I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Because I know.
Not because anyone told me. Not because I’ve seen it quite like this before. But because something deep in my gut, something instinctive and undeniable, recognises it.
“That,” I say slowly, my eyes dragging back up to the widening tear, “is a rift.”
The word drops, real in a way it hasn’t been before.
Above us, the tear shudders, the edges of it shimmering like they can’t quite hold their shape. The space beyond it isn’t empty. It isn’t dark.
It’s… wrong.
Not this world.
Not this sky.
And my heart… my heart is trying to climb out of my chest.
“Why isn’t it closing?” Sonny mutters, stepping up beside me, his usual edge dulled by something that sounds dangerously close to uncertainty.
“It’s getting bigger,” Jack adds, his gaze tracking the expanding fracture.
Caly steps closer to Jamie, his attention fixed not on the sky but on the medallion itself. His expression is more focused than I’ve ever seen it. “It’s responding,” he says quietly.
“To what?” Sonny asks.
Caly doesn’t look up. “To him.”
That pulls every eye back to Jamie. He stiffens slightly under the attention, instinctively curling his fingers more firmly around the medallion like he’s afraid someone might take it from him.
“I’m not doing anything,” he says quickly.
“I know,” I reply, and I keep my voice steady, grounding. “You’re not. Just… hold it. That’s it.”
Another surge of energy ripples through the air, strong enough this time to make the hairs along my arms stand on end. The temperature drops further, the cold seeping in biting and sudden like the storm is dragging something else through with it.
Behind me, Solan steps forward, his presence anchoring in a way that cuts through some of the rising tension. “We need to move,” he says, voice low but firm. “That thing’s not stable.”
He’s right. Everything about itscreamsunstable. But I can’t look away.
Because now I can see it. Not clearly or perfectly, but well enough.
Through the distortion, through the shifting light and warped space, there are shapes. Colours that don’t belong here. A sky that isn’t green. A horizon that feels… familiar.
My breath catches. “No,” I murmur under my breath.
The bond flares, reminding me that I’m not alone in my own head right now.
Varek.
He feels distant. Still there and alive, but far enough away that it aches.
My pulse jumps because I know what this is. And that knowledge comes with something else.
Hope.
Bright.
Terrifying.
