Page 67 of The Bonds of Indigo

But she doesn’t slow. I’m two steps behind her when I grab her wrist, halting her.

“Let me go! It’s closing!”

She hadn’t been in such a rush moments ago, but suddenly it’s dire she hurry.

“Don’t be in such a rush to⁠—”

Suddenly, cracking echoes from the small opening ahead. There’s nothing beyond the gates but darkness. I stare as the static grows louder, and it’s as if something is tugging me forward.

A force like I’ve never felt coils around my mind, threading into my thoughts like black smoke, twisting them until I’ve lost where I begin and where I end. Every doubt, fear, and regret whispers through my skull—my own voice, but warped, deeper, demonic.

“You let him go. You didn’t go after him. You’re a failure. You let them die. Walk in and end it. No one needs you here. He’ll accept you. He’ll accept you. He’ll accept⁠—”

“Butcher!”

My name sits on the edge of my awareness, but my world is too warped, my body too heavy. Chains fasten around my very soul, dragging me downward.

The world distorts, and all I see are the gates, opening slowly. It feels familiar yet wrong, and no matter how hard I fight, that pull deepens. An unrelenting, suffocating descent into something I know I will never escape.

“Kayn!!”

I blink, and suddenly I’m standing in a field I’ve never seen before. No longer surrounded by sparse trees and dying plants. Instead, wisteria flowers brush against my arms where they hang at my sides. They stretch as far as I can see, rolling hills bathed in indigo moonlight.

I’m cautious to move, afraid I’ll fall straight through the ground and into whatever had just been trying to pull me under.

Then, without warning, a glowing purple and golden string appears in front of me. I reach for it. It isn’t just one—it’s two—and they coil together. They wind around my index finger and loop up my wrist, tightening as though…

The thin thread morphs, and fingers now grip where they had been.

“Mom!”

I blink rapidly at the sound of Amarah’s voice.

Turning toward the soft tug on my wrist, I catch sight of a young girl with white hair running toward a woman. Her face is hidden behind thick, dark strands as she bends to greet the child.

“You did it, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”

The girl giggles and twirls once, her dress flaring outward, pushing the wisteria aside as though she’d summoned a breeze to keep the petals from brushing the fabric. Her eyes open, and she spots me. Her tiny shoulders square instantly.

“Mommy, who’s that?”

“I’m sure one day you’ll know.”

I look at the woman. She lifts her head, but I’m still only capable of seeing half of her face; from the nose up, a dark shadow swallows her features.

“No one can come here unless you and Vendra allow it.”

The girl’s voice is small, confused. “But… I only brought you.”

The woman smiles, and a harsh yank on my wrist rips me from the place I’d fallen into.

A crushing weight slams onto my chest, knocking the air out of me. The ground digs into my back, and when I force open my eyelids that feel stitched together, I’m met with bright, indigo eyes and a spill of white hair hovering over me.

Amarah.

She’s breathing hard, arms trembling as her fists clutch my shirt. Sweat drips down her temple—but what hits my cheek isn’t sweat.

She’s crying.