Page 99 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

No laughter.

Even the ocean feels…muted.

Clara keeps looking around as if expecting her father to step out from behind a rock. But there’s only guards—and us. She leads us right, along the damp sand, toward a cliff that rises hundreds of feet.

At its base⁠—

A cave that shouldn’t be there now glows faintly with candlelight.

Ryker halts so abruptly the rest of us nearly collide with him. “Where did that come from?”

Her lip trembles again. “Father put his hand on the wall then he said I had to touch it too.” Tears fall, splashing on her cheeks. “He cut my hand.” She holds it out for us to see. Sure enough, a thin line is cut into her palm but it’s already healing over.

Ryker kneels. “Why did he cut your hand? Think, Clara. What did he say?”

The hair on my arms stands. A heartbeat later, onyx mist rises from the water, flooding the beach. It pours over the sand, coils around the rocks—cutting off our path back to the palace like a living gate slamming shut.

“What the—,” Tate breathes.

Trysten curses, stepping closer.

Aolyn makes a broken sound—half sob, half gasp. “You have to go,” she cries. “She’s coming.”

Before I can ask who, she steps out of the cave.

It’s the version of me from my dreams. Only she isn’t a dream. She’s solid. Real. Standing on this beach like she owns it.

As a group, we step back. Ryker nods to Trysten, who takes Clara between him and Kellan.

Ryker’s hand brushes mine, and I feel his magic rise—wind sharpening at his edges. My own answers, heat prickling at my fingertips.

Our friends’ heads swivel between us. A stunned, collective inhale.

“How?” I hear myself ask, anger slicing through shock. “You’re real?”

A soft laugh escapes her lips, the sound musical and wrong. “Well, well.” Her gaze drifts over my friends like they’re decorations. “So many people. How special you must feel.”

My magic surges harder. “Who are you?”

She gasps, mockingly clutching her chest. Then that feral grin blooms, slow and pleased. “I’m honestly surprised.” She taps a finger to her chin. “I thought you would’ve figured it out by now.”

Aolyn whimpers. “Raea…run.”

I stare at the woman who looks like me. Black gown, cobweb-thin, almost obscene. Blood-red lips. Nails like blades. Coal-dark liner carving her eyes into something sharp and predatory. Hair darker like ash. She’s taller than me—barely. Enough to feel like an insult.

“I thought I was seeing a future version of me,” I whisper.

She throws her head back and laughs. Ryker shifts closer. Her eyes track him immediately. Then she sobers, like she’s bored.

“Oh, this is no fun.” Her mouth curls. “Though I think my timing is truly spectacular.” She steps forward as I take a step back. “I couldn’t miss my twin sister’s wedding now, could I?”

The word twin doesn't hang in the air—it rewrites everything I know. Every memory of my childhood, every moment I spent feeling like a 'singular' piece of a prophecy, is rewritten in a heartbeat. The world tilts.

Twin.

The prophecy. The balance. Light and dark. Two crowns. One remains.

It crashes through me like a tidal wave—like I’ve been staring at the answer and refusing to see it.