L I R A 

The chapel doors groan like they know I don’t belong here.
It’s after curfew, the halls empty, but the pull is stronger tonight. A hum under my skin, faint but steady, tugging me up the staircase that winds toward the choir loft. Every step crunches in chalk dust, thin and white like the place has been abandoned for years instead of hours.

The hymnals stacked on the pews below look wrong too. Pages curling, black notes smudged until they bleed into frost stains. It feels less like a church and more like the bell stretched its shadow inside.

I should leave. Ezra would tell me not to wander alone. But Ezra isn’t here, and I can’t stand waiting for answers while the bell whispers like it already knows mine.

The loft is colder than the stairwell. My breath shows in little clouds, drifting upward into rafters so dark I can’t see where they end. A single stained-glass window glows faintly, the moonlight turning the saints into silhouettes. Their faces are blurred, like someone erased them.

I press a hand to the railing, steadying myself. The hum in my chest sharpens. Toll’s close. I can feel it.

And I’m not alone.

He’s here.

Callen leans against the far pillar, hood down this time, hair damp like he just stepped out of rain that doesn’t exist. His eyes catch the colored light, storm-gray turned gold at the edges. He doesn’t look surprised to see me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly.

I cross my arms, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Neither should you.”

His mouth tips, the smallest curve. Not a smile. A warning.

“The toll’s coming,” he says. “You don’t want to be this close when it does.”

The loft creaks as I cross the space, my sneakers scattering chalk dust into the air. Callen doesn’t move. He watches me like I’m a decision he already knows I’ll make.

“You should go,” he says again, voice low but steady. “The closer it gets, the more it takes.”

“And you’re still here,” I counter.

His eyes narrow slightly, like I’ve said something I shouldn’t. “I don’t have a choice.”

There’s something in his tone that makes the air feel heavier. Bound, pulled, tethered. I want to ask what he means, but the hum under my skin is louder now, threading into the silence between us.

“I need answers,” I say instead. “Not more warnings.”

He exhales, shaking his head like I’ve missed the point entirely. “Answers won’t keep you alive.”

“And you will?”

That pulls his gaze back to me, sharp, stormy, like I just challenged him to something neither of us can win. The distance between us is shrinking without me realizing. One step. Then another. Until I’m close enough to see the faint scar cutting across the knuckles of his right hand, the rise and fall of his chest matching the rhythm in mine.

The loft is freezing, but the space between us is warm, like standing too close to a fire. My pulse stumbles. I should back away. I don’t.

He leans in slightly, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “I told you to stay away from the windows,” he murmurs.

“I’m not afraid of glass,” I whisper back.

His hand lifts like he’s going to touch me, stops just short of my cheek. Fingers suspended, trembling slightly, like he’s fighting himself as much as me.

The hum in my ribs turns into a drumbeat. My body tilts forward before my brain can catch up. Close enough that his breath ghosts against my skin.

Almost.

His hand hovers just shy of my cheek, and for one suspended second, everything narrows to the warmth radiating from his skin.

I shouldn’t want this. I barely know him. But the pull is there, steady as the bell’s hum, dragging me closer. His eyes flick to my mouth, storm-gray burning darker, and my breath catches.

If he moves one inch, I’ll let him.

The moment fractures.

A low vibration rolls through the loft, rattling the old hymnals on the pews below. The stained-glass window shivers in its frame. The sound isn’t just heard, it crawls through me, a subterranean note that belongs to no organ.

The bell.

I flinch back, air rushing cold against my skin. Callen swears under his breath, his hand snapping down to his side like he never meant to reach for me. He turns toward the window as a web of frost veils across it, letters scratching themselves into the moonlight.

The hum spikes into a pulse. My ribs ache, each beat echoing the toll that hasn’t fully struck yet.

“Too soon,” Callen mutters, almost to himself. “It’s moving faster.”

The frost spreads higher, branching veins that sharpen into crude shapes. I can’t look away. The words force themselves onto the glass, pale and merciless.

