The last vestiges of daylight had long bled from the sky, leaving the city clad in the deep velvet of a moonless night. A familiar knot of anticipation and fear coiled in my gut. I ran a hand down the front of my dark tunic, the rough-spun fabric a poor disguise for the hammering of my heart. The heavy cloak came next, its weight a comforting burden on my shoulders. I fastened the silver clasp at my throat, the cold metal a stark contrast to my feverish skin.

Silence was my ally tonight, my only shield. I knelt by my trunk, my fingers ghosting over rows of boots, seeking the pair with the softest, most worn leather soles. I found a pair i liked. I pulled them on, lacing them with practiced efficiency until they were a second skin, snug against my calves.

I rose and faced my reflection in the polished silver of the mirror. A shadow stared back, all dark fabrics and sharp angles. All that remained was my hair, a wild mane that threatened betrayal. I gathered the thick mass of it, twisting it into a high, severe ponytail that pulled at my temples. A stranger’s face, ready for the dark.

A flicker of movement from the window drew my eye. Below, the changing of the guard, their lanterns passing from one set of hands to the next like fleeting spirits in the courtyard. Perfect. 

The air didn’t just grow thick; it snapped. An invisible pressure pressed in on me, and the sharp, clean scent of ozone—the smell of a world tearing open—filled my lungs. The fear that had been a low thrum in my blood spiked into pure panic. A swirling vortex of impossible white and blinding gold light unraveled the very fabric of my room. Then, as quickly as it came, the terror vanished, replaced by a wave of recognition so profound it stole my breath. I knew that mana signature. It was etched onto my soul.

Cassius stepped through the rift as it stitched itself closed behind him, leaving only silence and the lingering scent of ozone. His long, black hair, a river of ink in the gloom, cascaded over his shoulders. His eyes, catching the faint starlight from my window, were the color of the sea. For a fleeting moment, before his mask of effortless indolence settled back into place, I saw a flicker of profound relief in his gaze.

A slow, one-sided smile touched his lips, a lazy curve that did little to hide the intensity in his eyes. “Good evening, Thalia.”

My heart, which had just begun to slow, resumed its frantic pace. “I wasn’t expecting you,” I managed, my voice thin.

“No,” he agreed, his gaze softening as it swept over me. “But time has a way of stretching when you’re not in it. I found I was… unpleasantly distracted.”

I leaned back against the heavy oak desk, feigning a casualness I was nowhere near feeling. “How are things in Aelindoria?”

“Stable,” he said, the sound of his voice rumbling through the quiet room. “The trainees are restless, eager for a fight. New steel is being forged, though the elven smiths complain about the pace…” He trailed off, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. “Perfection cannot be rushed, or so they tell me. Daily.”

That warm, familiar sound melted the tension that had been locked in my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. A genuine smile finally broke through my composure. “I’m glad to hear it.” My smile wavered. “And… my uncle?”

Cassius’s expression sobered. “Sylvan is well. His spirits seem higher. He’s channeled his energy into the training yard.”

My eyebrows shot up. “He’s training?”

“He is,” Cassius confirmed, his voice holding a note of respect. “He is a truly formidable swordsman.” He closed the distance between us in two silent strides. He lifted a hand, his fingers cool as they brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “And you?” he asked, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. “How are you, Thalia?”

I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second to savor the contact, the sheer reality of him. “Better,” I whispered. “Now that you’re here.”

For a moment, that was enough. The dungeons, the disappearances, the gnawing suspicion—it all faded into the background, eclipsed by his presence. But the moment was fragile. Cassius started to speak, then his gaze dropped from my face, catching on my dark cloak and soft-soled boots. The warmth in his eyes didn’t vanish—it froze. The gentle affection was instantly replaced by a sharp, focused intensity, the kind a man gets when he sees a cliff edge crumble under someone he loves.

His voice lost all its warmth, becoming tight and strained with an emotion I couldn’t immediately name. “Thalia. Where are you going?”

I straightened, startled by the sudden shift. “To the dungeons.”

His jaw tightened. “Explain.” The word was not a command, but a taut plea for understanding.

“It started as a whisper in the back of my mind,” I said, my voice steady despite the sudden tension. “All the disappearances. Where could they take so many people? Then I remembered the creature we fought—the way it was shielded by magic. Someone is controlling them. Someone with power and influence. The only one that fits is Blair. I overheard her today, mentioning the under ground to a servant.”

He listened without interruption, his expression grim. When I finished, he took a step closer, his eyes scanning me as if checking for injuries I didn’t yet have. “And your plan for entry?”

“Plan A was invisibility,” I admitted. “Plan B is pure stealth, and a heavy purse for any guards who prove… inconvenient.”

He shook his head, the motion sharp. “No bribes, Thalia.” His tone wasn’t condescending, but absolute—the voice of a commander eliminating a fatal flaw in a strategy. “A bribed guard is an unpredictable variable. A future witness. It’s too much risk.”

“So, invisibility,” I agreed, a surge of relief at his decisive clarity.

“Yes.” He gave a curt nod, though his eyes never left my face. “You were going alone?”

“I was. Amelia left for the night, and Kaelen is gone again. Tonight felt like the only chance.”

His eyes locked on mine, and in their depths, I finally recognized the emotion that had made his voice so strained: it was fear. Not for himself, but for me. The silence stretched between us, thick with his unspoken terror.

“You are not going alone,” he said finally. It wasn’t an order or a suggestion. It was a statement of undeniable fact, a promise.

The relief that washed over me was so potent it almost buckled my knees. “I was hoping you’d say that,” I breathed. “I’ve missed this. Us.”

A ghost of a smile returned to his lips, erasing the harsh lines of worry. He reached out, gently tucking the strand of hair behind my ear again, his knuckles a warm caress against my skin. “As have I,” he murmured. “This short time apart has felt like an age.”

“It really has,” I whispered.

A part of me wanted to stay in that moment forever. But the night was wasting away. Steeling myself, I pushed away from the desk.

“Shall I cast the spell,” Cassius asked, his tone now that of a partner, “or do you wish to try?”

“I’ll do it,” I said, determination flaring within me. I reached inward, drawing on my power, feeling it well up from my core. A shimmering veil of deep, amethyst-colored mana wreathed around us both.

His voice was laced with approval. “Your mana has grown stronger.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was once the color of pale lavender,” he explained. “This is the color of true power, Thalia. Rich and deep.” He paused. “Now, focus. Don’t just hide us. Command the mana. Will the light to bend around us until we are nothing but empty air.”

I took a deep, steadying breath and closed my eyes, visualizing the shimmering amethyst curtain becoming as clear and flawless as glass. I pushed my will into the spell, a silent, forceful command. When I opened my eyes, the world was the same, but the vibrant purple glow was gone. I couldn’t see Cassius, though he stood only an arm’s length away. I could only feel him—a steady, reassuring thrum of power next to my own. It had worked.

His voice was a murmur from the empty air beside me, intimate and thrilling. “Ready?”