Seren steps forward, the tear in reality slowly closing behind her with a soft pull.
“I need your help,” she says without preamble.
Lara’s gaze flicks to her—sharp, assessing—but before she can respond, something shifts behind Seren. A second presence.
Seren turns just as Elyssara steps fully through the rift, her landing less graceful, her body still healing, still catching up to the violence it has endured. But she stands anyway.Of course she does.
Lara sees her, and recognition flashes across her face.
The space changes. Not in the way anyone can see, but in the way everyone can feel. Seren notices it instantly—a subtle shift in electricity, in gravity. The Perils stills.
Lara’s attention locks onto Elyssara, and for the first time since Seren has known her, the High Witch does not move to speak or assert dominance. She studies her. Calculates and measures her in a way that sets Seren’s senses on alert.
Lara does not look at Elyssara as a stranger, though that is exactly what they are to one another. She looks at her as an equal.
“Lightborne,” Lara says at last, voice a cold, flat tone. It’s not a question. There’s certainly no awe. It is a fact.
Elyssara lifts her chin despite the crusted blood and strain still evident in her body, her gaze steady, unflinching. “High Witch.”
The words settle between them like a line drawn in sand. Seren doesn’t intervene. Not yet.
Lara steps forward, slow, deliberate, her eyes never leaving Elyssara’s. “So it’s true,” she says, voice low, almost thoughtful. “You still stand. Survived it all.”
Elyssara’s mouth curves, something sharp and knowing beneath the exhaustion.
“So did you,” Elyssara returns. The words are simple, but they convey every battle faced, every day hunted, every momentsurvived. They are an acknowledgement between two women who shouldn’t still be here.
A heartbeat passes.
Two.
A look flickers between them. Recognition.Understanding. Not allies. Not enemies. Something far more dangerous—two forces that could either remake the world… or end it in a heartbeat.
Lara’s lips tilt into something that is not quite a smile—the most emotion Seren has seen from the High Witch of The Dreaded. It is the gleam of a woman who knows things she shouldn’t. Who’s calculating plans right here as she stands. Who’s looking at Elyssara to see how she can bend her to her advantage.
Seren’s eyes drift to Elyssara. Her eyebrows are raised, her chin slightly lifted, and her jaw set in defiance. Somehow, Seren knows that Elyssara is thinking the exact same way about Lara.
Seren exhales sharply. “This should be interesting,” she murmurs.
The two women stare at each other in silent assessment, seeing who will break first, who will soften first, who will shift under the scrutiny of the other.
But Seren knows the answer:neither.
“Lovely,” she mutters, stepping between them before the moment can stretch any further. “We can circle back to whateverthisis later,” she says, wagging her fingers between the women. She turns her attention to Lara. “You gave me an hour and I’m back. I’m here for the assignment.”
That snaps the tension cleanly.
Lara’s attention shifts back to Seren, focus sharpening.
“This will be your final Harrow, little witch,” she says, her amethyst eyes boring into Seren.
Seren nods once, unafraid. “And my question?”
Lara studies her for a long moment, something heavier than simple approval weighing in her gaze.
Then she gestures to the witches at her side.
“This is The Marrow,” she says.