LIST.. then it smears. The next line carves in jagged strokes, like the bell is impatient.

Callen steps in front of me, blocking half the window with his body. His stance is braced, protective, like he can shield me from words written in ice.

“Stay behind me,” he says, not looking back.

I grip the railing, heart hammering. Just seconds ago, his hand was almost on my cheek, and now he looks like he’s ready to fight the frost itself.

The bell tolls once. A hollow, bone-deep sound that makes the loft beams shake.

I don’t realize I’ve reached for him until my fingers graze his sleeve. He doesn’t move away.

The frost finishes its scrawl in the stained glass, sharp and final.

DUE / 1.

The sight hollows me out. One. The countdown is real.

Before I can breathe, the chapel doors below slam open. The sound ricochets up the rafters, louder than the toll itself.

Ezra.

He stands in the doorway, eyes wide, chest heaving like he ran the whole way here. His gaze flicks from the frost-blurred glass…to me. And then lower to Callen, who hasn’t moved from in front of me, too close, like he belongs there.

The air changes. I feel it in my throat.

Ezra’s face tightens, not with fear. With betrayal.

“Lira,” he says, my name sharp enough to cut.

I step forward, but Callen shifts with me, still between me and the window, between me and Ezra’s line of sight. His presence is solid, immovable, like the frost would have swallowed me if he hadn’t been there.

Ezra doesn’t see that. All he sees is me, inches from Callen, reaching for him like.. like what? Like I was about to let it happen.

“It’s not…” I start, but the words tangle. How do you explain almost, when the truth is I didn’t stop it?

Ezra’s jaw flexes. His glasses catch the moonlight, hiding his eyes, but I can feel the hurt radiating from him like heat.

“I thought you trusted me,” he says, voice low.

The frost behind Callen creaks, spiderwebbing outward, but the sound is nothing compared to the silence hanging between us.

I open my mouth again, but the bell tolls deeper this time, a growl that makes the entire loft shudder. My hands fly to the railing to stay upright.

Ezra doesn’t move. He just stares. At me. At Callen. At the space that could’ve been a kiss.

And then he turns, shoving the chapel doors back open so hard the wood cracks against the wall.

He’s gone before I can breathe his name.

The chapel sways with the toll’s echo, rafters moaning like they might crack apart. Dust rains down in soft spirals, settling on the hymnals below.

Callen’s arm shifts closer to me, steadying without touching, like if I lean even an inch he’ll catch me. I don’t lean. My heart’s still lodged in the space Ezra left behind.

The frost on the stained glass spreads in jagged strokes, sealing the words in thick white veins:

DUE / 1.

The number glows faintly, alive in the moonlight, until it feels less like a warning and more like a sentence.

“One,” I whisper, the sound barely mine.

Callen’s head tilts toward me, storm-gray eyes lit by the glow. “It’s not bluffing. Tomorrow, something ends.”

My throat locks. Tomorrow.

The toll hums again, softer, like a final breath exhaled through iron. The candles in the chapel gutter out all at once, plunging the loft into shadow. The glass flickers in the dark, letters pulsing like they’re burning from the inside.

Somewhere in the silence, I swear I hear it, a whisper threaded under the toll. Not a word this time. A count.

One.

The sound ripples through me, cold and final.

Callen’s jaw tightens, his shoulders braced against something I can’t see. “You need to go,” he says.

But my legs won’t move. Ezra’s face is still burned behind my eyes, hurt, disbelief, like I’d already chosen. And maybe I had, almost.

The frost veins thicken, spreading beyond the glass, spidering onto the wooden frame like it wants inside.

Callen’s hand brushes mine, quick, grounding. His voice lowers, urgent. “Lira. Listen. Time’s already running out.”

The last candle sputters, smoke curling into the air like a clock hand pointing down.

The bell doesn’t toll again. It doesn’t have to. The silence feels worse.

Because now I know what it means.

Tomorrow, someone is due.

And the number left is one.