The road stretched ahead, uneven and fractured, winding through the skeletal remains of what had once been countryside. They didn’t stop moving.

  The pressure of Byfox was gone, but none of them spoke. The only sound was the steady rhythm of boots against dirt, the occasional rustling of brittle grass in the wind. The sky overhead remained heavy, thick with unmoving clouds that smothered the light. Everything felt stretched thin, as if the world itself had worn down to its last threads.

  They were safe, for now— whatever that meant in the cradle of the Mirrorwood. But the weight of their realizations in Byfox still clung to them.

  Annemarie barely felt her own exhaustion. Her heartbeat was still too fast, her chest still warm from the magic she had pulled on back in the ruins. It hadn’t left her, not entirely. The sensation of something inside her waking up still crackled beneath her skin, humming like a thread drawn too tight.

  It wasn’t just that. The bond had shifted, pulling her slightly north in addition to the constant west.

  She pressed a hand to her ribs, steadying herself, trying to make sense of the change. It had always been a steady force, an unseen thread leading her toward Callista, but now— now it was even sharper. Urgent. As if something ahead had finally noticed her coming and decided to pull her in faster.

  That wasn’t comforting.

  Brandon cast a glance at her, his eyes narrowed in concern. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell— he knew something was different.

  They kept moving.

  The landscape had shifted. The ruins of Byfox had given way to land that was empty, abandoned. No signs of villages, no old farms, nothing but open fields and patches of twisted, wind-worn trees. The further they traveled, the less the world felt real.

  “We stop here,” Julia said finally, breaking the silence.

  No one argued.

  They had made it far enough away from Byfox that the presence of the city no longer pressed against them, but no one wanted to risk traveling further in the dark. They found a patch of land near the remains of an old road marker, long since weathered beyond recognition.

  Brandon and Melissa set up the fire. Julia unpacked the dwindling rations. Brenna checked her wards, frowning at the deepened cracks along the surface of her bracelet.

  Annemarie sat stiffly on her bedroll, her hands curled against her knees. She could feel the bond stretching out ahead of her, toward something unseen. Something waiting.

  Brenna sat down beside her, running a hand through her hair. “You gonna tell us what’s wrong, or are you just going to sit there looking haunted?”

  Annemarie hesitated, then exhaled. “I think the bond shifted.”

  Brenna’s expression didn’t change, but Annemarie could see the sharp flicker of thought behind her eyes. “Where?”

  “Northwest,” she murmured. “It’s pulling me harder now.”

  Brenna hummed, thoughtful. “Any reason why?”

  Annemarie shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  Brandon poked at the fire, frowning. “We were already heading west. Why would it change direction now?”

  Julia glanced at Annemarie. “Does it feel... different?”

  Annemarie hesitated. “It’s still the same bond. But now it feels— sharper. Like Callista is closer than she was before.”

  Brenna’s fingers tapped idly against the cracked surface of her warding bracelet. “Or like she’s moving.”

  A heavy silence settled between them.

  It wasn’t an impossible thought. The bond wasn’t just guiding Annemarie toward Callista— it was linking them. If she had switched direction, she wasn’t staying in one place.

  They weren’t chasing a lost woman.

  Callista was still moving.

  The fire had burned down to embers. Flickering orange light danced across the uneven ground, casting shifting shadows over the camp. The night was too still— no wind, no rustling leaves. Just the steady crackle of burning wood and the distant, waiting silence of the world beyond their circle.

  Everyone else was asleep. Or, at least, they were trying.

  Melissa had passed out first, muttering something about how exhaustion was beginning to win out over anxiety. Julia lay on her side, back to the fire, but Annemarie could tell by the tension in her shoulders that she wasn’t fully at rest. Brenna, as usual, had closed her eyes and decided to sleep, because worrying was apparently something for other people.

  Which left her. And Brandon.

  He was sitting cross-legged by the fire, sharpening his sword in slow, methodical strokes, his expression unreadable.

