing in the world. “It was nothing.”

The lie was a physical thing, a wall of ice erected between us. Disappointment, sharp and cold, settled in my chest. I thought we were closer than this. He’s not ready, I told myself, a flimsy excuse to soothe the sting. A chasm of silence opened between us, heavy and awkward. I had to fill it.

“Have you remembered her name?” I asked, my tone too bright. “The elf’s.”

“No,” he said, the single word tight with frustration. “I’ve tried. It’s been too long… I’m not sure I would even recognize her. A piece of a memory did surface, though. A story.”

“A story?” My interest piqued. I pushed aside a blade of grass that stroked my cheek. “Tell me.”

“I remember sitting on my mother’s lap during a council meeting. I was too young to understand the politics, but not too young to feel the tension. One of the elders suggested they seek out ‘the banished one’.”

“I imagine that went over well.”

“It caused an absolute uproar,” he confirmed, a flicker of old astonishment in his voice. “I’d never heard my father yell before that day. He was the calm in every storm. To hear him shout…” He trailed off, lost in the memory.

“Why?” I pressed. “Why did they want to find her?”

A heavy pause settled between his steps. “Her husband had died,” he said, his voice dropping low. “The banished elf… she was seeking the knowledge of necromancy. To bring him back. It is our highest taboo. A crime against the laws of nature itself.”

The world tilted. “We elves do not defile the laws of nature,” Cassius said. The blood drained from my face. I hugged myself against a sudden, bone-deep chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

“But Cassius…” I whispered, the words hollow on my tongue. “I’m back.”

He stopped so abruptly I nearly collided with him. He flinched as if I’d struck him. “Thalia, that’s different—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” I cut in, my voice sharp with pain. I couldn’t bear to hear him say it. “It isn’t different, is it? My mother defied fate to bring me back. It’s the same thing.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He simply stared, his certainty shattered.

I broke his gaze first, the shame too much to hold. “We need to keep moving.” I pushed past him, my shoulder brushing against him, his feet still seemingly rooted to the path.

“Thalia,” he called, his voice strained. He took a step, reaching. “There must be more to the story. My memory is… fragmented.”

His attempt at comfort felt like a handful of dust. Desperate to escape the prison of my own thoughts, I turned my attention to the sea. From this height, the violent crash of waves became a lonesome, melancholy song that pulled at something deep inside me. The air, thick with the perfume of salt, filled my lungs. The moon had laid a path of shattered silver across the churning black water.

I glanced back toward the spot where the flame had danced. The light was gone. “Cassius,” I said, a fresh wave of urgency rising. “The light.”

“It’s alright,” he reassured me, his voice steady again, a balm on my frayed nerves. “We’re almost there. We’ll see what’s at the top.”

We climbed the rest of the way in silence, my mind racing. What could I say to this woman? What could I possibly offer? My hand instinctively went to the bracelet on my wrist. I would give it to her in a heartbeat if she could help Cassius. But the tavern keeper’s empty promises soured the thought. Trust was a currency I couldn’t afford to spend lightly.

The grass gave way to a small, bare patch of earth. At the peak of the cliff, crouched against the stars, sat a small, dark cottage. It seemed to drink the moonlight, leaving nothing but a stark silhouette. A crooked fence suggested a garden. The air here was unnervingly still.

“So,” I whispered, “do we knock?”

Stepping closer, a strange, sharp perfume drifted from the garden—a mix of salt and soil, of sweet decay and something medicinal. Taking a breath that did nothing to calm my racing heart, I raised a fist and knocked. The sound was heavy, final, absorbed by the oppressive silence.

We waited. Nothing. The silence itself felt like an answer.

I looked back at Cassius, doubt chilling my skin. “Maybe she’s not here.”

“I doubt that,” he breathed, his voice a low thrum of certainty.

My eyes shot back to the cottage. As if summoned by his words, a single, defiant flame flickered to life in a second-floor window. A tiny, dancing star where only darkness had been. Then, just as quickly, it vanished.

I strained my ears, and I heard it. The soft, deliberate sound of footsteps from within, descending. A warm, gentle glow began to spill from the window beside the door, staining the darkness the color of honey. With every unhurried footfall, my own heart hammered against my ribs.

The door groaned, protesting as it swung slowly inward.

A figure stood silhouetted in the warm light. My breath caught in my throat. My carefully prepared words, my desperate bargains, all scattered like ash on the wind.