Mom steps forward. “What do you mean? What did her soul tell you?”
My fingers twitch as a chill runs down my spine just thinking about it. Thinking abouther.
“It didn’t tell me anything,” I say slowly. “I’ve never seen a soul like hers.”
That’s when my gaze falls on the black satin cloak draped overthatat the edge of the office.
Not a cloak someone wore. Just a cover.
Thrown over the case like a shroud no one dared to lift.
Dust clings to the fabric—thin, undisturbed. But the memory slams into me faster than I can brace for it. My pulse spikes.
“Malec?” Mom’s voice trails behind me, careful but close.
I ignore her.
That case—sealed since that night—has sat untouched for years, too terrifying to face. It became part of the background. Anotherlaterproblem on Mom’s list.
I remember the black tendrils of her soul. The whispers. The golden threads that trapped her spirit in place.
The Coral of Life made her like that.
Could Roran—
I grab the edge of the cloak and yank it off in one motion.
The case beneath is smaller than I remember.
But just as heavy.
Just as haunted.
And when my eyes meet hers—black, glassy eyes locked behind the clear surface—it’s like staring into a demonic porcelain doll carved to terrify. Not live.
But I don’t flinch.
I’m not five anymore.
And I know better now.
“Malec, what the hell are you doing?”
Dad’s voice roars behind me, but it sounds far away—muffled by the storm building in my chest.
“I think he’s on to something,” Mom says softly.
I block them out.
Close my eyes.
Focus.
Her soul used to whisper. Used to move.
Nothing.
I reach deeper. Feel the heat of my marks awakening, the familiar burn crawling beneath my skin.