  Annemarie didn’t know why she was awake. Maybe it was the pull of the bond, still insistent, threading through her ribs like an anchor. Maybe it was the unease of knowing their wards were failing. Or maybe it was the realization— the quiet, horrible certainty— that she might not make it out of this alive.

  She exhaled slowly, rubbing her arms against the cold.

  Brandon’s gaze flickered toward her. “You should sleep.”

  Annemarie huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. “And you should follow your own advice.”

  Brandon smirked but didn’t argue.

  For awhile, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy— filled with the unspoken weight of everything pressing down on them, of everything they weren’t saying.

  Eventually, Annemarie sighed. “Brenna’s right. Our protection is failing.”

  Brandon didn’t stop sharpening his blade. “I know.”

  Annemarie ran a thumb over the surface of her own ward, feeling the fractures running through it, the delicate splintering of something that had once been whole. They weren’t protected anymore. Not fully.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “How long do you think we have?” she asked quietly.

  Brandon hesitated before answering. “A few more days, maybe. A week if we’re lucky.” He set his sword down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Merris said the Mirrorwood rejects things that don’t belong.”

  Annemarie swallowed. “And we don’t belong.”

  Brandon’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening. “No.”

  Another long pause. Annemarie stared into the fire, watching the embers pulse like a dying heartbeat. “What happens if we don’t make it out?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  Brandon inhaled sharply through his nose. “Don’t.”

  “Brandon—”

  “I mean it, Annemarie.”

  She turned to look at him, really look at him. His usual easy confidence had frayed at the edges, the steady composure worn thin under the weight of everything pressing down on them.

  He met her gaze, his brown eyes darker in the firelight. “I don’t do that,” he muttered.

  “Do what?”

  “The whole... preemptively giving up thing.”

  Annemarie huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about—” she hesitated, struggling to find the words.

  Accepting that death might be an option? Coming to terms with the fact that she might not have a choice?

  Brandon watched her, his gaze steady. Then, after a long moment, he sighed. “I don’t know what happens.”

  Annemarie swallowed. Neither did she.

  She rubbed a hand down her face. “This was supposed to be simple.”

  Brandon snorted. “That’s your own damn fault for thinking anything in this world is simple.”

  Annemarie laughed— a real laugh this time, tired but genuine. Brandon smirked, but his expression softened.

  For a moment, they sat there, side by side, staring into the fire. Then Brandon spoke again, quieter this time. “I won’t let you die out here.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “I can try.”

  Something in the way he said it made her breath catch. She had always known Brandon was stubborn. Always known he was the type to throw himself between the people cared about and whatever hell was coming for them.

  This wasn’t just a declaration. This was a vow.

  Annemarie exhaled slowly, looking away. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered.

  Brandon grinned. “And you’re stuck with me.”

  Annemarie didn’t respond. Because she was. And despite everything, she didn’t hate that.

  The fire crackled softly, the night stretching wide and uncertain around them. And even with death waiting somewhere ahead, for now, just for this moment—

  They were still here.

  Morning came reluctantly.

  A thin, watery light seeped through the low-hanging clouds, casting everything in a muted, ashen gray. The air was still, thick with the damp chill of the earth, and the embers of last night’s fire barely smoldered.

  Annemarie sat up slowly, stretching the stiffness from her limbs. Her head ached faintly— not a deep pain, but a pressure, like something heavy pressing down on her skull. The bond was still pulling her northwest, steady and insistent, but something felt... off.

  It took her a moment to realize what. Then she felt it.

  The charm around her neck— the warding charm Merris had made for her, a drop of her own blood suspended in resin— was broken.

  She lifted it carefully, fingers brushing over the once-smooth surface. The resin had fractured completely, a thin network of cracks running through it like shattered glass. At the center, where the dried blood had once been preserved, it was now... gone. Or rather, it had been absorbed.

  Her stomach twisted. “Shit,” she muttered.

  Brandon, who had been stirring the fire back to life, glanced up at her tone. “What?”

  Annemarie held up the charm wordlessly.

