The bookmark burned against his chest.
Not with heat, but with something deeper—like a thread unraveling beneath his ribs. Caelum kept his hand over his jacket pocket, steadying his breath as Theron passed. The man's steps were silent, unnaturally so. The moment his cloak brushed the hem of Caelum's coat, the bookmark flared again, its faint glow nearly piercing through the fabric.
Caelum stiffened.
Theron turned his head just slightly, lips curving in a quiet, unreadable smirk. And then he was gone—his footfalls swallowed by the hallway as he moved deeper into the manor.
Caelum exhaled. That was no coincidence.
By late afternoon, the entire estate felt changed.
Servants moved briskly through the corridors, setting up candles, floral arrangements, and laying silks over banisters that hadn't seen use in years. The air itself shimmered faintly—as if the world were adjusting to something it hadn't anticipated.
Theron had announced a formal gathering with a smile too courteous to be innocent. "It's customary," he'd said, "for a manor of this pedigree to host its honored guests. And Lady Elowen's grace deserves to be seen."
Elowen had stared at him like a storm bottled into a single look. "This is short notice."
Theron bowed. "Some events must arrive unannounced. It is the only way to test their truth."
Caelum watched her grip tighten around her skirts. He reached for her hand beneath the table, giving it a subtle squeeze.
"Maybe it's better to stay close," he murmured, just for her to hear. "Know what he's planning instead of letting him work in shadows."
Her lashes lowered. "You think I can handle being a spectacle?"
"I think you can handle anything."
She didn't answer. But when the sun began to set, she let the maids help her dress.
Night arrived with fanfare and frost.
The ballroom had been dusted into splendor—gilded mirrors reflecting candlelight in a thousand fragments, crystal chandeliers catching every breath of music. But the air was cold. Too cold.
Whispers began before Elowen even entered.
"Is that her?""The cursed child?""They say the manor itself trembles when she cries."
Caelum stood at the top of the stairs with her, his hand outstretched.
Elowen hesitated, face expressionless as porcelain. But when her eyes met his, something softened. She placed her hand in his.
The music resumed. They descended together.
Elowen was stunning in pale silver, her hair swept into soft waves, pinned with a single rose. But the stares cut through the room like blades.
Guests bowed, but only just.
As they began to dance, the murmurs intensified.
"She shouldn't be here.""Look—her eyes. They're not normal.""She'll lose control again."
The lights flickered. Barely. Then again.
From the far wall, Caelum saw it—curtains swaying where there was no wind. Dresses fluttered at the hem without contact. The chandeliers above vibrated with invisible pressure, the air thickening by the second.
"Elowen," he said softly, "breathe."
She did—but her hands trembled.
Then a sharp voice near the edge of the floor: "Witchblood always reveals itself in mirrors."
Elowen froze.
A dozen gazes snapped toward them.
Caelum stepped in without hesitation. He cut across the floor and swept her into a dance, pulling her in close. Her dress spun behind her like a moonlit ripple.
The music stuttered but continued.
He held her tightly, one hand at her waist, the other entwined with hers. She stared at him, stunned.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Giving them a better rumor."
Her lips twitched.
They moved together—graceful, measured, almost defiant. Every step was a challenge. A reclamation.
And as she began to move with him, her tension eased. Her grip on his shoulder tightened—not in fear, but like she needed him to stay, to ground her.
Then—
A sound.
A hairline crack, sharp and high. Caelum's eyes lifted just in time to see a chandelier tremble violently.
The world… flickered.
For the briefest second, the ballroom changed.
The gilded walls blackened. The mirrors shattered inward. Tables were overturned and dust-coated. Guests vanished. A place abandoned. A time misplaced. Only he and Elowen remained—her hand still warm in his.
Then reality snapped back.
The music swelled as if nothing had happened.
But Elowen's eyes were glowing faintly.
She looked away, gripping his sleeve.
Caelum drew her closer, whispering, "I saw it too."
Across the floor, Theron stood still, untouched by the dance. His gaze lingered on them.
And then Caelum noticed it—just for a moment. Behind Theron, near the mirrored wall, a shimmer.
A rift.
Like glass peeled away from air.
Not seen. Not meant to be seen.
It flickered and vanished.
And between Caelum and Elowen, a thread—thin, golden, barely perceptible—suspended in the air, as if the world itself acknowledged their bond.
Only Theron reacted. His lips moved, voice low, unheard by all but the wind.
"So it begins."