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Not that they were successful.

She’d never seen the hidden beach until Lyriat offered it up as a meeting place. Thank the Sisters they didn’t have to travel the nigh-impossible, narrow steps down the cliffside to get here. Heights had lost any appeal after their recent fall into the chasm—irrational, but her body didn’t care.

“Enough hiding, witchling.”

Lunara lifted her gaze to Magnus, finding it hard to break the spell that would reveal her. Being perceived—enduring pitying stares and bland platitudes—was one of the worst parts of this whole ordeal, and it was beginning to take its toll on her mind.

“Lunara? Please.”

Gritting her teeth, she stepped out of the space between and into view, her bare feet sinking into the crimson sand. She wanted to rail at the wind as it picked up the lank locks of her hair, whipping them across her face and body. Her skin rebelled against the spray coming off the waves, her nerve endings too battered to easily tolerate what should’ve been a pleasure. It was all too much. Too much…

It’s okay. You’re okay. Deep breaths.

“Ach, thank the stars. For a second there, I thought maybe you left us,” Magnus said, slumping when he saw her. “Not sure I’d blame you. I was mostly worried what would happen when Fern found out. Fucking feral, that one. Especially where you’re concerned.”

Always making jokes, trying to coax a smile, but he wasn’t fooling her. The Imperial Wolflord looked as haggard as she felt, covered head-to-toe in red dust and debris. His tattoos were barely visible beneath the grime, the blond of his waves and snarled braids had taken on a pink hue, and his plain linen robe was ruined.

There was no point in offering to heal the cuts and scrapes littering his body when she already knew he’d refuse. No one accepted her help anymore, too worried about the state she was in.

“Did you find anything in the city today?” Weeping moons, her disused voice grated like rusty knives.

“You know…” Magnus squinted up at the castle, ignoring her question. “Eventually, he’s going to notice that the lass singing in the stairwell is always repeating the same sad lines over and over—until she abruptly cuts off two minutes after I step out onto the balcony every night. What then?”

It was almost funny when Lunara realized the likeness spell she’d used most of her life—one cast to find secret peace, or hide from kings, or…dance unseen—had actually been a form of her latent ability to mist all along.

Unfortunately, her laughter had been of the hysterical variety and not in the least amused.

“He’d have to give a single shite about me for that to happen.” The bitter words were past her lips before she could claw them back.

Bitter, but true—even if it nearly killed her to admit it.

A sob lodged itself in her throat, locked in by sheer force of will. Crying was for when no one could see or hear her now. Brand…didn’t like it when she cried. She learned that lesson the hard way.

Deep breaths. In and out. It’s fine. It will be fine.

“Ach, that’s not…” His face twisted into a pained mask. “It’ll come back to him. Deep down, he knows, Lunara. Whether or not his mind can remember right now, Brand is yours.”

Stupid, really, how agonizing it was to hear his name spoken in that context.

Brand wasn’t hers. Not anymore. That was the fucking problem.

It was her turn to ignore Magnus. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you find anything?”

The taught lines of his body, his furrowed brow, told her everything she needed to know, but he still shook his head. “No. Nothing new.”

The Demons of Straelon had been violated in the extreme, their capital city in pieces. The Shadow Prophecy was not only true, but finally upon them, and she was personally wrapped up in its dark reality. Brand—her blessed, bonded mate—was still lost to her, a feast for the darkness, even as he laid in his bed above them.

And Nyri and Baldrir were still fucking missing.

The nightmares and lack of any progress only made it worse.

A blue crab skittered over her foot, but Lunara couldn’t be bothered to care. She reached for Magnus to mist them back, her voice deadened when she said, “Well, if that’s everything⁠—”

“Not so fast.” He dodged her grip and made a sweeping gesture. “What the fuck is this? You should be screeching to see it with your own eyes. Demanding to go down to the site. Railing at me for not searching longer.”

“I’m tired and we’ve been gone too long.”

“Ach, no. No, no.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, nostrils flaring as he leveled a finger at her. “I know how hard it is—weeping fuck, do I know—but don’t you dare shut down on us. Brand needs you fighting, Lunara. Not wallowing in the shite.”