  His expression darkened. “Oh fuck. That’s not good.”

  Julia, still groggy, blinked blearily at them. “What’s not good?”

  Brandon gestured toward Annemarie’s charm. “Her ward broke.”

  That woke everyone up.

  Melissa sat up so fast she nearly rolled out of her bedroll. “Hold on, what?”

  Brenna was already moving, crouching beside Annemarie to inspect the remains of the charm. She turned it over in her fingers, frowning deeply. “It wasn’t just damage,” she muttered. “It’s completely drained.”

  Brandon straightened, his shoulders tensing. “What does that mean for Annemarie?”

  Everyone turned to her.

  Annemarie took a slow breath. She felt... different. The pressure in her skull was heavier, the pull of the bond sharper, more intrusive, but she wasn’t sick. She wasn’t collapsing. “I’m fine,” she said carefully.

  Melissa did not look convinced. “You don’t look fine.”

  Annemarie exhaled. “I mean, I don’t feel good, but I’m not—” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’m not dying. I can still think. I don’t feel like I’m being unmade.”

  The others exchanged uneasy glances.

  Julia pressed her lips together, studying Annemarie with sharp, assessing eyes. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “If your ward is gone, you should be feeling it worse than the rest of us.”

  “She should be the first to go,” Melissa said grimly.

  “Thanks for that,” Annemarie muttered.

  Brenna was quiet for a long moment, still turning the broken charm over in her hands. Then, finally, she said, “Maybe she belongs.”

  A beat of silence.

  Brandon frowned. “What?”

  Brenna exhaled through her nose, tapping a finger against the cracked resin. “Think about it. She and Callista are tied together. And Callista survived the Curse.”

  Annemarie’s stomach twisted. “You think I have?”

  Brenna looked at her, gaze steady. “I think you’re resisting it.”

  The words settled between them.

  Melissa made a vague, frustrated noise. “Okay, hold on— so we’re saying Annemarie is immune to the actual corrupting force of reality itself?”

  “No,” Brenna said, shaking her head. “Not immune. Resisting. That’s different.”

  Julia’s brow furrowed. “Resisting how?”

  Brenna hesitated. Then she sighed. “You ever wonder why Seers can heal?” she asked.

  Everyone frowned.

  “It’s not just magic. There’s a reason Seers can put things back together. A reason they can’t create something new, but can fix what’s already broken.” She gestured toward Annemarie. “Seers’ magic is tied to fate, but it’s deeper— they’re tied to what’s right with the world.”

  Annemarie blinked. “What does that mean?”

  Brenna leaned forward, her expression unusually serious. “It means that whatever happened to the Mirrorwood wasn’t right. Something twisted the natural order, broke it.”

  A chill ran down Annemarie’s spine.

  “And your magic,” Brenna continued, “is resisting that brokenness. It’s trying to put things back together.”

  Annemarie exhaled slowly. It felt right— like something she had already known but not had the words for.

  Brandon crossed his arms. “So you’re saying Annemarie and Callista’s magic is the only reason they haven’t been consumed by the Mirrorwood?

  Brenna shrugged. “It’s a theory. But we don’t have a better one.”

  Melissa groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. “I hate theories.”

  “Yeah, well,” Julia muttered, “Get used to it.”

  Annemarie ran a hand over her face, trying to process it all. It didn’t change anything. The bond was still pulling her— northwest, now. The Curse was still there, pressing against the edges of reality. But if Brenna was right... if her magic was pushing back... then maybe she had a chance.

  She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

  Brandon nudged her knee with his own, drawing her back into the present. “You good?”

  Annemarie let out a breath, shaking her head. “I don’t think ‘good’ is the word for it.”

  Brandon’s mouth quirked. “Fair enough.”

  Julia sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Alright. We’ve wasted enough time. We need to move.”

  Melissa grumbled but started packing her things.

  Brandon reached for his sword, checking its edge.

  Brenna adjusted the strap of her satchel.

  Annemarie curled her fingers around the shattered remains of her ward.

  Northwest.