"I would if I could actually read it. There are symbols though, in the corners of the cover and the border. Tiny ones."
Caelen stood and stepped closer, peering over my shoulder. "Still looks like a blank page to me."
I pointed at the border—fine lines etched like smoke curling through frost. "You don’t see that?"
"No," he said, jaw tight. "It’s empty."
"Huh." I frowned. "Maybe it’s a magicborn thing."
He didn’t answer right away. Then: "When Ellie found it... she was bleeding. Some of it got on the pages."
My head snapped up. "You think it needs blood to activate?"
"Might be worth trying," Caelen said too quickly. "What have you got to lose?"
"Says the guy not offering up his own blood."
Caelen grinned. "Exactly."
I pulled out my blade and sliced my hand. A trickle of blood welled up. I hissed and pressed it to the pages.
"Brace yourself."
At first, nothing happened.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," I muttered.
But he wasn’t there.
And neither was I.
The forest was gone. The fire, the night, Caelen—gone.
I stood in a tower room overlooking the docks I knew too well. Duskfall. My hometown.
And there she was.
Elle sat at the edge of a narrow bed, small and folded in on herself. She wore a soft pink dress—too delicate, too wrong against her skin. Her fingers clutched that damn amulet like it was the only thing holding her together.
She rose slowly and walked toward the mirror on the far wall—ornate silver, too large for the room. In the low amber light, her beauty looked shattered. Her eyes, normally so fierce and bright, were flat. Empty. A bruise bloomed on one cheek. My stomach turned.
She stared at her reflection. Silent. Still.
Then she moved—flicking everything off the dresser in one sweep of her arm. Glass shattered. Bottles rolled. She yanked open drawers, hurling clothes, combs, scraps of paper. A pair of silver shears tumbled to the floor.
She snatched them up like they were a lifeline.
And then—she grabbed a fistful of her long black curls.
Snip.
One curl.
Then another. And another. Faster now. No rhythm. No plan. Just chaos.
She hacked at her hair like it was choking her. Like it was pulling her under.
The floor filled with curls.
